Playing with Fire: A Standalone Dark Romance

Chapter Sixty-four

“Divorce papers!?” I roar, the glass in my hand shattering against the wall, “She wants a divorce!?”

Fuck, it feels like I’m having a damn heart attack. I rub at my sternum as if it can help with the pain there, but nothing helps. No amount of alcohol numbs it, the gym doesn’t help, sparring with the guys just angers me more.

The only time it dulled to a bearable pain was when I ripped them all apart. I was frenzied when I killed Stefan, remembering the way her blood looked on my hands because of him. It wasn’t quick. I literally took him apart, piece by piece to the chorus of his screams. I made the other two watch.

But then it was over, and the pain began anew. I haven’t slept. I’ve barely eaten a thing.

She doesn’t want to see me and while she was in the hospital, I didn’t respect those wishes. I went every day to beg her to listen, but she never did. I tried to get her to come home with me and she refused. I would have dragged her regardless of her wishes if she wasn’t still recovering.

She doesn’t answer my calls. My texts.

She doesn’t talk to me at all.

And now she wants a divorce.

No. Absolutely fucking not.

It would have been impossible for me to give her one before but now I’ve changed all the rules for the organization, signed them off with the approval of the council that divorce is a possibility now. But still, she isn’t getting one from me and I’ll block every opportunity for her to get one.

We are not over.

She is mine.

My kitten. My little brat. My fucking wife.

“She’s hurting, Kai,” Sebastian says softly, Killian and Dean watching, “She doesn’t mean it.”

I scoff. She does. It’s Olivia, and if anything, that woman is honest to a fault. She thinks I wouldn’t choose her, but I would. I’d give it all up if that’s what she wanted.

That fucking stupid bet didn’t mean anything, I never would have taken the money and Sebastian knows that too. He never even brought it up again after the event because he knew then too. He knew Olivia was more to me.

That she was it.

But why can’t she see that?

Why won’t she let me take care of her? She’s hurting and I am not there.

“I’m going over there.”

“Malakai, that’s probably not the best idea.” Killian winces.

“Do I look like I give a fuck, Kill?” I bark at him, “I need to see her.”

“It’s late.” He tries. He’s right on that, it’s almost two in the morning but it doesn’t stop me.

I grab the keys to the Maserati and storm to the garage, getting in the driver’s seat. They don’t join me, and they don’t try to stop me as I peel out of the garage and speed down the drive, the gates barely open by the time I’m barreling through them.

My head is only filled with images of her, her smile and her laugh, her body and the way she sounds when she falls apart. I see her sleeping and dreaming, can picture vividly how she looks when she’s playing with me. I see her in that red dress and her wedding dress, how she looks when she watches the stars.

Her name is a prayer I repeat inside my head.

The drive passes in a blur and then I’m pulling into the garage beneath Willow’s apartment building, parking up and crossing the lot to the elevators to take me up to the penthouse. I know the code thanks to Willow, but she only gave it to me for emergencies and made me promise I wouldn’t just show up like I’m doing right now.

It feels like ages pass by the time I reach the very top floor, the doors opening to the foyer of the penthouse. Brightly colored art hangs on the wall and beyond this hall, the lights are off. The sound of my shoe’s echoes on the tile beneath my feet and the hall then opens into a large open plan living room and kitchen space, windows on either side looking out onto the sleeping city below. There’s a lamp on in the living room and from this angle, I can only just see the dark head of hair resting on the couch pillows.

I move toward it, toward that sleeping body, inherently knowing it’s her.

She sleeps soundly, her lashes fluttering against the apples of her cheeks and seeing her soothes something deep within me. It makes the pain in my chest just a little bit more bearable.

She looks a hundred times better than when I last saw her, her skin now brighter, her hair washed and shiny.

A sigh leaves my lips as I slowly and carefully take a seat on the coffee table ahead of her, letting my eyes scan her completely. She’s in a pair of sleep shorts, the blanket she had been using now half on the floor, showing the gauze wrapped around her thigh. The markings on her ankles and wrists have almost faded but I can still see the extensive bruising at the very top and bottom edges of the bandage.

I’d lost my shit when I’d first seen it back in the hospital what feels like weeks ago now when in fact, it’s only been a few days. And logically I knew the bruising was normal considering the trauma but seeing it on her, seeing her beautiful skin marked like that – I wanted to kill Stefan all over again.

Unable to stop the craving, the temptation to touch her, I reach forward, letting my fingers trail over her warm cheek, the whisper of her skin against mine like a song for my soul.

She stirs beneath my touch, moving toward it when I start to bring my hand away. Even in sleep she knows my touch, even in sleep she needs me like I need her. I can’t breathe without her.

My hand remains still, not quite touching as her lashes begin to flutter.

“Olivia,” I rasp her name. There hasn’t been much time since I last saw her, a couple of days at most but fuck it feels longer. I fucking miss her.

She blinks a few times, sleep still clinging to her before those stunning dark eyes land on me.

And then she bolts up and cries out at the same time, her hand going to her leg as pain contorts her face.

“Fuck!” I jump, lunging for her. “What can I do?”

“What are you doing here!?” She screams, one hand cradling her injured thigh, the other trying to push up from the couch to get away.

“I needed to see you,” I follow her, ready to aid her in anyway as she hobbles away, physically trying to put space between us, “I miss you, kitten.”

“Get out!” Tears fall from her eyes, but I don’t know if it’s the pain or if it’s me but seeing her cry rips me apart inside.

“Olivia, please,” I speak through the burn in my throat. “What can I do?”

She shakes her head rapidly, breaths coming in hard, rough pants.

“You want me on my knees, kitten?” My voice shakes, “You want me to beg? I will for you. You want the world? Let me give it to you, but please, I need you. I need you to come home.”

She clutches the side as she continues to cry, stifling her sobs even when those tears continue to fall.

“I know you feel it too,” I tell her, “I know you need me just as much. It’s us, Olivia. You’re my wife.”

“I – I can’t d – do this.” She stutters.

“There is no end for us, Olivia. I won’t allow it.”

Anger twists her face, “Get out!” She bellows, her rage, something I’ve never witnessed before. Not like this. Not this raw, sharp fury that even whips warnings through me.

“I’ll prove it to you,” I say calmly, even as I step away, giving her the space she needs in this minute, “I’ll prove to you that it’s only you, Olivia. That bet? It was a fucking stupid game that started before we were even married. It meant nothing.”

Her anger simmers in her eyes, the heat of it heightened by the sudden quiet tears that now fall. There’s no more sobbing, no heaving breaths, just this quiet simmering rage.

At me.

“I will always choose you, Olivia.” I vow. “You might not see it right now, but I will always choose you.”