Chapter 5
1461 Words
Raina’s POV
“Yes.”
The word left my lips like it had been waiting there for years.
No hesitation. No tremor. No second thought.
Just… release.
Harrison didn’t notice.
Of course he didn’t.
He was focused on something else entirely, adjusting the controls with the same precision he used in boardrooms and negotiations, like every situation in life could be stabilized with enough control.
Even this.
Even me.
He guided me into the co-pilot seat, one hand steady at my back, the other reaching across me to pull the seatbelt into place. The click echoed softly in the cabin.
His fingers brushed my shoulder for a fraction of a second.
Warm.
Familiar.
Dangerously easy to remember.
“Raina,” he said, voice lower now, stripped of its usual authority, “I know I upset you yesterday.”
Upset.
That was the word he chose.
Not hurt. Not betrayed. Not abandoned.
Just… upset.
“I shouldn’t have missed our anniversary,” he continued. “I’m sorry.”
The apology sat between us like something rehearsed.
Carefully worded.
Carefully timed.
Too late.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he added.
Make it up.
Like it was a delayed business obligation.
Like love could be rescheduled.
Something inside me almost laughed.
Not out loud.
But deep inside, where disappointment had already calcified into something colder.
So this was it.
This was what he thought all of this was about.
A missed dinner.
A forgotten date.
A minor emotional inconvenience.
The last illusion dissolved quietly.
I turned my head slowly, studying him properly for the first time since last night.
Perfect profile.
Composed expression.
The man who could command entire industries… yet couldn’t see the wreckage sitting right beside him.
A faint smile curved my lips.
Not warm.
Not soft.
Sharp.
“Oh?” I said gently. “And how exactly are you planning to make it up to me?”
My voice sounded unfamiliar.
Too calm.
Like someone observing a scene rather than living inside it.
The engines deepened, the vibration of power building beneath us as the jet began to move.
Harrison didn’t catch the shift.
He never did.
“Next time Sophie calls,” I continued lightly, “will you ask for my permission before you go to her?”
A pause.
“Or maybe,” I added, tilting my head slightly, “you could bring me along. I’ll help take care of her too. That way, everything stays… efficient.”
That got his attention.
His brows pulled together.
“Raina.”
My name landed heavier this time.
“I’m apologizing,” he said, irritation threading into his tone. “Do you have to talk like this?”
Like this.
Meaning honest.
Meaning no longer softening my edges to make him comfortable.
The jet rolled forward faster.
Faster.
Until the ground blurred beneath us.
“Besides,” he continued, tightening his grip slightly, “Sophie is in a special condition right now.”
Special.
I let the word sit there.
Turned it over.
Felt its weight.
Then I spoke.
Quietly.
“Tell me something,” I said. “When has she ever not been special to you?”
Silence.
Immediate.
Dense.
The kind that says more than any answer ever could.
My fingers curled slowly into my palm.
Grounding.
Anchoring.
“Right now, she needs you because she’s pregnant,” I went on, each word steady, deliberate. “What happens after that?”
He didn’t respond.
Didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t correct me.
Because he couldn’t.
“What about when she gives birth?” I continued. “When she’s recovering? When the child starts walking, talking… growing?”
I turned fully toward him now.
No hesitation.
No retreat.
“You’re already acting like you belong in her life,” I said softly. “So tell me… where does that stop?”
The jet lifted.
A sudden, weightless shift as the ground disappeared beneath us.
Clouds swallowed the world below.
White.
Endless.
Peaceful.
A perfect illusion.
Inside me… there was nothing left to disturb.
No storm.
No ache.
Just quiet.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Looked away.
Because the answer existed.
And it didn’t favor him.
A faint smile touched my lips.
Thin.
Cold.
“See?” I murmured. “You don’t even have an answer.”
“That’s not the same thing,” he snapped suddenly, turning to me, frustration finally breaking through his carefully maintained control. “You’re twisting this into something it’s not.”
Am I?
“Stop being unreasonable,” he added. “I’m running out of patience.”
Unreasonable.
The word slid over me without impact.
It used to hurt.
Now it just sounded… predictable.
He switched on autopilot with a sharp motion, then turned fully toward me.
“I’ve apologized,” he said, voice tightening. “I’m trying to fix this. What more do you want?”
The question hung there.
Heavy.
Serious.
As if he genuinely didn’t understand.
And maybe… he didn’t.
I inhaled slowly.
Then answered.
“I want a divorce.”
No drama.
No tears.
No hesitation.
Just truth.
The cabin seemed to still.
Even the hum of the engines felt distant for a second.
“I told you not to say that word.”
His fist slammed against the panel.
A sharp sound.
Violent.
Uncontrolled.
The first crack in his composure.
I looked at him.
Really looked.
This was new.
Not his anger.
But what triggered it.
“When are you going to stop this?” he demanded. “If you keep pushing…”
“If you don’t agree,” I cut in, my voice dropping, colder than anything I had ever said to him, “I’ll report you.”
That stopped everything.
Silence.
Stillness.
Even the air felt different.
“I’ll report you and Sophie,” I continued, holding his gaze without flinching. “Concealing her condition while she’s still assigned to flight operations violates company policy. You know that better than anyone.”
Now he was staring at me.
Not annoyed.
Not frustrated.
But something else.
Something darker.
“You’re threatening me,” he said quietly.
That quiet was more dangerous than shouting.
“You’d go this far… just to leave?”
I shook my head slightly.
“I’m not forcing anything,” I said. “I’m just choosing to stop.”
The words felt distant.
Like they belonged to someone who had already stepped outside the marriage.
A small crack formed in my composure.
Not visible.
But I felt it.
Exhaustion.
Finality.
“Harrison,” I said softly, “this ended a long time ago.”
I looked out the window.
Clouds stretching endlessly.
No edges.
No direction.
Just space.
“Let’s finish it before we start destroying each other completely.”
The word destroy lingered.
Because hate hadn’t come yet.
But it was close.
Too close.
Silence followed.
Long.
Heavy.
Measured.
Then…
“Fine.”
The word came out rough.
Not loud.
But strained.
“If you want a divorce…” he continued, exhaling slowly, “then we do it my way.”
I turned back to him.
“One month,” he said. “We separate. No contact unless it’s work-related.”
His voice steadied as he spoke.
Confidence returning.
Control reassembling itself piece by piece.
“We both cool down.”
There it was.
The assumption.
The certainty.
“If after one month you still feel the same way,” he added, “I’ll sign.”
He believed it.
Completely.
That I would miss him.
That I would weaken.
That I would come back.
Like I always had.
I nodded.
“Fine.”
Simple.
Clean.
“I’ll move out after we land.”
“No.”
The response came instantly.
Sharp.
Final.
I paused.
His jaw tightened slightly.
His gaze flicked briefly to my ankle.
Then away again.
“You stay,” he said. “I’ll leave.”
Of course.
The arrangement made perfect sense.
For him.
Closer to Sophie.
Closer to responsibility.
Closer to what actually mattered.
A quiet laugh slipped from my lips.
Soft.
Almost amused.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
Something flickered in his expression.
A hesitation.
A thought.
Maybe even a sentence he almost said.
I won’t be with her.
But it never came.
And that told me everything.
He turned forward again, expression settling back into that familiar certainty.
The kind that wins negotiations.
Closes deals.
Secures outcomes.
He thought this was another one.
A temporary conflict.
A controlled separation.
A predictable return.
I leaned back in my seat.
Closed my eyes for a brief moment.
Let the quiet settle inside me.
Good.
Let him believe that.
Let him think I would come back.
Because this time…
I wasn’t leaving to be chased.
I was leaving to be gone.
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