Chapter 3 #2
The doorman greeted me with a nod as I entered the building, the familiar click of my shoes echoing on the marble floors of the lobby.
I took the elevator up to the top floor, the city spreading out below me through the glass walls, but tonight the view didn’t bring me its usual sense of satisfaction.
When I stepped inside the penthouse, the silence hit me like a wall.
Beth wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen, where she usually greeted me.
The lights were low, casting the sleek furniture in a dim, moody glow.
I shrugged off my jacket and tossed it over a chair, loosening my tie as I made my way down the hall to the bedroom.
The door was slightly ajar, spilling soft light into the hallway.
I pushed it open and found her sitting on the edge of the bed, still wearing the robe from last night, her back to me.
Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and from this angle, she looked smaller, more fragile than I was used to seeing her.
For a moment, something unfamiliar stirred inside me, something almost like guilt. I shook it off and approached.
“Beth?” I said softly, not wanting to startle her. She didn’t move for a long beat, and then her head turned just slightly in my direction.
“I’m here,” she replied, her voice quiet, but with an edge I couldn’t quite place.
I stepped closer, sitting beside her on the bed, careful not to touch her just yet. “It’s been a long day,” I said, hoping to ease into the conversation.
She gave a small, humorless laugh. “I bet.”
The tension between us was thick. I knew I had to say something to break it, to move past this. “I’m sorry about last night,” I offered, knowing it was the quickest way to get her to drop it.
Beth didn’t respond right away, her fingers twisting the hem of her robe as she stared straight ahead. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, but the coldness in it was unmistakable. “Sorry you got caught, or sorry you hurt me?”
My brow furrowed at the sharpness of her words. “Beth, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just?—“
“You just didn’t think it was a big deal,” she interrupted, turning to face me fully now. There was fire in her eyes, a spark I hadn’t seen before. “That’s the problem, Chris. You never do. Besides, there were pictures. We’re in the tabloids.”
I frowned, feeling my patience wearing thin. I had dealt with worse press than this. It wasn’t the end of the world. “I’ve already talked to my team about it. It’s handled. The story will blow over in a day or two. It’s not that big of a deal.”
She stared at me, the disbelief evident on her face. “It’s not just about the pictures or the tabloids, Chris. It’s the fact that you still don’t get it.”
I leaned back on my elbows, trying to keep my tone measured. “I do get it. I just think you’re blowing this out of proportion.”
Beth’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. “I’m blowing it out of proportion because you made me look like an afterthought in front of people who were supposed to see me as your partner.”
I felt my irritation rising, the familiar feeling of being unfairly accused settling in my chest. I hated it.
I had always taken care of her, given her everything she needed and more.
But sometimes it felt like she wanted more than I could give, more than anyone could give.
I was running an empire, and that kind of pressure didn’t leave much room for the little things she wanted from me, at least not all the time.
“Beth, we’ve been over this. What I’m doing, what we’re doing, it’s not easy. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made.” My tone was firmer now, my frustration slipping through despite my efforts to keep it in check. “I did what I had to do last night. You have to understand that.”
Her eyes flashed with something like pain, but it quickly turned to anger. “I’m your wife, Chris. Not some inconvenience you shove aside when you need to close a deal.”
“I’ve never treated you like an inconvenience,” I shot back, my voice rising slightly. “But you knew what you were getting into when you married me. This life is demanding. It doesn’t leave room for hurt feelings over things that are out of my control.”
She stood abruptly, the silk of her robe swishing around her legs as she paced toward the window.
I followed her with my eyes, watching as she stared out at the city skyline.
“You always make it sound like I should be grateful just for being here,” she said, her voice tight, holding back something stronger.
“You should be,” I said, not meaning for it to come out as harshly as it did.
But the truth was, I was growing tired of this argument, tired of feeling like I couldn’t make her happy no matter what I did.
I had built this life for us, for her, and sometimes it felt like it wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t enough. And that pissed me off.
Beth turned around, her arms crossed over her chest. “That’s what this always comes down to, isn’t it? Money and what you’ve given me.”
I stood, unable to stay seated any longer, my body thrumming with tension.
“What else is there, Beth?” I demanded, gesturing around the room at the penthouse, at the view.
“We live this life because of the work I do, the decisions I make. That’s how I keep everything intact.
And yet you’re still mad because I missed your speech. ”
She shook her head, her eyes glossy but holding back tears. “This isn’t about the money. It’s never been about that. It’s about respect, Chris. It’s about you acting like I don’t matter as much as your deals.”
I clenched my fists, the frustration bubbling up, hard and fast. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Everything I do is for us, for our future. I don’t deserve to be treated like I don’t care when I’ve done nothing but give you the world.”
She let out a sharp laugh, the sound cutting through the room. “I never asked for the world, Chris. I asked for you. And lately, you’re not even giving me that.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I refused to let her see how much they stung. I walked over to her, my voice low but steady. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”
Beth looked up at me, her expression hard and unreadable. “Are you? Because I’m not sure you know what it means to actually be here with me.”
Before I could say anything else, she brushed past me, grabbing a small box off the nightstand, and tossed it toward the bed.
I stared at the box for a moment before realizing what it was.
Jewelry, the kind I’d bought her countless times after arguments like this.
The kind I thought would smooth things over.
“I don’t need any more gifts,” she said, her voice trembling now. “I don’t need to be bought off, Chris. I need a husband who sees me as more than just part of his image.”
The box landed on the bed, soft on the duvet, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should, a tangible rejection of my apology.
I stood there, staring at the velvet square, unsure of what to say, my throat tight with words that wouldn’t come.
It was as if she had just shut a door between us that I didn’t know how to reopen, the small black box now representing a chasm widening between us with each passing second of silence.
“I’m trying, Beth,” I muttered, not sure if the words were enough this time. “Just give me some time.”
She didn’t look back at me, her hand on the bedroom door, pushing it open with deliberate slowness.
“You’ve had time.” The words hung in the air like icicles, sharp and unforgiving.
And with that, she walked out, her silk robe whispering against the doorframe as she passed, leaving me standing alone in the room.
The velvet box on the bed seemed to mock me, a failed peace offering between us, the divide suddenly feeling a lot wider than it ever had before, stretching across the pristine white sheets like a chasm I couldn’t cross.