Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
JADE
Devon's hands won't stop shaking.
He's been home for twenty minutes, sitting across from me at the kitchen table. He tells me everything—meeting Mila at the coffee shop, her face when he called her bluff, the way her voice changed when she realized he was actually leaving.
I’m still pissed he went to see her behind my back, but I understand why. He feels responsible for this, so he’s on the edge.
We both are.
"She said she didn't know what the point was anymore," he says, and his voice catches. "Without me. Without—whatever she thought we had."
What they had? God, I know she’s not doing well mentally, but jeez…it’s so strange hearing her say things like that about Devon. My husband.
My stomach churns. We're dealing with someone who has untethered herself from reality.
“So, you called the police?"
"Officer Gray. She's sending someone to check on her." Devon drags a hand down his face. "I don't know if it was real or if she was manipulating me, Jade. I genuinely can't tell anymore."
I reach across the table and take his hands in mine. I barely recognize this version of him—the confident personal trainer who could charm anyone has been stripped down to nerves and guilt.
"You did everything right," I assure him. "You met her in public and recorded everything. Then, you walked away."
"But if she hurts herself—"
"That's not on you." The words come out firmer than I expect. "She's been harassing us for weeks. She's been following me, sending threats, and trying to destroy my career. If she's struggling, she needs professional help. Not you.”
Something is niggling away at me, and I can’t help but voice it.
“What if she’s just playing the mental health card? What if…” My words fade as I frown. I feel bad for saying what I do, but I have a feeling I’m right. “What if she’s just fucking nasty, Devon?”
Devon stares at our joined hands.
"I keep thinking about high school," he whispers. "About all the times she smiled at you in front of me, and I never saw what was underneath. How could I have been so blind? You said she’s always been nasty to you.”
He’s right to ask this. I’ve asked myself the same thing a thousand times—how Devon never noticed the way Mila's eyes would narrow when he turned away, the whispered comments invisible to everyone but me.
"She was good at hiding it," I reply. "And you wanted to believe people were kind."
"That's not an excuse."
"No. But it's an explanation." I squeeze his fingers. "We can't change what happened then. We can only deal with what's happening now."
“But it makes your theory more plausible, doesn’t it? Mila pretends to be struggling mentally, but in reality…”
“She’s just nasty. Evil. Yup, it’s got my vote.”
I know the risks of what I’m saying. If Mila hurts herself…the guilt will never go away.
Devon lifts his gaze to mine. His blue eyes are bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion, but he lifts my hands to his lips as he says—
"I meant what I said to her. Every word. I love you, Jade. I will always love you. I fucked up by kissing her. But I’m owning that.”
The declaration should make me feel better. And it does, in some ways—hearing my husband say those words with such conviction does ease my pain from his actions.
I pull my hands back and reach for my coffee mug, wrapping my fingers around its warmth.
"What happens now?" I ask. "With the restraining order, with her job at the gym—"
"I don't know. Gray said to document everything. HR is reviewing her contract." He exhales slowly. "But I don't think a piece of paper is going to stop her, Jade. Not if she's really—"
"Then we stay ready." I set down the mug. "We keep our phones charged, and we vary our routines. We don't go anywhere alone if we can help it."
Devon nods, but he looks like he’s holding the weight of this house on his back. The guilt that won't let go.
"This isn't your fault," I say again.
"Isn't it?" His voice is rough. "I kissed her. I gave her an opening. If I had never—"
"Stop." I stand, moving around the table until I'm beside him. "You made a mistake. One mistake. And you've been paying for it every single day since. But Mila's actions are her own. Her obsession, her threats, her choice to escalate—that's on her. Not you."
Devon looks up at me, his expression crumbling at the edges.
"I don't deserve you."
"Probably not." A small smile tugs at my lips despite everything. "But you're stuck with me, anyway."
He reaches for my waist, pulling me closer until I'm standing between his knees. His forehead presses against my stomach, and I feel his exhausted exhale through the fabric of my shirt.
I run my fingers through his hair, feeling the tension in his scalp.
"I'm scared," I admit. The words come out small, almost childlike. "Of what she'll do next. Of whether this will ever really be over."
Devon's arms tighten around me. "We'll get through it."
"I know." I pause, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "But that's not the only thing I'm scared of."
He tilts his head back to look at me. "What else?"
The confession rises in my throat like bile. I've been carrying it for so long—this secret shame that predates Mila, predates New York, predates everything.
"I feel like you don’t want a family with me,” I whisper. "Even now. Even after everything you've said."
"Jade—"
“I know it is irrational—”
I can't finish. The tears are coming now, hot and messy, and I hate myself for falling apart again. For being this weak and insecure.
Just like Mila said I was.
Devon stands, pulling me against his chest. His hand cradles the back of my head, his lips pressing against my temple.
"Listen to me," he demands, his voice low and fierce. "You are the strongest person I have ever known."
"Devon—"
"No. Let me finish." He pulls back enough to cup my face in both hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"We've been through hell these past weeks.
Mila has thrown everything she has at us—the lies, the harassment, the public humiliation.
And you're still standing. You're still fighting.
You went into that coffee shop and took her apart piece by piece. "
I blink through my tears. "That was different—"
"It wasn't different. It was you. The real you. Not the version you see when you look in the mirror." His thumbs wipe at my wet cheeks. "You see flaws. I see the woman who walked into my birthday party in that blue shirt and made every other girl disappear."
A hiccup escapes me, half-sob, half-laugh. "That was eighteen years ago."
"And I'd fall in love with you all over again today." His forehead presses against mine. “I want a family with you. I want everything with you. And if you never believe another word I say, believe that."
I want to argue. I want to list every reason he's wrong, every failure and disappointment. But his eyes are so sincere, so desperate for me to understand, that the fight drains out of me.
"Okay," I whisper.
"Okay?"
"I'm trying." I take a shaky breath. "To believe you. To believe I'm enough. It's... it's hard, Devon. It's been hard my whole life."
"I know." He kisses my forehead. "And I'll keep reminding you. Every day. Until you don't need me to anymore."
We stand there in our kitchen, wrapped around each other. My body aches from exhaustion. My eyes burn from crying. But underneath all of it, something eases in my stomach.
"Whatever comes next," I say against his chest, “we’ll deal with it.”
Devon's arms tighten around me.
"Always."
Outside, the neighbor's kids are shrieking with laughter, their voices drifting through the open window. Normal sounds from a normal world—one that feels very far away right now.
But we're building our own world. Here, in this kitchen, with a restraining order on the table.
It's not the life I imagined at eighteen.
But it's ours.
And I'm not letting go.