Page 58 of Carved in Ruin

“You’ll see.”

He takes me to a restaurant. It is one of those upscale places where the lighting is dim, the portions are tiny, and the prices are obscene. I remember the last time we were here. He couldn’t wait to leave, checking his watch between bites. I remember sitting across from him, feeling invisible.

Tonight, he’s different. Attentive. Watchful.

He orders for both of us without asking, his confidence as infuriating as it is magnetic. When the food arrives, he cuts a piece of his steak and holds it out to me on his fork.

“Try it,” he demands.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Is it poisoned?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Against my better judgment, I lean forward and take the bite. The steak melts on my tongue, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a compliment. Instead, I arch a brow. “Not bad. You must’ve had the chef sign a waiver.”

“You’ve always had such faith in me, Mila.”

“Is this part of the revenge plan, Rafael? Dragging me to a fancy restaurant and pretending to care?”

His jaw tightens, but his smirk doesn’t waver. “Revenge takes patience. You should know that by now.”

I tilt my head, letting my voice drop. “So, where is it? The torture? The poison? Or are you losing your touch?”

His eyes darken, the amusement draining from his face. “Marrying me was torture enough for you, wasn’t it?”

The words hit their mark, but I refuse to let him see it. “Touché,” I say, raising my glass in a mock toast.

He lifts his own. “To us.”

The rest of the meal passes in charged silence. When dessert arrives, he pushes his plate toward me without a word, he hates sweets.

I take a bite. The sweetness lingers on my tongue, but it’s his gaze I feel most acutely—like a storm gathering on the horizon, waiting to strike.

He pulls out a Cartier box and opens it to reveal a diamond necklace. It catches the dim light of the restaurant, sparkling like the kind of trophy women kill for.

“For you,” He tells me.

I stare at it, heart thudding a little too loudly in my chest. I know this particular design. It’s half a million.

I pick up the box, my fingers brushing over the cold stones. “Why?” I ask.

“You’ve been watching that Dubai Bling bullshit. I don’t want my wife to feel like others have better than her,” he grunts. “Also, I don’t want anyone thinking I’m not spoiling you.”

I close the box, snapping the lid shut. “So it’s about appearances,” I say, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice and failing miserably. I wanted it to be out of something else, something I don’t have the courage to name.

“Everything is,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course it is.”

He doesn’t respond.

“What do you want me to say?” I ask. “Thank you for the shiny collar, Rafael? For making sure I look the part?”

I hold the box out to him. “Here. You can keep it. I don’t want it.”

He doesn’t take it. Instead, he grabs my wrist and leans in. “You’ll wear it.”

“Why? To keep up the charade?”

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