13. Rae
RAE
The elevator doors slid open on the forty-third floor, and I stepped into the penthouse.
The smell hit me before I'd taken three steps.
Floral. Expensive. Unmistakable.
My stomach dropped so fast I had to put a hand on the wall to steady myself.
Adriana's perfume was everywhere, hanging in the air like she'd walked through the place half an hour ago.
It was the same scent I'd first noticed at the gala, sharp and cloying, the same one that had clung to my clothes all the way from Ruben's shop.
I'd driven forty minutes from Cibolo Heights thinking maybe I was wrong, maybe Adriana had been lying, maybe there was some explanation I couldn't see yet.
The perfume answered that.
I forced myself to move deeper into the penthouse, my pulse hammering in my throat.
Everything looked the same as it always did—clean lines, expensive furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over Austin.
The city lights glittered below like nothing was wrong, like my entire world wasn't cracking apart.
The living room lights were on. Nash sat on the couch with his laptop open on the coffee table, still in charcoal pants and a white shirt he'd probably worn all weekend.
His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, his tie discarded somewhere.
He looked up when he heard me, and I watched something flicker across his face. Surprise, maybe. Relief. Hope.
God, I wanted to throw something at him.
"Rae." He stood immediately, closing the laptop like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. His voice was careful, measured. "I didn't think you'd come."
I stopped at the edge of the living room, my arms wrapped tight around myself.
The perfume was stronger here, like Adriana had stood exactly where I was standing now.
My left hand found the bare place on my ring finger, pressing hard against the empty skin.
The habit was automatic, and I hated that I still reached for the ring even though I'd left it behind.
"Was Adriana here?" The question came out flat. Direct.
I wanted him to say no. I wanted him to laugh, to look confused, to tell me I was being ridiculous. I wanted him to ask what the hell Adriana had told me and then explain why it was all a lie.
He didn't.
Nash went very still. His jaw tightened, and I could see him weighing something, deciding how much truth to give me. The hesitation alone made my chest ache. Then he exhaled, slow and deliberate, and met my eyes.
"Yes."
That single word landed like a fist to the ribs.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears. He didn't even try to deny it. Didn't scramble for an excuse or ask what I meant or look remotely surprised. He just admitted it, calm and honest, like I'd asked him if he'd had lunch today.
"When?" My voice didn't sound like mine.
"Friday night." Nash took a step toward me, his hands open at his sides like he was trying to show me he had nothing to hide. "She came by after work. I told her to leave."
After work. On a Friday night, when I'd been at Enid's house trying not to fall apart, Adriana had been here. In this penthouse. With him.
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, tasting copper. "And before that?"
"She's been here for meetings." His tone was even, almost businesslike, like he was giving a status report to the board. "We've been working through the operational restructuring for the airline. You know that."
I did know that. I'd known it the whole time I'd been gone, every single day I'd spent at Enid's while he stayed here. I'd known Adriana had access to him in ways I didn't, that she got his time and his attention and his presence while I got excuses and silence.
But knowing it and standing here smelling her perfume in the air were two completely different things.
"How many times?" I asked. My fingers were still pressed against my ring finger, hard enough to hurt.
Nash hesitated. God, that hesitation told me everything. "I don't know exactly. Several times over the past week. She's my vice president of operations, Rae. We work together."
"You gave her hours." My hands were shaking now, trembling so badly I had to curl them into fists at my sides. "You gave her hours in this house, Nash. Hours you told me you didn't have."
"That's not—" He stopped himself mid-sentence. Looked at me for a long moment, something complicated moving behind his eyes. Then he started again, quieter. "You're right."
The admission knocked the air out of my lungs.
I wasn't expecting that. I'd braced myself for arguments, for justifications, for him to tell me I was being unreasonable or that I didn't understand the pressure he was under. I'd been ready for a fight.
Instead, he just agreed with me.
"She was here on the Wednesday." The words tumbled out before I could think them through. I needed to know. "Wasn't she?"
Nash frowned slightly, like he was trying to place the day. "I think so, yeah. We had a working dinner that night to go over the fleet maintenance schedules. Why?"
A working dinner. On the Wednesday, I'd been here. I'd made the coffee, carried it out on a tray, sat on the sofa while Adriana worked at that dining table with him. Wearing her expensive perfume and leaving it in the air for him to breathe after she'd gone.
My chest felt like it was collapsing inward, ribs pressing against my lungs until I couldn't get a full breath. I touched my ring finger again, rubbing the bare skin like I could make the ghost of the band reappear.
"You talk to her," I said. My throat was so tight the words barely made it out.
"You tell her things. You give her your time, your attention, your—" I stopped, swallowing hard against the pressure building behind my eyes.
"You chose the airline over me every single time it mattered, and she was right there every single time you did. "
"Yes." The word was quiet. Almost too quiet, like he was afraid of how it would sound at full volume. Nash stood there, his shoulders tight, his hands still open at his sides like he wanted to reach for me but didn't dare. "I did. You're right. I chose wrong."
No excuses. No explanations about quarterly reports or board meetings or operational emergencies. Just the truth, laid out between us like something sharp and cutting.
I stared at him. Part of me had wanted this honesty for months, had begged for him to just admit what we both knew. But hearing it now, standing in a penthouse that smelled like another woman, it didn't feel like victory. It felt like the ground opening up beneath my feet.
"I'm sorry." Nash's voice cracked on the second word, rough and raw in a way I'd almost never heard from him.
"God, Rae, I'm so sorry. I know I haven't been the husband you needed.
I know I put the airline first and I left you alone and I made you feel like you didn't matter to me.
You're right about all of it. I was wrong. "
He took another step toward me, closing the distance between us. I could feel the space shrinking, could see the exhaustion carved into the lines around his eyes and the set of his mouth. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Part of me was glad.
"I want to fix this," Nash said, and the urgency in his voice made something twist in my chest. "Whatever it takes, Rae. I'll step back from operations. I'll delegate more to Elias. I'll set boundaries with the executive team, including Adriana. Just tell me what you need. Please. I'll do it."
My pulse kicked up, heat flooding through me even though I didn't want it to. He was asking for forgiveness. For another chance. Like we could just rewind the past three months and start over if he promised to try harder, if he swore things would be different.
Like his promises still meant something.
He didn't get it. He didn't understand that we were already past the point where trying harder would fix anything.
Nash reached for me then. It was such a small gesture, so automatic I don't think he even realized he was doing it. His hand came up toward my face, fingers lifting to brush my cheek the way they had a thousand times before—gentle and familiar and unbearable.
I stepped back before he could make contact.
His hand froze in the empty air between us, hovering there for half a second like he couldn't quite process what had just happened. Then he dropped it slowly back to his side. The look on his face made my throat go tight.
"Don't," I said. The word came out sharper than I'd meant it to, edged with something that might have been panic.
My skin was burning where he'd almost touched me, my whole body lit up and buzzing like a live wire.
I hated it. I hated that I could still feel that pull toward him even now, even knowing what I knew. "Don't do that."
Something in Nash's expression shifted. Broke, maybe. The exhaustion in his face gave way to something rawer, more desperate. He looked at me like I'd just driven a blade between his ribs and he couldn't figure out why it hurt so much. "Rae?—"
"I want a divorce."
The sentence came out quiet. Flat. Matter-of-fact, like I was telling him what I'd had for breakfast. But the words hung in the air between us, heavy and final.
I watched them land. Watched Nash go completely still, his whole body locking up like he'd been struck.
"What?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
"A divorce." I repeated it because I needed to, because saying it once wasn't enough to make it real. My hands were shaking again, trembling so badly I shoved them into the pockets of my jacket before he could see. "I can't do this anymore, Nash. I can't keep waiting for you to choose me."
"No." He shook his head, the movement almost violent. "No, Rae, don't do this. We can fix this. I know I screwed up, I know I hurt you, but we can work through it. We can?—"
"We can't." I cut him off before he could finish, before he could say something that would make this harder than it already was. My chest ached like something had torn open inside it. "It's too late. I'm done."
"You don't mean that." Nash took another step toward me, his hands coming up like he wanted to grab my shoulders, to hold me in place until I listened.
But he stopped himself, let his arms drop.
"You're angry. You have every right to be angry.
But we've been together for seven years, Rae. That has to count for something."
It did count for something. It counted for seven years of coming second to the airline, seven years of eating dinner alone, seven years of being the wife he forgot about the second he walked into his office.
It counted for all the nights I'd waited up for him and all the mornings I'd woken up alone and all the times I'd told myself it would get better if I just held on a little longer.
And it counted for nothing at all.
"I'm not angry," I said, and it was the truth. I wasn't. Anger would have been easier, cleaner. What I felt was something deeper and darker and so much worse. "I'm just done."
The words came out flat, empty. I watched Nash hear them, watched him realize I wasn't bluffing or trying to scare him into changing.
I'd already made up my mind before I walked through the elevator doors, before I'd driven forty minutes from Cibolo Heights, maybe even before Adriana had told me about the shirt.
The fight went out of him all at once. His shoulders sagged, his jaw unclenched, and he just stood there in the middle of his pristine living room looking completely lost.
He looked like I'd just shot him.
I turned away before I could change my mind and headed for the elevator.
My legs felt shaky and uncertain, like they might give out if I stopped moving, but I made them carry me.
One step. Then another. I could feel Nash behind me, could feel his stare on my back like a physical weight, but he didn't follow. Didn't call after me or try to stop me.
Maybe he finally understood there was nothing left to say.
The elevator doors opened when I pressed the button. I stepped inside and jabbed at the button for the ground floor, my hand trembling so badly I almost missed it. The doors started to slide shut, smooth and mechanical.
At the last second, I looked up.
Nash stood in the middle of the penthouse, backlit by the warm living room lights, his hands hanging useless at his sides. He looked wrecked. Gutted. Like he'd just watched his entire world collapse and couldn't figure out how to stop it.
The doors closed on his face.
I made it to the parking garage before the tears came.
They hit me all at once, a wave of grief so overwhelming my knees almost buckled under the weight of it. I fumbled for my car, got the door open, collapsed into the driver's seat. And then I broke.
The sobs tore out of me like something dying, ragged and desperate and utterly unstoppable. I pressed my hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it didn't help. My whole body shook with it, trembling so hard I had to brace myself against the steering wheel to stay upright.
Seven years. Seven years of marriage, of trying to be enough, of waiting for him to see me the way he saw the airline. Seven years, and it had all come down to this—to Adriana's perfume hanging in the air and Nash's honest answers and the look on his face when I'd asked for a divorce.
God, it hurt. It hurt so much I couldn't breathe around it, couldn't think past the sharp, cutting pain that had taken up residence in my chest and refused to let go.
I sat there in the driver's seat, my forehead pressed against the steering wheel, and cried until there was nothing left inside me but emptiness.