Forgiveness Isn't Free: James Davidson Returns

James POV

They called it a celebration, but it felt more like a coronation.

The Brooks estate was dressed to impress—gold-rimmed champagne flutes, orchestral strings humming behind a veil of curated laughter, and a guest list full of people who could buy and sell the lives of ordinary men. People like me, I thought, shifting in the stiff-backed chair nobody had wanted but someone had offered to the “plus-one.”

Rose stood near the grand staircase, radiant in a crimson gown that matched the hue of success. Her smile—brilliant, sharp—drew people in like light through a magnifying glass, and they basked in her glow, even if it burned a little. Tonight was her night. She deserved it. She’d closed the deal with Woodlord Global—something even her father had thought impossible. That alone was enough to make him throw a party in her honor. Not our anniversary, not our engagement—this.

The music swelled around him, but James wasn’t hearing any of it. Not really. All he could hear was the ticking of a clock from yesterday—the sound of time dragging itself over the coals of his disappointment.

Last night was supposed to be special.

Three years. Married.

Three years of trying. Of holding on, even when it hurt. He’d cooked her favorite lemon-butter chicken with herbed potatoes. It had taken hours. Not because he didn’t know what he was doing, but because he cared about every detail. The wine had been chilling since morning. The candles were arranged just right. The playlist was low and intimate, filled with the songs they used to slow-dance to in the kitchen before ambition took her hand and left him behind. The table was beautiful. But she never came.

Not at 7.

Not at 8.

Not even at 9, when he finally sat down, still holding onto some foolish hope that she’d walk in laughing, apologizing, telling him she lost track of time because she was trying to surprise him. But there was no surprise. Just silence. He waited until the candles melted into wax puddles. Until the food turned cold. Until his heart felt numb with the kind of loneliness only married people know.

Then almost midnight headlights flashed against the curtains. He stood quickly, hands wiping against his jeans, breath caught somewhere between anger and relief.

The door opened before he could reach for it. And there she was. Rose. Still stunning, still unreachable. Her lipstick was perfect, her heels clicking against the floor like punctuation marks to a sentence he wasn’t part of.

“You’re still up?” she said, brows lifting like he was the strange one. Like the husband who waited on their third anniversary was inconvenient.

“I cooked,” James said. “You didn’t even call.”

Rose blinked. Then shrugged off her coat, handing it to herself because the house had no butler.

“James, I had a meeting. The Woodlord team wanted dinner. This deal is important. I didn’t have time to babysit your feelings."

" What do you mean by babysitting my feelings"

" Today is our wedding anniversary , don't tell me you forgot ?"

Rose ignored him. She Walked into the kitchen. Looked at the untouched plates like they offended her.

“You actually did all this?” she asked, voice flat.

James just nodded.

She scoffed. “That's all you are good at"

" Cooking, cleaning while other men are out there, running a business to assist their wife "

" Don't talk to me like that" James replied with sharp tone mixed with hurt.

" Why"

" Isn't that true , The Woodlord Global CEO, isn't he your Mate but he owns a multi million dollars business"

" But all you could think of is wedding anniversary and you even did the cooking yourself, you couldn't even afford an expensive restaurant for it "

" You and you family know better why my business went bankrupt " He said with a sad voice

" oh please save that to yourself"

And that was it. No apology. No hug. No explanation.

Just a slammed bedroom door a few minutes later, while he cleaned the plates alone.

Now, at the party thrown in her honor, she laughed with her father, with her business partners, with everyone except him.

James stood near the edge of the ballroom, holding a flute of champagne he didn’t drink, a smile he didn’t mean, and a memory that wouldn’t leave him alone.

Happy third anniversary, he thought bitterly.

And no one said it back. No one talked to him.

No one even made eye contact unless they were lost and needed directions to the restroom.

He was her husband, sure. For three years . But in this room full of power suits and plastic smiles, he may as well have been the waiter who showed up by accident.

And then again he saw her. Rose.

In the center of the crowd, her crimson dress hugging every part of her like it was designed to break necks—and maybe hearts too.

But it wasn’t the dress that got to him. It was the way she leaned in toward the Woodlord Global CEO. Laughing like a schoolgirl. Tilting her head just right. Touching his arm for too long to be innocent.

James could tell she was putting on a show. Eyes wide, voice soft, smile sharp enough to cut steak.

She used to flirt like that with him. months back. Now she acted like he wasn’t even in the room.

Like he was the coat she’d taken off hours ago and forgot where she left it.

The CEO—mid-thirties, rich, important, the kind of man her father actually approved of—was eating it up. He smiled back, said something that made her laugh too loud.

He watched her touch the man’s tie, pretending to fix it. Something twisted in his stomach. She wasn’t drunk. She knew what she was doing.

And worse, she didn’t care who saw it. Not even her own husband.

He looked down at his glass.

He didn’t plan to walk over.

He told himself to stay out of it, to just ride the night out like he always did.

Smile. Sip. Swallow the silence.

But something in him snapped when she touched the CEO’s chest like that—soft fingers on his lapel, a look in her eyes that used to be his. He wasn’t looking for a scene. He just wanted... something. Recognition. A word. A glance. A reminder that he still meant anything to her.

So he crossed the floor. Every step felt heavier than the last. Like walking through water while the whole room watched and pretended they weren’t.

Rose saw him coming. He saw the flicker of something in her eyes—not surprise. Not guilt.

Annoyance.

“Rose,” James said quietly, offering the softest version of his voice. “Can we talk?”

She didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Didn’t even take her hand off the CEO’s shoulder.

“Can it wait?” she said, her voice sharp enough to sting. “We’re in the middle of something important.”

James forced a smile. “I just think maybe we should have a minute. As husband and wife.”

The CEO raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” he said casually, “I didn’t realize you were married.”

Before James could respond, a voice chimed in behind him—cold, smug, and familiar.

“James,” said Mr. Brooks, Rose’s father, appearing like a bad omen. “Is this really the time? This evening is for celebrating her, not for your little feelings.”

“I’m not trying to cause a scene,” James said calmly, trying to keep the heat out of his throat.

“I’m just asking for a moment with my wife.”

“i'm busy ,” Rose snapped. “And frankly, you’re embarrassing both of us.”

Both of us.

The words hit harder than they should’ve. Louder, somehow, than the band playing across the room.

Mrs. Brooks joined them then, champagne in hand, already frowning.

“James, go sit down,” she said like she was shooing off a stray dog. “You’re lucky we even invited you tonight.”

James looked at Rose. She didn’t defend him. She didn’t look at him at all. She just turned back to the CEO and laughed at something he said, as if James had never been there in the first place.

He stood frozen for a second longer, pride bleeding out like a slow leak. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.