Chapter 2
I hadn’t even waited thirty minutes before I heard the front door slam like a thunderclap.
Julian was home. And he was out of breath.
But when he saw me sitting there on the couch, perfectly fine, his expression darkened.
“What the hell is going on? Are you okay? Do we need to go to the ER?” He came toward me, hand raised like he was going to check my temperature.
I smiled. God, I actually smiled.
“Relax. I poured red wine on the floor. Figured that was the only way you’d come home.”
His face turned to stone.
“You’re fucking insane.”
I pressed my lips together and didn’t say a word.
He was already tired of me. I could see it in the way his eyes skimmed past mine, like he was already halfway out the door.
Used to be, he’d get flustered and guilty. Now? Everything about me bored him. Even my sadness was a nuisance.
He turned to leave, but something on the wall stopped him. The drooping anniversary banner.
His eyes flicked to it, and a flicker of recognition passed over his face.
“Today’s… our fifth anniversary?”
I stood, walked to the banner still clinging to the wall by one last sad piece of tape, and ripped it down.
It reminded me of our marriage—held up by nothing but desperation and bad glue.
“It was yesterday,” I corrected, eyes drifting to the clock.
Julian blinked. “I’ve just been slammed with work. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get you something.”
I stepped closer. His suit reeked of scotch and expensive perfume.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice light, fake. “Busy night.”
He caught the tone. His eyes narrowed.
“It’s called business. I drink at events, I meet people. You don’t have to be so paranoid all the time.”
Then came the knife: “Jesus, Isla. Look in the mirror. You’ve turned into a bitter fucking housewife.”
I thought my heart was numb already. Turns out it wasn’t.
Julian Carter—the golden boy of the Carter family. The man nobody said no to. And he wanted me to believe someone made him drink?
Whatever.
I didn’t feel like arguing. Lately, every conversation ended in a fight anyway.
I glanced up. The countdown glowed above my head.
[Time left: 2 days, 11 hours, 47 minutes, 53 seconds]
None of it mattered anymore.
I softened my voice. “Julian, can’t you just… stay with me tonight? That’s all I want.”
He hesitated. Something in him cracked. His hand dropped from the doorknob.
In bed, I curled against him. His arms came around me out of habit, but his fingers brushed my ribs and paused.
“Why are you so damn skinny?”
That was the thing. Men only notice when they’ve had someone else to compare you to.
I remembered that video. Her curves. The way his hands roamed her like she was a feast.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“My stomach’s been off lately. Haven’t eaten much.”
His tone turned cold. “Didn’t I fix that before? I thought we got that handled.”
I hesitated. “You haven’t made me anything in a long time.”
Back when we were newlyweds, Julian used to cook me herbal recipes and tell me he’d looked them up for my health. It was sweet, at the time. Thoughtful.
Now? That part of him was long dead.
He knew it, too. And he hated being reminded.
“There’s painkillers in the cabinet,” he muttered. “Take some and stop being dramatic.”
I nodded. “I wasn’t trying to guilt-trip you.”
Maybe that quiet answer surprised him. Maybe my sudden obedience stirred something.
His hand slipped under the blanket, tracing along my waist.
My whole body tensed.
“Julian… not tonight. I’m not feeling great.”
His fingers stilled. He didn’t argue. Just pulled me in, whispered low:
“Sleep.”
But I couldn’t. I lay there, my chest aching, eyes burning.
Then I said it:
“You still owe me a honeymoon. Remember? Let’s go. Now.”
He froze. Then frowned. “It’s the middle of the damn night. Can’t this wait?”
“You always say that,” I whispered. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”
He looked at me, something in his face cracking again. Maybe he thought it was one of those moments. One of those final chance things.
He sighed. “Alright. We’ll go.”
The System buzzed in my skull.
[Host, he doesn’t love you. You can’t win him with your body.]
I ignored it.
I had two days left.
Let me pretend a little longer.
