Reclaiming His Wife

Chapter Four: The Confrontation

Mark’s sharp gaze locked onto Jessica’s retreating back, his expression a cocktail of disbelief, confusion, and a simmering anger he didn’t yet understand. For a long, charged moment, he stood frozen, as though trying to assess whether her words were a misfire—a joke that had gone too far. But Jessica didn’t flinch. She didn’t smile. She just kept packing.

He moved toward her, each step deliberate. “What do you mean you’re leaving me?” he demanded, his voice low but urgent. “You want a divorce? Since when? Are you unhappy with our marriage? Help me understand where this is coming from, Jess.”

His hand raked through his thick, dark hair—something he only did when he was cornered. He looked like a man watching the foundations of a skyscraper crumble beneath him. And then, his expression darkened. His eyes narrowed, sharp and suspicious.

“Is there someone else?” he asked suddenly, his voice slicing through the tension like a blade. “Are you cheating on me, Jessica?”

Jessica spun around, and to his surprise, laughed. It wasn’t joyful. It was bitter, sardonic, sharp enough to wound.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she snapped. “Me? Cheating?” She shook her head, scoffing. “If either of us was going to cheat, it would be you.”

Mark’s face went rigid. His jaw ticked. She saw the flicker of something—shock?—before it was buried under a mask of cold, practiced indifference.

“We both knew this was a business arrangement,” Jessica continued. “We weren’t sleeping together, sure—but don’t act like we were celibate. Just because you kept it out of public view doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

His eyes turned glacial. “What are you talking about? Why would I cheat on you?”

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say you cheated. I said if anyone was going to, it’d be you.”

Mark drew in a sharp breath, tamping down the urge to lash out. This wasn’t like their usual bickering. This was different. Deeper. Rawer.

He exhaled. “Fine. We’ll circle back to whatever that was later. But why are you leaving? I need a real answer, Jess.”

Her voice came out flat. “I feel like this marriage has run its course. It’s time I moved on.”

“Why?” he asked again, more forcefully this time. The edge in his voice made her flinch. But she didn’t back down.

“I’m tired, Mark,” she said. “I’ve had a long day. A long few years, actually. I just want to finish packing and check into a hotel before it gets too late.”

He was on her in a flash. Not roughly, but with purpose—hands braced on either side of the wall behind her, his tall frame effectively caging her in.

“This is your home,” he said, his voice low, almost growling. “You don’t need a hotel, and you don’t have to drive yourself. Take the Bentley. Or one of the drivers. You know that.”

Jessica could feel the heat of him, smell the faint notes of his cologne. Her body betrayed her, reacting to his nearness even as her mind screamed for space.

She placed both hands on his chest, meaning to push him away—but for a second too long, her hands lingered. He was solid, warm, real. She hated that part of her still responded to him. Finally, she ducked under his arm and broke free.

“I need to change,” she said tightly, snatching clothes from the dresser. She disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind her with a soft click that echoed in the silence.

Mark stared after her, bewildered. Something was wrong. Very wrong. And it wasn’t just about tonight. He could feel it like an ache beneath his skin.

By the time Jessica emerged—makeup gone, hair down, dressed in yoga pants and a loose sweater—he had made himself comfortable on the settee, scotch in hand, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie tossed carelessly aside. He looked relaxed. But he was anything but.

“I’m still waiting for an explanation,” he said coolly, taking a sip. “We had a deal. Five years. We’re not done. I deserve to know why you’re pulling the plug early.”

He looked every inch the unbothered billionaire—refined, composed, emotionally impervious. It made her sick.

Jessica’s throat tightened. He looked so together. Like none of this mattered to him. Like she didn’t matter.

Instead of answering, she walked to the tall arched window across the room and stared out at the manicured estate. The tennis court. The maze gardens. The pools glowing soft blue under the moonlight. So much wealth. So much emptiness.

To a girl who grew up in a crowded, crumbling Guyanese orphanage, this had once felt like heaven.

Now, it felt like a cage.

Mark’s voice broke through the silence again, softer this time. “Are you unhappy here?”

She spun around. “No! I mean—not exactly.”

He stood, took a few steps toward her, and then stopped. “Then what, Jess? What’s the problem?”

You’re the problem.

She swallowed back the words. How could she say it? That she wanted him to want her? That she’d been praying for scraps of affection and living off crumbs of attention? That she’d fallen for him, and he hadn’t even noticed?

She’d kept things professional. Distant. Businesslike. She never wanted to pressure him. Never wanted to break their agreement. But now she saw that being careful had cost her everything.

And tonight—tonight had shattered whatever delusions she had left.

“I just… I need more,” she said finally. “From life. From myself. I can’t keep doing this.”

Mark’s brow furrowed, confusion twisting across his features. “Doing what?”

Her voice broke. “Being invisible in my own life.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Mark stared at her like she’d just spoken in a foreign language. Something flickered behind his eyes—alarm, maybe. Guilt. But he said nothing.

She took a deep breath and gathered what little pride she had left.

“I know what we were. What we are. But somewhere along the way, I started hoping for more in my life. Stupid, right?” she gave a brittle laugh. “I thought maybe… just maybe… that I could will myself into contentment, but I couldn’t. I want more, but I won’t find it here.”

She turned away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, as if she could physically hold herself together.

Mark remained silent. She could feel his eyes on her, but the words she needed from him never came.

And that silence… hurt more than anything else ever could.