Page 32 of King of Greed

Alessandra shook her head, her cheeks shining with wetness. “Dominic, it’s over. Accept it. You’re only dragging out the inevitable.”

Accept it, my ass. This couldn’t be it. Not for us, not after last night.

“Then why can’t you look at me?” I demanded.

She shook her head again, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs.

“Dammit, Ále.” A small, humiliating crack split her name in half. I was breaking into a million pieces, and she couldn’t even be bothered to notice. “Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me anymore?”

“Loving you wasneverthe problem!” She finally met my eyes, her expression equal parts infuriated and anguished. “I’ve loved you for eleven years, Dom. I loved you so much I lost myself. Everything I did, everything I gave up and endured was foryou.The late nights, the missed dates, the canceled trips. I believed in you and wanted you to succeed, not because I cared about the money, but becauseyoudid. I thought one day, it would be enough, and you would be happy with what we had. But you’ll never be happy, and I’ll never be enough.”

A bitter laugh mixed with her sob. “Do you know that there were times when Iwishedyou had a mistress? At least then, I would have something concrete to fight. But I can’t fight what I can’t see, so I went to sleep every night in an empty bed, and I woke up every morning to an empty house. I faked my smiles for so long I couldn’t remember what a real one felt like, and I hate myself because despite all that, I couldn’t let go of what we once had.” Alessandra’s voice broke. “You’re right. I do still love you. A part of me always will. But you’re not the person I fell in love with anymore, and all this time that I’ve spent trying to pretend you are? It’s killing me.”

The room blurred, and a painful roar filled my ears as I dropped her arm.

I couldn’t draw enough oxygen into my lungs. Couldn’t think clearly. Couldn’tbreathe.

Throughout it all—the long weeks, the ignored calls, even the damn divorce papers—I’d thought we would make it. After all, perseverance had gotten me this far. The unwanted foster kid from Ohio turned king of Wall Street. The pauper turned billionaire. The unlovable turned husband.

But perseverance crumbled in the face of truth, and Alessandra’s truth smashed any excuses I might’ve had to smithereens. So I went with my own truth, the only one that had remained indisputable since the day she walked into my life.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” I didn’t recognize my voice. It was too raw, too laced with emotions I’d sworn I would never feel. “Even if I didn’t show it. It’s always been you.”

A fresh tear slid down her cheek. “I know.”

But it’s not enough.

I knew her well enough to hear the unspoken words, and if it was possible to die multiple deaths, I would’ve visited hell a thousandfold in that one moment.

“If you really loved me,” Alessandra whispered, “you would let me go. Please.”

Silence echoed, deep and mournful. There was nothing left to say.

A strange, watery film obstructed my vision, so I relied on muscle memory to navigate to the nightstand. Shards of glass wedged between my ribs with each step, but an icy numbness enveloped me as I opened the top drawer.

I retrieved a pen, slid a sheaf of documents out from the waiting manila envelope, and, after one last, agonizing heartbeat, I signed our divorce papers.

CHAPTER 15

Alessandra

IT WAS OFFICIAL. I WAS DIVORCED.

The papers went through exactly six weeks after Dominic signed them. Most divorces took three to six months in New York, but Cole managed to pull some strings and expedite the process.

I thought I would feel different. Lighter, freer,happier,but I only felt numb as I went through the motions of setting up my shop.

I’d had a lawyer look over the lease Aiden sent and it all looked good, so things had moved as quickly on that front as they had for my divorce.

“Ále.Ále!”

I startled at my name. The coffee I was pouring overflowed from its mug and spilled onto my temporary desk.

“Merda!” I cursed and scrambled to shove papers out of the way before they got soaked. My friends helped, though I suspected their tangible worry had less to do with ruined order sheets and more to do with me.

Isabella was drafting her next novel in the shop since the construction noise “helped her focus,” and Vivian and Sloane haddropped by on their lunch breaks. It was out of the way for both of them, but they’d been extra solicitous since the divorce.

“Here.” Vivian ripped a paper towel off a nearby roll and handed it to me so I could wipe the coffee off my skin. “Are you okay? Do you need ice?”

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