CHAPTER 60 — LAURA ROBINSON
I do not cry after Alex leaves.
I stand in the dining room long after the echoes of his footsteps fade, my hands resting on the polished mahogany table, my spine straight, my breathing even. The staff knows better than to linger. Doors close softly. The house exhales around me.
Only then do I allow myself to feel it.
Shock is an unflattering emotion. It loosens control. It makes the world tilt in ways I do not appreciate.
Alex has never raised his voice at me like that.
Never looked at me the way he did tonight—not with defiance alone, but with something far worse.
Conviction.
That is what unsettles me most.
This is not rebellion. Not a phase. Not the petulance of a man momentarily blinded by desire.
This is a man who has chosen.
And he chose her.
I
