I want a divorce
The music and laughter from the living room dulled as Elena moved farther down the narrow hallway, the sound turning into a muffled throb behind her. Her sister’s birthday party was loud enough to make the walls tremble. Guests filled every corner of the little house, glasses lifted high, voices rising in celebration. Somewhere in the distance, someone was already demanding more wine.
Elena only needed a moment. Just a quick trip to the bathroom. A breath of silence away from the crowd.
But the instant she turned the corner, her steps faltered. Her body went rigid.
Liam was there.
He leaned against the wall near the bathroom door, standing as though he had every right to block the way. His tall frame cast a shadow beneath the ceiling light, the damp leather of his jacket glistening faintly from the rain outside. His hazel eyes—sharp, steady, unyielding—were already fixed on her.
Her pulse stumbled, then raced.
“Jesus Christ…” Her grip tightened around the strap of her clutch until her fingers ached. “Are you serious right now?”
The corner of his mouth lifted, but it carried no humor, no warmth. “You’ve been ignoring my calls.”
“This is my sister’s birthday,” she hissed, lowering her voice but darting a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching. “You don’t get to stalk me here.”
“If you don’t want me showing up,” he said in that rough, calm tone of his, “then answer the phone when I call.”
Elena turned toward the bathroom door, her hand brushing the wood, desperate for the lock and the barrier between them. “I don’t owe you anything.”
His palm struck the door with a heavy smack, holding it closed. “I found a counselor—”
“I don’t want counseling,” she snapped, spinning to face him fully, her anger making her hands tremble. “I want a divorce.”
The hallway light caught the sharp lines of his jaw, the shadows deepening across his face. He looked carved from stone, immovable.
“Marriage is for live,” he said flatly. “Divorce doesn’t exist.”
A humorless laugh broke from her lips. “So what? Cheating does? Lying? Betrayal?”
“That’s not what I meant.” His voice dropped lower, almost pleading, and for a brief moment the hardness in his face slipped. “It was one mistake. One night. She meant nothing.”
Her throat burned. “But she was worth our marriage?”
From the living room, laughter drifted down the hall, glasses clinking in celebration. Yet here, in the narrow corridor, the world had shrunk to just the two of them—her back pressed against the door, his presence closing in like a wall.
“I’ve apologized a thousand times,” Liam said, voice rough, his gaze desperate as if he could force her to believe him.
“I don’t want your apology.” Her voice cracked like breaking glass. “I want my freedom.”
“You’re still my wife—”
“f**k you.”
His jaw flexed, his breath catching. Instead of snapping, he leaned closer, his words low and deliberate. “You wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t still love me.”
Her eyes stayed locked on his. “I don’t love you, Liam. Not anymore. I just want out.”
Something flickered in his stare, anger that dressed itself as control. His voice was quiet, but the chill of it sank deep. “You’ll never get it. The courts will deny you every time. Unless you agree to work this out with me.”
Her chest rose and fell quickly, fury shaking through her veins. She shoved his arm away, yanked the door open so hard it slammed into the wall, then slipped inside and locked it with shaking fingers.
The mirror above the sink reflected a pale, furious woman. Her lipstick was smeared, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She gripped the porcelain sink until her knuckles whitened, forcing herself not to cry. Not here. Not because of him.
Hours later, Elena tried to drown that anger in flashing lights and heavy bass.
The nightclub pulsed with life. Music pounded so loudly it seemed to shake the floor and crawl up her legs. Bright strobe lights splashed the crowd in waves of red, purple, and white. Bodies pressed close together, moving with laughter, shouting over the rhythm, lost in the haze of alcohol and sound.
Her friends insisted she needed this. One night, they said. Forget Liam. Forget the marriage. Forget the cage.
So she let them. She let them pull her onto the dance floor, press tequila shots into her hand until her throat burned and her thoughts blurred. For once, her hips moved to the beat instead of to the stiff rhythm of her anger. For once, she let herself pretend the music was setting her free.
Then she saw him.
Not Liam.
Someone else.
The crowd seemed to shift as he entered, the space bending around him without a word. He was tall—easily six foot three—with broad shoulders and a body that filled out his plain black T-shirt as if it had been tailored for him. Muscles strained the fabric, veins cut sharp lines down his forearms, and tattoos wound across his skin, climbing from his arms to his neck until they brushed the edge of his jaw.
The sight of him stole her breath.
The atmosphere of the club changed, charged with an energy she could feel deep in her chest. He walked with the ease of a man who knew his place in the world, a man who never had to ask for respect because it was already his. There was weight in his stride, certainty in the way his eyes scanned the room, as though nothing and no one could shake him.
And Elena found herself unable to look anywhere else.
