Page 20 of The Butcher

Like I would answer.

“Tell me his fucking name.”

“No.” I did not need two guys fighting over me like lions.

“You haven’t been out of the house for a month and you’re already moving on, but I’m the unfaithful one?”

“Adrien—”

“We are married.”

“You can keep saying that, but it doesn’t make it true,” I snapped. “It’s a goddamn piece of paper. Doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

“You think I won’t kill this guy?” he barked. “Because I fucking will.”

“When Cecilia told me you fucked her, do you think I went apeshit and threatened to kill her and all this macho bullshit? No. I said thank you for letting me know and walked away like a normal person. You act like this guy is responsible for our divorce, when I left you before I met him. You act like he’s the problem when you fucking someone else was the problem.”

He paused for a moment and dragged his hands down his face, like that was all he could do to stop himself from throwing a chair across the room. “I’ve been miserable these last four weeks. Fucking miserable. And you don’t seem all that upset to me.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” The nights I cried in my apartment alone, the raindrops pelting the windowpane and matching the drops on my cheeks, the days when I didn’t eat anything at all. The days when I couldn’t breathe at all. “You have no idea how much you hurt me because I won’t fucking show it. I won’t give you the satisfaction.”

“Satisfaction?” he asked incredulously. “I hate myself for what I did. Would do anything to take it back. Everything that made this marriage work is still here. You and I are both here. Just come home and make this work with me.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and stepped away, still smelling Bastien all over me, feeling his hands on my cheek and my neck. “I believe you’re sorry, Adrien. I believe you would take it back. But that’s not enough for me, not when I feel this way.”

“People make mistakes, Fleur. I’m not perfect and neither are you.”

“I know,” I said simply. “But this is one mistake I don’t want my husband to make.” I wanted a happily ever after. I wanted to bethe only woman in his life, to know where I stood in his heart at all times. To not care when he was out late at night because I knew he was faithful to me.

Adrien started to pace slowly, his dark wedding ring still on his hand, his handsome face forlorn in defeat. He stopped at the window and dragged his fingers across his jawline. I expected him to say something else, but he didn’t. He just stared out the window I’d stared out so many times, and then he walked out.

Days passed, and the numbness in my veins continued to spread. Rejecting Adrien over and over had taken its toll. Even though I’d moved out because of his treason, I had been in shock for weeks. I’d sat by the window and cried my heart out. Sometimes I’d wondered if Cecilia was lying because she had an ulterior motive, but Adrien confirmed his infidelity, so it was true. The last person I’d expected to hurt me had hurt me the most.

And then I moved into the next stage of grief—anger.

It was easier to be angry than to actually feel the sting of his deceit. It was easier to hate him than to think about how good it felt for him to fuck her and think he got away with it. It was easier to be angry than to accept that my marriage had only lasted three years before it went to shit. It was easier to be pissed as hell than to admit that I really loved him…and that was why it hurt so much.

I was on the couch watching the rain hit the windows when my phone vibrated with a text. Adrien hadn’t contacted me sincehe’d left, so I suspected it was him, unable to maintain the silence a moment longer.

But I checked the screen—and it was Bastien.

You haven’t been at work.

The rush of passion I felt for him was dulled by my sadness.I’ve been off.That was a lie. I’d called in sick because I didn’t want to wait on people with a fake smile plastered to my face. The burglary had had no effect on my well-being, but this divorce had stripped me to the bone.

You okay, sweetheart?

How did he know? How could he possibly read my misery through a text?Why do you ask that?

Because I can tell you aren’t yourself.

I stared at his message over and over, unable to understand how he could read me so well. How he seemed to know me so thoroughly when he was still a stranger. When he was just a man who kept my bed warm and chased away the loneliness. I never responded to the message, unsure how to do so. Most of the friends I had were friends with Adrien, and while they thought he was an asshole for what he did, they all agreed I should give him another chance because he loved me. So I stood on the mound of my principles alone.

Let’s get a drink.

I’m not in the mood…but thank you.I set my phone aside then looked at the rain again, watched it hit the window and streak down. There was a heaviness to my heart, an anchor that would make it sink to the bottom of the river and remain there forever. I hadn’t felt this bad since the day I’d moved out of thehouse. Adrien had let me go, but he must have suspected it was temporary at the time.

Thirty minutes later, there was a quiet knock on the door.

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