Neglected by My Husband (Her Marriage in Crisis #120)

Prologue

Rowan

Three Years Before

The champagne tastes like regret.

I’m standing at the edge of my parents’ living room, watching my little brother spin the beautiful woman I’ve worked with for two years across the makeshift dance floor, and I’m trying very hard not to throw my glass through the window.

Elise is laughing. That real laugh, the one that crinkles the corners of her eyes and makes her whole face light up. She used to laugh like that in my office, back when she was my assistant and I was too fucking stupid to do anything about the way she made me feel.

Simon dips her, clumsy and showboating, and she shrieks and grabs his shoulders. Everyone claps. My mother is practically glowing, clutching my father’s arm, already talking about grandchildren loud enough for half the room to hear.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Mom says to someone nearby. “Simon’s finally settling down. And she seems… nice enough.”

Nice enough.

That’s what my mother thinks of Elise. Nice enough. Like she’s a participation trophy Simon picked up, not the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.

I drain my champagne and grab another from a passing tray.

My cousin Thatcher appears at my elbow, eyebrows raised. “Easy there. Open bar doesn’t mean you have to test the limits.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re glaring at the happy couple like you want to commit fratricide.”

“I’m not glaring.”

“Rowan.” Thatcher lowers his voice. “Everyone can see it.”

My stomach drops. “See what?”

“The way you look at her. When she worked for you.” He shrugs at my expression. “It wasn’t exactly subtle. The coffee you brought her every morning? Come on, man.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The lie tastes worse than the champagne.

Thatcher gives me a look that says he’s not buying it, but he lets it drop. “Well, whatever it was, it’s done now. She’s marrying Simon. Time to move on.”

He drifts away, and I’m left alone with my drink and the growing certainty that I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.

***

She was twenty-four when she walked into my office for her interview.

I remember everything about that day. The way her blonde hair caught the light from the windows. The blue of her eyes when she met mine without flinching. The absolute refusal to be intimidated by me, even though I was deliberately being an asshole to test her.

“Your resume says you’re organized,” I’d said, barely glancing at the paper in my hands. “Everyone says they’re organized. What makes you different?”

She’d smiled, and something in my chest had shifted.

“I color-code everything,” she said. “I know that sounds neurotic, but it works. Give me a week with your filing system and you’ll never lose a document again.”

“A week is generous. Most assistants don’t last a month.”

“Then most assistants aren’t me.”

She got the job. Obviously. And for two years, she was the best part of my day.

I noticed everything about her. The way she hummed under her breath when she was concentrating.

The way she rolled her eyes when I was being unreasonable, not caring that I was her boss.

The way she stayed late without being asked, not because she was trying to impress me, but because she genuinely cared about doing good work.

And yes, I noticed the crush.

It was subtle at first. A flush when I leaned over her desk to look at something. A catch in her breath when our hands brushed. The way her eyes would linger on me a beat too long before she looked away.

I noticed, and I did nothing.

Because I was Rowan Maine, the man who didn’t do relationships. The man who took women to expensive restaurants and never called them back. The man who’d convinced himself that commitment was a trap and freedom was the only thing worth having.

I watched her crush die. Watched her build a wall between us, professional and cool, and I told myself it was better this way. She deserved someone who could give her what she wanted. Someone who wouldn’t eventually disappoint her.

Then Simon started sniffing around.

My little brother, who’d never worked for anything in his life.

Who borrowed money he never paid back and made promises he never kept.

Simon, who spotted Elise at the company Christmas party I’d stupidly let him crash, and decided he wanted her the way he wanted everything, relentlessly, selfishly, until she gave in.

I told myself the twist in my chest was protective. Brotherly concern. She deserved better than Simon, but it wasn’t my place to say so.

I let her go without a fight.

And now she’s wearing his ring, and laughing at his jokes, and I’m standing in the corner of my parents’ living room understanding for the first time what it really means to want something you can’t have.

***

“Rowan!”

Simon’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He’s waving me over to where he and Elise are standing near the cake table, surrounded by well-wishers.

I consider pretending I didn’t hear him. But Elise is looking at me too, and I can’t refuse her anything, even now.

I make my way through the crowd, champagne in hand, fixing a smile on my face.

“There he is.” Simon claps me on the shoulder, too hard to be friendly. There’s something in his eyes. Has there always been something there? Competition, maybe. The eternal need to prove he’s not living in my shadow. “I was just telling everyone how you introduced us.”

“Technically, you introduced yourself,” I say. “At the Christmas party. I believe your opening line was ‘you’re too pretty to be my brother’s assistant.’”

Elise laughs, but there’s an edge to it I haven’t heard before. “He was very persistent.”

“I knew what I wanted.” Simon slides his arm around her waist, and I have to look away. “When you see the one, you go after her. Right, bro?”

The one.

He’s calling her the one, like he has any idea what that means.

“Right,” I manage.

“Speech time!” someone yells, and suddenly there’s a microphone being pressed into my hand, and everyone’s looking at me expectantly, and Simon is grinning like this is the best night of his life.

I look at Elise. She’s watching me with an expression I can’t read.

“To my brother,” I say, raising my glass. The words feel like glass in my throat. “And his beautiful bride-to-be. May you have all the happiness you deserve.”

Everyone cheers. Simon kisses Elise. I drink until my glass is empty.

Later, when the crowd has thinned and the night is winding down, I find myself alone on the back patio. The air is cool, and I’m probably drunker than I should be, and I’m trying very hard not to think about anything at all.

The door opens behind me.

“Hey.”

Her voice. I’d know it anywhere.

“Hey yourself.” I don’t turn around. “Shouldn’t you be inside with your fiancé?”

“He’s doing shots with his college buddies.” She comes to stand beside me, close enough that I can smell her perfume. Something floral and warm that makes my chest ache. “I needed some air.”

“Big night.”

“Yeah.”

We stand in silence. The moon is full, casting silver light across the garden.

I want to say something. I want to tell her the truth, that I’ve spent two years falling for her, that watching her with Simon is killing me, that if she asked me to give her a reason to walk away, I’d give her a thousand.

But she doesn’t ask.

And I don’t volunteer.

Because I’m a coward, and I’ve convinced myself that letting her go is the noble thing to do. That stepping aside for my brother is the right choice. That she’s better off with someone who isn’t terrified of his own feelings.

“I should get back inside,” she finally says. “Simon will be looking for me.”

“Yeah. You should.”

She lingers for a moment, like she’s waiting for something. Then her shoulders drop slightly, and she turns to go.

“Elise.”

She stops. Looks back.

I want to tell her everything. I want to close the distance between us and kiss her and damn the consequences.

Instead I say: “Congratulations. Simon’s a lucky guy.”

Something flickers across her face, disappointment maybe, or resignation, before she smooths it away.

“Thanks,” she says quietly. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

She goes back inside.

I stay on the patio until I’m sure I can look at her without breaking.

She was the one who got away.

And I let it happen.