Page 124 of The Humiliated Wife
"I was so fucking stupid," Dean continued, his voice raw. "I thought I was better than you because I wore expensive suits and talked to clients about brand strategy. But you? You're building the future. And I was too much of a pretentious asshole to see it."
"You're not?—"
"I am. I was. The pathetic one isn't you, Fi. It's me. It's the man who had the most incredible woman in the world and was too insecure to see her value. Too scared that other people would think I wasn't cool enough for loving someone genuine."
Fiona closed her eyes, tears spilling over.
"You are not a joke. You are the smartest, most important person I know. And if anyone—anyone—ever makes you feel otherwise again, they're not worth the air they breathe."
CHAPTER 56
Dean
Dean sat alonein Russell and June's dim kitchen, phone still warm in his hand, Fiona’s voice echoing like a ghost in the quiet.
She’d saidthank youbefore she hung up. Soft. Tentative. But real.
It should’ve been enough—to hear her, to know she’d heard him.
He pressed the heel of his hand to his chest, trying to soothe the ache he’d carved there himself.
It wasn’t.
His thoughts raced. What if it wasn’t just him who saw her like this? What if everyone else could too?
Would it make a difference?
Would it help her believe?
His chest still felt cracked open, nerves buzzing like live wires. His whole body itched with the need todosomething. Not just feel. Not just sit here in the dark with his guilt and his love and the weight of how much he’d failed her.
Fiona had posted her truth. Vulnerable, brave, unfiltered—andreal. And he knew better than anyone what that kind of authenticity could do in the right spotlight.
She was the thing everyone on social mediapretendedto be: earnest without being naïve, kind without being weak, principled without being performative.
She wasthe real deal.
Dean grabbed his laptop, fingers already moving. If she was going to keep sharing pieces of herself—this beautiful, scared, brave version of herself—then maybe hecouldgive something. He could make sure people were watching.
He opened a new doc and started typing.
Dean's fingers moved faster as the plan took shape. He had contacts everywhere—people who owed him favors, networks he'd built over years in the industry. For once, he'd use those connections for something that actually mattered.
Wasthis even something Fiona would want?
Dean stared at his laptop screen, the cursor blinking at him. He closed the laptop and rubbed his face with both hands.
"Rough night?"
Dean looked up to find Russell standing in the kitchen doorway, gray hair disheveled, wearing an old sweatshirt that had seen better decades.
"Did I wake you?"
"June's thirsty. I came down to get her some water." Russell moved to the sink, filling a glass slowly. "You look like hell."
"Thanks for the pep talk."
Russell leaned against the counter, studying Dean with the same calm attention he'd always brought to client meetings. The man had been a steady presence at the agency for a decade—never the flashiest strategist, never the loudest voice in the room, but always solid. Reliable.
