Chapter Fifty-Three
Liam
I turn my head the second Angelo walks into Rhys’s home. “How did it go?”
“Satisfying. Dragged them out like little rats.” Angelo rolls his enormous shoulders. “They all squealed, but…” He flexes his arms.
“They didn’t try to do anything, did they? Get violent or…?”
“Nope. They looked like lost dogs. But that’s mean to dogs because they’re cute.
” He thinks for a second. “Actually, more like…tapeworms. Like, if you could grab hold of a tapeworm and start pulling it out of someone’s ass?
It’d be covered in shit, and it would wiggle and try to crawl back up into—”
Rhys looks pained. “That’s enough, Angelo. I’m not going to be able to eat tonight. Ugh.” He puts his head in his hand.
As graphic as Angelo’s description is, it’s a relief to know everything went well.
Hugh, Deena and Brielle wouldn’t have been able to do anything against Angelo and the people he handpicked to back my wife up.
I knew she would confront Hugh’s family soon after leaving the hospital, so I quietly arranged for security for her just in case.
Part of me wanted to be there, badly, to lend her my strength and presence. However, she’s said repeatedly that isn’t what she wants.
Even her texts made it clear she doesn’t want me.
She wants the crystallized ginger. She has food cravings.
I asked Frederich to make more ginger and sent oranges to the hospital so she could have them, asking them not to tell her they’re from me because that would seem manipulative and pressure-inducing.
Hey, look at all the things I’m doing for you—don’t you feel guilty for not picking me forever?
That isn’t what I want.
It kills me to stay away, but I won’t appear in front of her and force a decision.
She’s emotionally vulnerable with the pregnancy and the aftermath of the pool attack.
She’s probably also high from finally kicking out Hugh and company from her mother’s house and cutting off their access to her mother’s fortune.
Probably not totally rational at the moment.
Besides, I’m terrified she’ll serve me with divorce papers. She honestly doesn’t need me anymore. I walked out like it could make a difference, but even though I’ve decided on all or nothing, I can’t bear to cut our marital ties.
It isn’t Olivia’s fault that I thought I could change her mind when she told me multiple times that our marriage wasn’t about feelings, she didn’t want to keep me, and nothing mattered but getting justice for her mother. I’m just a piece that happened to be necessary for her plan.
It’s better this way—to end things before she starts to begrudge my presence in her life. At least now there’s a possibility she’ll still care about our baby, and we might become friends at some point. I might even stop hurting eventually.
But accepting that in my head doesn’t stop my heart from bleeding.