The first betrayal was small.
Almost forgivable.
Almost.
A text message she didn't delete.
A name she didn't mention.
A door she left open.
And when I found out, I had to decide whether to break her or break myself.
---
The first betrayal happened on a Thursday.
Rain was falling – the kind of rain that soaked through clothes and seeped into bones and made the city feel like it was drowning. I'd been gone for three days. Business, I'd said. Something in Asia that couldn't wait. Something about markets shifting and competitors circling and bodies that needed burying.
I hadn't asked her to come.
I hadn't asked her to stay.
I'd just... left.
And Christabel had spent three days alone in my penthouse, drinking tea that went cold, watching rain streak down the windows, wondering when her life had become something she didn't recognize.
---
I didn't know about the message when I came home.
I didn't know about the name.
I didn't know about the door she'd left open.
All I knew was that something was different. The air was heavier. The silence was louder. She was sitting on the couch, staring at the city lights, and she didn't turn when I walked in.
"Christabel."
She didn't answer.
"Christabel."
"I heard you."
"Then look at me."
She turned.
Her eyes were tired. Dark circles. Red rims. The kind of tired that came from crying when no one was watching.
"Welcome home," she said.
"I missed you."
"I missed you too."
"Did you?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"Of course I did."
I studied her face. Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones.
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"You're lying, Christabel."
---
I should have let it go.
Should have kissed her. Taken her to bed. Pretended I didn't notice the distance in her eyes.
But I couldn't.
Because I knew her now. I knew the way she breathed when she was scared. The way she held herself when she was hiding something. The way her hands trembled just slightly when she was lying.
She was lying.
"Where's your phone?" I asked.
"Why?"
"Give it to me."
"Damien—"
"Give. It. To. Me."
---
She didn't move.
I walked to the couch. Knelt in front of her. Took her hands.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"I know."
"Then give me the phone."
She was quiet for a long moment. The rain fell against the windows. The city hummed below us.
"It doesn't mean anything," she said.
"Then show me."
She pulled out her phone.
Unlocked it.
Handed it to me.
---
The message was from a number I didn't recognize.
Hey. Long time. Saw you're with him now. You okay?
It had been sent three days ago. The day I left.
She hadn't deleted it.
She hadn't responded.
But she hadn't deleted it.
"Who is this?" I asked.
"A ghost."
"A ghost with a name."
She looked at me.
"Liam."
---
The name hit me like a bullet.
Liam. The man she'd been seeing before me. The nice one. The safe one. The one who asked about her day and brought her flowers and probably would have married her if I hadn't come along.
"You've been talking to him?"
"I haven't been talking to him. He texted me. I didn't respond."
"You didn't delete it."
"I didn't think about it."
"You didn't think about it?"
"Damien—"
"You didn't think about deleting a message from your ex-boyfriend? The one who wanted to marry you? The one you almost chose over me?"
Her face went pale.
"I didn't choose him. I chose you."
"Then why is his name still in your phone?"
---
She stood.
Walked to the window.
Pressed her palm against the glass.
"Because I'm not you," she said. "I don't erase people. I don't pretend the past didn't happen. I don't burn everything down just because I'm scared."
"I'm not scared."
"Yes, you are." She turned to face me. "You're terrified. Not of losing me. Of losing control. Of losing the one thing you've never been able to buy."
"You're not a thing."
"Then stop treating me like one."
---
The words hung in the air.
I stood.
Walked to her.
Stood in front of her.
"I'm not treating you like a thing. I'm treating you like mine."
"Same thing."
"Different intention."
She looked at me.
Her eyes were wet.
"I didn't respond to him. I didn't encourage him. I didn't do anything wrong."
"Then why does it feel like you did?"
"Because you're looking for a reason to push me away."
---
I stared at her.
"You think I want to push you away?"
"I think you're afraid of what happens if you don't. I think you're afraid of needing me. I think you're afraid of loving me."
"I already love you."
"Then act like it."
---
She walked past me.
Back to the couch.
Sat down.
Pulled her knees to her chest.
"I'm not going to apologize for not deleting a text message," she said. "I'm not going to apologize for having a past. I'm not going to apologize for being a person."
I sat beside her.
"You're not a person. You're everything."
"Same thing."
"Different intention."
---
She almost smiled.
Almost.
"I'm not leaving you, Damien."
"I know."
"I'm not choosing him."
"I know."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Then why does it feel like you're already gone?"
She was quiet for a long moment.
The rain fell against the windows.
The city hummed below us.
"Because I'm scared too," she said finally. "I'm scared of needing you. I'm scared of loving you. I'm scared of waking up one day and realizing that I've lost myself completely."
"You haven't lost yourself."
"Then where am I?"
I took her hand.
"Right here. With me. Where you belong."
---
She leaned her head on my shoulder.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For not deleting the message. For making you worry. For being human."
"You don't have to apologize."
"I know." She looked up at me. "But I am anyway."
"Then I forgive you."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
---
I kissed her forehead.
"I love you."
"I know."
"I love you so much it terrifies me."
"Good." She closed her eyes. "It should."
---
We stayed on the couch until the rain stopped.
Then we went to bed.
Not to make love.
To hold each other.
"I'm not going to delete the message," she said.
"I know."
"I'm not going to pretend he doesn't exist."
"I know."
"But I'm also not going to respond."
"I know."
"How do you know?"
I looked at her.
"Because you're here. With me. Where you belong."
---
She didn't delete the message.
I knew because I checked.
Not because I didn't trust her.
Because I didn't trust myself.
And that, I was learning, was the real problem.
Not her past.
Not her ex.
Me.
First Line of Chapter 10 (9 teaser):
"The pact was simple. No rules. No lines. No going back. We made it with our bodies before we made it with our words. And when we sealed it, I knew there was no escaping her. Not that I wanted to. Not anymore."