Chapter 33
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
JULIE
I pull into the garage at seven thirty and make my way up into the kitchen silent.
Asher’s car isn’t in the garage so I already know he isn’t here.
Devon’s Mercedes is there, but she could still be out with him, so I’m not sure if she's around or not.
I set my purse on the counter and stand there for a moment, letting the silence settle around me.
I stopped at Thai Palace on the way home and picked up pad thai, green curry, and spring rolls. It's sitting in bags on the counter, the smell of lemongrass and coconut filling the kitchen. I set out plates and grab napkins, my mind still spinning from Ryan's house.
My hands are shaking slightly as I unpack the containers.
I set them on the table, trying to look calm.
Trying to look like nothing is wrong. Like I didn't spend the last few hours at another man's house processing my crumbling marriage.
After the conversation Ryan and I had on his couch earlier, I'm sure of one thing.
My husband is a fucking liar and a master manipulator.
Just. Like. Dear. Old. Dad.
I need a plan. I don't know what it is yet, but I know I need to prepare.
And until then, I need to tread water and act normal.
Like I'm not planning my escape route. Even though I am.
I need to find an attorney. Someone who specializes in estate law, contracts, maybe even family law.
I need to know what happens to Dean's gift now that he's dead. What are my options when I leave?
I hear the garage door open. Asher's car pulls in, the engine cutting off a moment later. The door from the garage opens, and I hear him coming up the stairs before he steps into the kitchen. Devon is behind him. So they were clearly together this entire time. Cue my absolute lack of surprise.
Asher looks me over. “Hey,” he says.
"Hello."
Devon scuttles past, making a noise of greeting as she does. I lift my chin in answer. Bitch.
Asher sets his keys on the counter and glances at the Thai bags. “Takeout?”
He has the nerve to sound annoyed. Asshole. Did he imagine I came home and went full Julia Child after the way he fucked me over earlier? "Yep. Best I could do. I stopped on the way home," I say, keeping my voice light. “Plus, I was in the mood for Thai.”
He shrugs. “Sure, I guess.” There's a pause, and then he steps closer. "Can we talk for a second?"
I turn to face him, my arms crossed. "About?"
He runs a hand through his hair. "About today. I know you weren't expecting it, but it was the only way.”
I study him. His expression is apologetic, but I see through it now. Or at the very least, I know he can lie without blinking. So to me, this expression reads false. Like he's been practicing this in his head. Maybe he practiced on Devon in the car. Fuck, he probably did.
“I see. So, the only way was to purposely ambush me," I say evenly. "Then you sat there and let that therapist blame me for everything while you and Devon nodded along."
"That's not what happened."
"That's exactly what happened, Asher. Don’t insult my intelligence."
He exhales. "Dr. Reeves was just trying to get everyone's perspective. She wasn't blaming you."
I laugh, but there's no humor in it. “She suggested I get individual therapy several times per week to manage my stress. She made it sound like I'm the problem."
"You're not the problem," he says hollowly. "Nobody thinks that."
"Devon does. Dr. Reeves does. And you sat there and said nothing, which means you do, too."
He looks away, but I swear, he looks like he wants to agree.
"I didn't know what to say."
"You could have said something. Anything. You could have told her that this has been hard on both of us. That we're all adjusting. But you didn't. You just sat there. Apparently after you’d met with the doctor— a woman I’ve never met— and told her that I have abandonment issues. I think that was an interesting choice on your part. I’m wondering what to do with that and how to move forward with a husband who shares my personal history with strangers I don’t know. ”
He looks panicked, suddenly. Like he’s wondering if he went too far. "No. Fuck. That’s not… Fuck, babe. I'm sorry." His voice is quiet. "I should have said something. You're right."
I wait, but he doesn't say anything else. No explanation. No promise to do better. Just a hollow as hell apology. I’m fucking over his shitty apologies.
If I never hear another, it will be too soon.
Unfortunately, I can’t say that right now.
So I do what I have to do to close the book on this day. “Okay.”
"Are you mad?" he asks.
I am burn-the-fucking-world-down mad, but I need to buy time.
I know I do. So I consider lying. Telling him I'm fine, that it's water under the bridge. But I'm too tired for that. And more than that, I’m tired of this asshole thinking he’s winning. Because it’s clear to me now, after what happened today, that he absolutely thinks he's got the upper hand.
"I'm not thrilled," I say. "But I'm an adult. I'll get over it."
He looks relieved. Like that's all he needed to hear. "Cool. I don't want things to be weird between us."
Things are already weird and about to get much weirder, actually. But I’m through trying to talk to this man. "Cool," I say instead, echoing his word back to him. Fucking idiot.
He steps closer and kisses my cheek. "Thank you. For being understanding."
“Okay.”
Asher pours himself a glass of water and sits down. "Should I get Devon?"
"No need. I'd bet money she's on her way back down."
As if on cue, I hear footsteps on the stairs. Devon appears in the doorway a moment later, wearing leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. She's delicate in a way I'm not—blonde like me but softer somehow, more fragile. High cheekbones, a pointed chin, eyes that look impossibly young and wounded.
She looks even younger without makeup, and infinitely more breakable.
I’d like to slap the shit out of her and watch her crumble.
When she sees me, her eyes do a quick sweep—assessing, calculating.
Like she's reading the room, reading me.
Then her expression shifts into something softer, more vulnerable. Still playing the little victim.
“Hi,” she says softly, like she’s scared I’ll lose it and smack her.
This girl could benefit from some acting lessons to switch things up, because once you realize it’s all a performance, it’s impossible not to see all the tells.
"Eat up," I say.
"Thanks, Julie." She sits down across from Asher and picks up her fork. "This looks really good."
"Thai Palace. Quick stop on the way home."
"Still. I appreciate it."
Sure she does. I sit down at the head of the table and pick up my fork.
The pad thai tastes good, but I barely register it.
My mind is elsewhere. Asher and Devon start talking about the ice cream shop they went to.
I tune them out. He laughs at something she says, and she smiles at him like he just handed her the moon.
I eat in silence, watching them. The way they lean toward each other. The way Devon's eyes light up when he speaks. Like she's the only person in the room. In a way, she is. Because he sure as hell doesn't see me. And what I see of him, I don’t like.
"Julie?" Asher's voice pulls me back. "You okay?"
"Yeah, but I’m super tired."
"You should go to bed early tonight," Devon says. Her tone is sweet, concerned. "You've had a long couple of days."
I meet her eyes across the table. She's smiling, but there's something sharp underneath it. Something that says, I know exactly what I'm doing.
I smile back, just as sharp. Fuck her.
“You know what? You've got a point. I'm exhausted," I say.
Exhausted of both of their bullshit, for starters. We finish dinner in relative silence. Asher clears the plates while I load the dishwasher. Devon lingers at the table, scrolling through her phone.
"I'm going to head upstairs," I say when the kitchen is clean. "Goodnight."
"Night," Asher says. He's already pulling out his laptop, settling in at the kitchen table.
Devon glances up from her phone. "Sleep well."
It take all of my self-control not to roll my eyes as I turn and walk upstairs. In the bedroom, I close the door and sit on the edge of the bed. My phone is in my hand before I even realize I've picked it up. I open a new email and start typing.
Estate attorney. Contract law. Family law. Dean's gift. Five-year condition. What happens now that he's dead? Can I contest? What are my options?
I stare at the words for a long moment. Then I add one more line.
Contact Gregory Hale.
I send the email to an address Asher doesn’t know about and then delete it from the sent mail in the one that he does.
Ever since the incident that happened when we went away and an order disappeared, I’ve been a lot more cautious.
I kept telling myself I was being paranoid.
I don’t think that anymore. In fact, I’ve changed my passwords twice since then.
Downstairs, I hear Asher laugh at something Devon said.
The sound drifts up, faint but unmistakable.
They’re having a lovely time. I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling.
I’m done being the woman left at anniversary dinners and ambushed in therapy sessions.
I’m over watching him be completely absorbed by Devon's neediness while I disappear.
This is over.