Page 146 of My Ruthless Husband

His mother appears, rushing over to scoop him up. “I’m so sorry! I knew bringing him here wasn’t the best idea. He’s always getting into trouble—” Her voice fades into nothing as a loud ringing fills my ears. I can’t hear her anymore, can’t see anything but the little boy she holds in her arms.

A wave of grief crashes over me, too strong, too sudden. The ache of wanting something I know I’ll never have claws its way through my chest. I try to speak, to offer some polite excuse, but my throat is tight, strangling any words before they form.

“Excuse me,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. I turn on trembling legs, stumbling away as fast as I can, the tears spilling freely now.

I barely make it to the storage room before I’m sobbing. I push farther into the storage room. I find a corner and sink to the cold floor, my back hitting the wall with a dull thud.

I cover my face with my hands, as if I can somehow block out the memories that don’t just hurt, they shred me from the inside.

Why does it hurt so much? My chest feels like it’s caving in. I swallow hard, pressing my palms against my chest as if I could somehow stop the ache.

The sobs come harder, shaking my body as I sit there, curled up in the dark.

I wipe at my cheeks, but the tears keep falling. I’m so tired of being this version of myself. This broken, hollow thing. I used to be someone. Someone who believed in love. Who believed in happiness. And now, I’m someone who cries all the time because the past refuses to fade.

Most of the time, it’s anger that keeps me standing. It’s sharp and burns through the pain, making me feel like I’m still in control of something, anything. Bitterness. That too gives me purpose, strength. But then, grief sneaks in, slipping through the cracks of my heart when I’m too tired to fight it. And that’s when I fall apart. That’s when I’m weak all over again.

It’s grief and the heartbreak that make me feel small, pathetic even. Like now, sitting here, crumbling under the weight of the questions that always come back.

Why can’t he love me?Was money and power all Damian ever cared about?

Was I just another piece on his chessboard? A pawn he could use without a second thought in his rivalry with my father?

If I keep pretending, if I keep letting him use me, if I keep sharing his bed, letting him take everything from me without asking for anything in return, not even the chance to have his child, would that change things? Would he come to love me then?

I hate myself for even considering such bargain. Such questions rip my dignity to shreds. They make me feel pathetic. Like I’m not worth anything.

I’ve cried so much it’s become second nature. But the ache in my chest? It never heals. It always feels fresh, like it’s cutting me open for the first time, over and over again.

“River…”

The voice snaps me out of my spiral, and my body goes rigid. Slowly, I look up, finding Matt standing there, his eyes full of concern. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Shame floods my veins. I quickly wipe at my eyes, trying to pull myself together, but it’s too late. He’s already seen everything.

“I-I just needed a minute,” I glance at the shelves filled with supplies, hoping to find some sort of excuse, but nothing comes.

Matt doesn’t buy it for a second. He kneels down in front of me, his gaze searching my face, worry etched into every line of his features. “River, talk to me. What’s really going on? Is this about that waitress from last night?”

Melissa didn’t even cross my mind. Her attack, and her words didn’t really get to me because she was always like that. How do I tell him I am crying over my husband, my marriage?

“I don’t know, Matt,” I whisper, lowering my head. “I don’t know where to start.”

Matt lets out a long breath, sitting down beside me. He stretches his legs out, leaning back against the wall. He’s quiet for a moment, giving me space. I can feel his blue eyes on me.

“Stop staring,” I mumble.

“How do I do that when you look so beautiful even when you cry?”

I lift my tear-drenched eyelids and stare at him. Expecting to see his signature smirk but all I find is sincerity. He reaches out and gently wipes my tears. My throat tightens. The action makes me cry again.

Matt swears under his breath before pulling me into his side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as he rests his chin on top of my head. His voice is soft as he speaks soothing words while I cry silently.

I close my eyes, leaning into his warmth, letting his words wash over me. For the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to be comforted. To let someone else take some of the weight off my shoulders.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head. But somehow, things pour out of my mouth the next second, “I just don’t want to feel like this anymore,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

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