NOT YOURS TO LOSE, EX-HUSBAND

Roxanne's POV

"Roxanne, how long does she have to wait?" Reese asks, sauntering into the kitchen where I am bent over the stove, still in my dinner dress, my hair tied up in a knot.

It is past midnight now. My body wails for sleep.

"Roxanne? I'm talking to you."

I turn around, the cooking spoon trembling in my hand. "She asked for wild rice with feta-stuffed bell peppers, along with grilled lamb chops, and fresh mint sauce. That takes over an hour."

"You've been at it for almost two hours," Reese shoots back, then stops. "Don't tell me you are intentionally taking your time just to spite Camilla. She is..."

"Sick! I know!" My voice cracks. "It's all I've heard since she got here. She is pretending, and you are not seeing it."

"There we go again." My husband rolls his eyes and grabs his keys from the kitchen island. "You are just so caught up in your jealousy that you are refusing to see past it."

"Reese..." I cross the space, my hands laying on his chest, pleading. But my skin burns when he steps back, letting my hands fall uselessly.

"Camilla has been my friend for more than twenty years. We grew together and know basically everything about each other. Should I have turned her away when she called for help?"

"That is not what I am saying, Reese." My voice drops as I cross the space to place my hands on his chest. But he steps back in that moment, allowing them to fall limply to my side.

"So, what are you saying? That you will intentionally sabotage her meal even when you know it's what she really needs right now?"

I feel like I'm running insane. Am I doing something wrong? Am I the cruel one here?

"I am in the kitchen, aren't I?" My whisper borders on frustration mixed with the need to be heard. "Honey..."

He sighs, his voice laden with false devotion. "I am just so worried about her, Roxanne. She used to be so healthy and now... I can't leave her like this. I have to do everything that I can to ensure she's better, and she needs to know that she is loved. Can you just do that for me?"

"Okay," I breathe. "I'll take the food to her. It's almost ready."

"Great. I am going to get some drugs from the pharmacy nearby. I shouldn't be long, but just in case I am, keep Camilla company while she eats. She doesn't like doing that alone."

I let the complaint die on my tongue and nod instead, watching as my husband walks out. Moving mechanically, I get the dishes ready, having to take them up the stairs one after the other since she has insisted on eating in the bedroom.

Reaching her door, I knock at first, waiting for her help because my hands are all full carrying two huge trays. When she doesn't answer, I bend, using my chin to twist the handle.

Just as the door pushes open, one of the trays topples from my hand, and the lamb chops fall to the floor in a clatter. My hands still shake from the weight of the tray.

Camilla looks up from the bed, where she's scrolling through her phone. She doesn't even look sick. She looks hungry instead. Her perfume is sweet and thick, and it finds its way to my mouth, cloting.

"You can't even do this right," she sneers. "Look at all the mess you made. There's mint sauce everywhere. And do you know how expensive it is to make this food? Or you just waste the ingredients because you have them in the pantry?"

I swallow the pain. If I apologize, she'll eat me next.

"Camilla!" I am really trying to understand here. I am. "I have been in the kitchen for almost two hours, slaving away just to satisfy your demands, and this is what you say?"

She rises from the bed slowly, looking at me like I'm delusional. Her smile cuts, as sharp as glass.

"Did you expect me to hand you an applause or something? I know Reese pays for every single thing in this house, including those clothes you have on. And you weren't even with him when this all started, when he worked out his ass to be where he is today."

I shake my head, desperate. "The Beaumont Enterprise is only what it is right now because of me. Reese cannot deny how helpful I have been in growing his business."

Her laughter slices through me, thin and raw. It strikes me in the chest so hard that I rock in my steps.

"What good has ever come out of you?" She rises from the bed and takes a step in my direction. "Roxanne, you seem to forget that you cannot even carry a baby in your womb. How on earth do you want to..."

Her words carve deeper than any blade and suddenly, the only thing I see is red.

I don't know how it happens, but my hands fly fast in the air, landing on her face. Camilla shrieks like a teenager and grabs the plate on the other tray, flinging it straight at my stomach.

It hits me. Hard.

The tray drops from my hand, just as the pain starts to fill the entirety of my being.

"Serves you right," she whispers, kicking me on the same spot. My hands try to protect my frame, but they end up getting hurt as well. "Next time, know your place and be the nice little wife that you are."

I gasp, agony choking me.

Just then, I hear Reese coming up the stairs at the same time as Camilla. She pushes away from me and plops back on the bed, suddenly screaming. Reese starts running, pushing the door open and almost hitting me in the process.

"Roxanne!" He comes to my side, where I writhe. "What happened to you?"

"It hurts," I wail, holding on tight to my stomach. "It hurts terribly."

"She's pretending!" Camilla moans, her fingers on her temples. "Reese, your wife hates me, and I don't know what else to do to get her to like me."

Reese gets on his feet, rushing over to her side. "What happened? Is your migraine back?"

"Roxanne tried poisoning me." She presses her head against his chest. "I don't know what she made, but it tasted awful. And now, I feel funny."

"Shit!" He turns to me. "Roxanne, you promised!"

I don't remember promising anything, but does that even matter now?

"I need to get you to the hospital," he murmurs, picking Camilla off the bed. "You should clean this up before we get back, Roxanne. And pray that nothing fundamental has happened to her because of what you cooked."

I can barely hear a word my husband says as the pain threatens to pull me under, but I surely hear his footsteps down the stairs, Camilla in his arms.