My Ex-Wife Will Kneel Before Me

The Divorce

Chapter 2

Ryan sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His mouth tasted like ash and regret, and his memory of the previous night was full of gaps he was not sure he wanted to fill.

The woman was awake now. She sat against the headboard with her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped loosely around them, watching him with an expression that was hard to name. Not angry. Not embarrassed. Something closer to resignation.

Ryan swallowed hard and turned to face her.

"Look... I don't know exactly what happened last night. But whatever it was, I take full responsibility." His voice was rough, still heavy from the whiskey. "You can ask me for anything. Anything at all. I'll make it right."

She studied him for a long moment. Her eyes were dark and still, like deep water.

"You don't even know my name," she observed quietly.

"No. I don't." He dropped his gaze. "And I'm sorry for that."

"Olivia." Her tone was flat, almost clinical. "Olivia Sinclair."

"Ryan Mitchell."

"I know who you are." She tilted her head slightly. "You told me plenty last night. About your wife. About the test results. About how you wanted to burn the Palmer family to the ground."

Ryan winced. "I was drunk."

"You were honest." Her voice softened just a fraction. "There's a difference."

He rubbed the back of his neck, his face burning with shame. "Why did you bring me here? You don't know me. You had no reason to help."

Olivia looked away toward the window. The morning light caught the shadows under her eyes, and for the first time, Ryan noticed how tired she looked. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix. The kind that came from years of carrying something heavy and invisible.

"Because I understand what it feels like to be lied to by someone you trusted with your whole heart," she whispered.

Ryan looked up. "Someone hurt you too?"

"Twenty years." Her voice was barely audible. "I believed in someone for twenty years, and every single day of it was a performance. He never loved me. He loved what I could give him."

The room went quiet. The only sound was the faint hum of traffic from far below.

Ryan wanted to say something, but the weight of her words pressed down on him like a physical thing. Two strangers sitting in a sunlit room, both of them broken by the people they had loved the most.

"I was going to send you home in a cab last night and forget the whole thing," she continued, her gaze still fixed on the window. "But when you started crying in my car, talking about your kids, about how you changed everything about yourself just to be good enough for her... I couldn't do it."

Her jaw tightened.

"Nobody should have to carry that kind of pain alone."

Ryan stared at her. "Olivia..."

"Don't." She held up one hand, and her voice turned sharp. "Don't make this into something it isn't. Last night was a mistake born out of two miserable people crossing paths at the worst possible time. That's all."

He nodded slowly. "Fair enough."

"Now go home and deal with your wife." She swung her legs off the bed and stood, pulling a silk robe over her shoulders. "Whatever you decide to do about your marriage, do it sober and do it fast. The longer you wait, the more power she holds over you."

"You sound like you've been through this before."

"I told you. Twenty years." She walked toward the bathroom door. "Don't waste a decade the way I did."

Ryan stood and began gathering his clothes from the chair. His shirt was wrinkled and his belt was coiled on the nightstand. As he reached for his jacket, he noticed something on the bed.

A small red flower. Delicate. Unmistakable.

His entire body went still.

He turned to stare at the bathroom door, his mouth slightly open, and the realization hit him like a freight train. She had been a virgin. This woman, this beautiful, wealthy, powerful woman who had silenced an entire bar with a hundred thousand dollar check, had never been with anyone before last night.

And he had been too drunk to even remember it.

His hands trembled as he picked up the flower and held it in his palm. Something twisted inside his chest. Guilt. Awe. Something deeper that he did not have a name for yet.

How is that possible? Twenty years she loved someone, and she never once...

The bathroom door opened and Olivia stepped out, her hair damp, her face washed clean. She caught him staring at the flower in his hand and her expression flickered with something vulnerable before it hardened again.

"Don't read into it," she warned.

"Olivia, I..."

"I don't need your pity, Ryan. And I don't need your guilt." She crossed her arms. "What happened, happened. I made my choice."

"At least let me give you my number. In case you ever need..."

"No." The word came out firm but not cruel. "Handle your life first. If fate wants us to cross paths again, it will."

He opened his mouth to argue, but the look in her eyes told him it was pointless. She had already made her decision, and this was not a woman who changed her mind easily.

He looked at her face one last time. The sharp cheekbones. The dark eyes that held twenty years of unspoken sadness. The way her lips pressed together like she was holding back something she would never let herself say.

He memorized every detail. Burned it into his mind like a photograph he would never lose.

Then he nodded, slipped his jacket on, and walked toward the front door.

"Ryan."

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

"For what it's worth," Olivia murmured, "I hope you destroy her."

A bitter smile crossed his face. He opened the door and stepped into the hallway without looking back.

The elevator carried him down to the lobby, and by the time he stepped into the morning air, his grief had hardened into something cold and sharp.

No more tears. No more begging. Jessica Palmer made her bed, and now she's going to lie in it.

He memorized Olivia's face and departed, determined to cut his losses and immediately divorce his cheating wife.