Where the Wrong Love Died

If I hadn't discovered the truth, I would have thrown a fit right now out of sheer spite. I would have clung to him, demanding he carry me, rubbing my scent all over him.

Now, when I noticed the wariness in Julian's eyes, I just wiped my face and turned away calmly. "Let's go."

Julian was clearly taken aback.

The ride back to the estate was silent. He was busy texting someone, while I scrolled through the wedding dress photos my father had sent me.

Just then, he suddenly said, "Stop the car."

I turned my head in confusion. He smoothly tucked his phone away and said curtly, "There's an emergency. I need to go to the South Side. Miss, you can walk back from here."

It was pouring rain in Chicago, around four or five in the morning. The desolate industrial road was empty. I opened my mouth to refuse, but Julian had already opened the car door and pushed me out.

The alcohol hit my nerves like a train at that moment. Unsteady on my feet, I slipped and plunged into the muddy water like a drowned rat.

"Julian!" I screamed in fury. But he didn't even spare me a glance. Instead, he simply ordered the driver to go.

And so, the car sped off into the storm, splashing a fresh wave of dirty water all over me. I was left alone in the downpour, utterly abandoned. There were no cars to call, as none would pass through here in this weather. I ended up walking three miles in the rain to get home.

…

When I finally reached the estate, the lights were still on. Flora was lounging comfortably on the sofa in her lavish, custom-made pajamas, a new cashmere shawl draped over her.

It was a shawl from the most famous tailor on the South Side, a man so exclusive he never delivered—pickup only.

Julian stood beside her, every glance he cast her way burning with restrained emotion.

"Anya, you're back!" Flora put down her wine glass and looped her arm through mine with practiced warmth. "Julian just picked up my shawl for me. Come see, isn't it beautiful?"

"Don't touch me." I pulled my arm back, stepping away in disgust.

She blinked, startled by my vehemence. Her eyes immediately reddened as she looked helplessly at Julian. "Julian... did I do something wrong?"

A flicker of heartache crossed Julian's gaze, which was then replaced by barely disguised loathing as he looked at me. Flora looked pleased, her own expression turning coy as she glanced at him. "Julian, I'm a little cold. Can you carry me to my room?"

The moment she made that request, I saw his Adam's apple bob twice. Sure enough, his eyes behind the non-prescription glasses darkened.

He swept her into his arms and carried her upstairs in a few quick strides, even remembering to turn off the living room lights as he went. I stood there, dripping, swallowed by the darkness.

…

A long time later, a bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. I drifted back to my room, a ghost in my own home.