I wanted to grab him by the collar and demand answers. Why? Why would you deceive me like this?
Was it really all because I'd handed Edna a glass of fruit wine?
Four years. Four years of agony—grief bleeding into worry, worry hardening into resignation. I'd made peace with spending the rest of my life by his side in celibacy. And all of it had been a joke.
I watched Damian stroll into the living room as if nothing in the world weighed on him. He pulled me into his arms and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
"Babe, that new technique you learned tonight—why don't we try it? Maybe it'll work this time."
My gaze locked onto his face, searching for even a flicker of guilt, a crack in the composure.
In the end, I clenched my jaw and nodded.
"Fine."
Later that night, Damian showered and stretched out on the bed, bare. I'd changed into what he requested—a scrap of fabric that belonged in a nightclub, not a bedroom.
He arched a brow and gestured for me to get on my hands and knees.
A cold smile tugged at my lips. I studied his expression, followed the line of his gaze—and finally saw it.
On the massive wedding portrait across from the bed, right where his eyes were in the photo, a faint pinprick of light.
It hit me all at once. That was why he'd been so willing to "try" all those times.
Before I could react, Damian grabbed my wrist and pulled me down.
The thought of who might be watching on the other side of that tiny camera—
A wave of nausea slammed into me. I gagged, and everything came up, splattering across Damian's chest.
He recoiled instantly, face twisted in disgust, shoving me away as he leapt off the bed.
"Serena! If you're that repulsed by me, just say so. You don't have to be this revolting about it."
"From tonight on, you sleep in the guest room. No need to force yourself anymore."
Before—the old me—I would have swallowed my pride, coaxed him back, and submitted to the humiliation all over again. Anything to keep trying.
Not this time.
I stood. Looked at him with eyes drained of everything. Said one word—"Fine"—and walked toward the door.
Damian froze.
Then a teacup exploded against the floor behind me.
"Serena! I knew it—you never really loved me. It's only been four years and you're already disgusted with me. Aren't you?"
I stopped mid-step. Turned slowly. The smile on my face was razor-thin and aimed at myself.
"Damian. Doesn't it disgust you?"