Page 12 of Hate the One You're With
I stare at him, dumbfounded. The word hangs in the air, heavy with finality, but I don’t move. I can’t. My feet feel rooted to the floor, as if the very groundbeneath me refuses to let me go. I’m frozen in place, caught between shock and defiance.
Normally, I would go. In fact, I’d slam the door after telling him how he’s let me down—again. I’d tell him I can’t believe I actually expected him to behave like a civilized person and do something for someone else or his precious family. But to him, I’m still just the spoiled rich girl who has the world at her feet.
I wish things were that simple. Everything I have, I’ve earned through hard work. Everything. I want to put him in his place, to tell him that I’ve spent my life making sacrifices for the people I love, and for those I don’t even know. But I don’t. Because right now, I need to find the words that will convince him to help me one last time.
I study him from head to toe, trying to figure out what matters most to him. What makes him tick, what makes him Caleb Cunningham—the ruggedly handsome man I’m married to, who’s now ordering me out of his life as if I’m nothing more than an inconvenience.
Okay, every time I’ve come into his life, it’s never been for something easy. In my defense, though, last time, he offered. This time, I can’t just let him go this easily. Not yet.
He’s changed too. There are hard lines in his handsome face, adding new depth to his features. Caleb stands at six foot three, with a muscular, athletic build. His short, dark blond hair is neatly kempt, complementing those striking blue eyes that used to see right through me. And those chiseled features, marked by a few minor scars, hint at a life of action and danger—a life that’s clearly shaped him into the man standing before me.
It’s the way he carries himself, the confidence that radiatesoff him, the way he fills the room with his presence. He’s not the boy I married; he’s a man who’s lived, who’s fought, who’s survived. A man who probably hates me. Despite that, I have to swallow my pride and beg for his help.
“Leave,” he repeats, this time walking toward the door, clearly ready to see me out.
He’s giving me that look—the one that says he’s already made up his mind and nothing I say will be enough to change it. But I can’t give up. Not now. Not when everything is on the line.
“You can’t just dismiss me like that,” I say, mustering the last bit of strength I have, pretending his rejection isn’t digging into me.
He raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting me to push back. “We’ve talked, I heard yet another ridiculous scheme by Gertrude Langley. I’m not getting involved.”
I take a deep breath, refusing to let his dismissive tone knock me down. “This isn’t just about you or me. It’s about something bigger, something that affects more than just the two of us.”
He crosses his arms, those piercing blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Why should I care about the bigger picture? I’ve paid my dues. You’re old enough to figure this out on your own, Em.”
“Did you read the letter?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
He nods, then casually opens the door as if this conversation is already over. “Don’t fucking care.”
“And the part where she says that nothing I do will fix it?” I press on, knowing I have to make him understand. “Did yousee the note she left? You’re literally my last hope. I already hired the best lawyers to look into the will. It’s ironclad.”
“Not my fucking problem,” he mutters, his tone flat as he shrugs, making it clear he’s completely checked out.
I swallow hard, trying to find the right words. He’s always been like this—impossible, stubborn, infuriating. But I’ve never been one to back down. And I’m not about to start now. If I’m going to get through to him, I’ll have to hit where it hurts. This is bigger than just us.
“Fine, I’ll leave,” I say, turning to the door. “Just remember all the unemployed parents who will thank you for this.”
“Don’t you fucking go there,” he snaps, his tone sharp enough to cut.
I shrug, walking assertively toward the door. “I’m just stating facts.”
“You’re only doing this for the fucking money,” he accuses. “It’s all about not losing your cushy lifestyle, the company, and everything you’re used to.”
How dare he say that? I stop right in front of him, my glare burning as I look up at him. “This isn’t about the money. I was willing to walk away from Langley Media because I hate that she’s trying to manipulate me even from beyond the grave, but if I do that, I leave all these people unemployed.”
Caleb scoffs. “Sure. At least be honest. You get the company, all her assets, and?—”
“You can have them,” I cut him off, my voice firm. Ah, so that’s what’s bugging him—the money. It bothers him that my grandmother left everything to me. Who else was she going to leave it to? I’m her only granddaughter and heir.
What did he expect? At least now I know what he wants—to see me penniless, out on the street. But what he doesn’t understand is that there are worse things in the world than having to start from scratch.
I have my health, my career, and a purpose. I’ll be fine with or without my grandmother’s money.
That’s why I have no problem saying, “Anything I’m inheriting from her, you can have it all.”
“The only thing I want is the divorce and to never see you again,” he says, his words cold and final. “Never again, Emmersyn.”
It’s so much like the first time. And just like then, I have to beg him to do this one thing for me, because unfortunately, this is what my grandmother set up. She left me in a position where I have to depend on someone who wants nothing to do with me. It’s the story of my life. All I need is a little more time.
