25. Chapter 21
X iomara
I wanted to tell Zasha how I feel the moment he walked back into this house, but things heated up too quickly, and now lying here alone, I find myself restless.
He said he wants to take me out for dinner, and the part of me that is apprehensive wants to delay telling him for as long as possible. However, the eager part wants to get it over with.
I step into the shower, allowing the warm water to wash over me, yet it does little to soothe the nerves tingling beneath my skin. I keep replaying our moments together, like scenes from a film I never want to end.
His arm around my waist in bed.
The sound of his laughter the first time I called him a brooding bear.
The time he got injured and allowed me tend to him.
When he gave me wildflowers and told me they were supposed to come first.
Every moment I’ve had with him is seared into my memory.
I dry off slowly, more careful with my hair than usual. I pick a simple dress, something soft and midnight blue. It clings where it should, but doesn’t scream for attention.
I want him to see me tonight. Not for how I look, but for who I am. Not as a Mafia princess, but the woman inside me that have loved him for so long.
My reflection in the mirror doesn’t look nervous. But inside? I’m buzzing more than a busy bee. I feel Lit up with something dangerously close to hope.
I wrap a shawl over my arms and step quietly into the hallway towards his office. The door is slightly ajar, and I hear him speaking.
"No," he says. Then his voice becomes clearer and sharper: "I can’t wait to end this sham of a marriage."
Everything inside me freezes.
“Look, I know you said I should be sure about this before speaking to her.” He sighs “And I am absolutely sure. She deserves to know that I am no longer interested in this arrangement.”
That’s all I need to hear. I don’t wait for the rest. My pulse drops, and my hands go cold as I walk away with my heart splintering with every step. I walk away quietly, one step after the other, even though I can barely see where I’m going.
The hallway blurs around me, and my vision sways and shakes, my tears refusing to stay where they belong.
His voice echoes in my head like a curse I can’t shake off: “I’m tired of this sham of a marriage and can’t wait to end it…”
I wonder who was on the phone and what they had said before. I just know what I hear, and I know I’ll never unhear it.
All of a sudden, I feel cold inside, and I find myself struggling for breath. My limbs feel like they’re wading through water.
I step into our bedroom—the one we’ve shared these last few months, the one where he kissed me breathless just hours ago.
My legs nearly give out, and I reach for the edge of the bed, gripping it like an anchor. My heart is pounding so violently I feel it everywhere—in my ribs, my throat, my ears.
Is this what heartbreak feels like?
It doesn’t feel like a metaphor. It feels literal, physical, and brutal. I sit down slowly, forcing the air back into my lungs.
All this time...
Has he only been enduring me? Sleeping with me for fun? Bidding his time till the one year is over? So, I’m nothing but a warm body to pass the time? An available lay? And I almost told him I loved him. Almost gave him the last weapon to use against me.
Boy, I’m I glad that I didn’t. Glad that I found out in time that I am nothing but a nuisance in his space. Nothing but a contract with an expiration date.
I squeeze my eyes shut, shame flooding every corner of me body.
I want to scrub the last few months from my body.
From my memory and from soul. But, I can’t.
Instead, I hurriedly gather up my things and move back to my old room.
The space still smells like me. I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands resting in my lap, trembling.
Every memory rushes back, a thousand scenes playing at once.
Zasha’s laugher, how he’d held me when I was grieving Luisa. The way he looks at me, like I meant something to him.
All of it is now tinted from the knowledge which I now possess. A part of me somehow regrets going to look for him, while the rational part is grateful, I did.
Because I would have remained in my blissful ignorance.
I stand up slowly, and peel off the dress I’d picked out to look beautiful for him. Next, I scrub off my makeup and take off my jewelry. I sit back on the bed and wrap my arms around my knees, resting my chin there, trying to keep the tears from falling.
“I will never beg to be loved.” I murmur fiercely, trying to steady my voice. “I will not chase after someone who apparently does not want to be caught.”
What’s the point in humiliating myself. He said he cannot wait to see the end of this marriage, right?
Well, I’ll make it easier for him.
While I am still trying to figure out how to face him without breaking down, I hear his voice calling out for me.
“Mara?”
There’s frustration and confusion in it, and also, a sliver of worry that would have once made my heart cheer.
But not now.
I sit perfectly still on the edge of the guest bed, my reflection in the mirror already halfway fixed. My hair is brushed, and my eyes a little less red. He is not going to get the satisfaction of seeing me broken.
“Mara!”
He tries the kitchen. The terrace. I hear the heavy footsteps down the hall, the hurried way he opens doors. His voice growing louder with every room he checks.
Still, I don’t move. I need these few minutes. I need the swelling in my throat to go down. I need to wipe away every last trace of the girl who almost confessed her heart.
Just as I am turning away from the mirror, the door swings open. He stops in the doorway like he’s been punched in the gut.
“Why are you in here?” he asks, his breath a little shallow. “You’re not dressed. I told you we’re going out.”
I turn slowly.
His eyes are searching mine for something—a joke, maybe. Some explanation that makes this make sense.
But I don’t offer him one.
I meet his gaze, calm and flat. “I’ve been trying to talk to you since you came back hours ago.”
Zasha steps farther into the room, slower now, as if he senses the emotional landmine he’s walked into. He stops a few feet away, his eyes fixed on mine. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s about to reach for me.
And then he does.
He reaches out, but I flinch. I cannot stand his fucking hands ever touching me again.
The nausea rises so quickly I have to summon all my will power to push it down. The thought of him touching me—of pretending that things are great between us, makes my stomach twist.
“I want out of this marriage.” I say with all the strength that I have left.
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t gasp, doesn’t even fucking blink.
The only sign that he’s heard me is the way his jaw tightens and his teeth clench so hard I can hear it.
I keep going. I need to say it all. I need to be clear.
“We agreed to a year, but I can’t do it anymore. I thought I could. But I don’t want to be in something that makes me feel like I’m being suffocated.”
My voice wavers, but I don’t let it break. I am going to stand tall and beat him at his own game.
“I want a divorce.”
He doesn’t move. He just stares at me, something unreadable darkening his eyes.
“Is that what you really want?”
I nod once, slow and tight. “Yes.”
He stares at me for what seem like forever, then he gives a single, curt nod. And without saying another word, he turns and walks out of the room.
As the door closes behind him, I collapse back on the bed, with my chest aching like I ripped something vital out of it.