A Stolen Fate

I Want a Divorce

RHEA'S POV



Miles storms into our bedroom, and I trail behind him like a ghost. Once the heavy wooden door shuts behind us, he turns to me.

"I want a divorce," he says.

I stop in my tracks as the floor sways beneath my feet. My hand trembles at my side, and I clutch the edge of the dresser, needing something solid to hold on to. My chest rises and falls in slow disbelief as my heart crashes into my ribs. I can't breathe. I can't think. All I can do is stand there, trapped in this nightmare I've been dreading since the day he marked me.

The words hang in the air between us. They are three words, simple and clear, but also very devastating.

"Did you hear me?" Miles asks, his voice hard. "I said I want a divorce."

"I heard you," I whisper.

He runs a hand through his hair and starts pacing. "I can't do this anymore, Rhea. I'm tired of walking on eggshells. I'm tired of your insecurities and jealousy. This marriage...it's not working."

"Miles—" I begin, but he cuts me off with a sharp gesture.

"No. No more excuses. We've been pretending for too long." He stops and looks at me, really looks at me, for what feels like the first time in years. "There is no child between us anymore. There is no reason for us to stay in this marriage."

The cruel reminder of our lost baby hits me like a physical punch to the stomach. I wrap my arms around my middle, trying to hold myself together.

“I’m only twenty-one, Rhea,” he says slowly, like he is explaining something to a child. "I should be enjoying my life, not trapped in a loveless marriage that drains the life out of me.”

I blink at him, my lips parting. “So that’s it?”

“I’ve already had the papers drawn up,” he adds, his voice cold enough to freeze my blood.

“It was one fight, Miles!” I scream, finally finding my voice as tears rush down my cheeks. “Roxy pushed me! She said vile things! Why can't you ever believe what I say?!”

But he lifts his hand in a sharp motion. “Don’t. Don’t make this about Roxy.”

“Oh really?” I take a step forward, fire rushing up my throat. My legs feel like they might give out at any moment. “Then what was my birthday, Miles? What were the last three days? You held her like your world was ending. You spent our birthday with her. You didn’t even send me a message.”

Something flickers across his face, guilt, maybe, but it's gone in an instant, replaced by his usual cold mask.

“Roxy was hurting,” he mutters. “She was scared. Her uncle just—"

“Our uncle,” I snap, stepping even closer. "He was my uncle, too!" My voice rises with each word. "But no one cares about that, do they? No one cares that I lost him too, that I lost everything—"

"Enough!" Miles slams his hand down on the dresser, and I flinch.

"You know very well that I can't be attacked without being provoked," I say, ignoring his command for me to stop speaking. "She said something to me. She taunted me about you, about our baby—"

"Stop it." Miles cuts me off again, his voice sharp as a blade. "Just stop. This is exactly what I'm talking about. Everything is always someone else's fault. Roxy's fault, my fault, but never yours."

"That's not true," I protest, but even to my own ears, it sounds weak.

"Isn't it?" He takes a step toward me, and the moonlight catches half his face, leaving the other half in shadow. "What the fûck are you trying to do right now?" He takes another step closer, towering over me. "You knew from the beginning that it was Roxy I loved. You knew, and you still—" He stops, his mouth twisting with something like disgust.

My breath catches, and dread pools in my stomach.

"If you hadn't fûcking whored yourself into my bed on that night of my coronation, we wouldn't all be here."

My palm connects with his cheek before I even realize I've moved. The sound of the slap echoes in the quiet room, sharp and final. It's the first time I've ever struck him. His head jerks to the side, a red mark blooming on his perfect face.

"Fûck you, Miles!" I cry, lunging at him. "I didn't climb into your bed! We were both drunk! You fûcking made the move on me!" I hit his chest with my fists, once, twice, again, and again. The blows make dull, soft thuds against his hard body. They don’t hurt him. They are weak and pathetic. "I hate you," I choke out. “I hate you! I hate you for everything! I hate that I loved you, that I stayed, that I ever believed—”

He suddenly grabs my wrists, holding them firmly, but not painfully. His arms wrap around me, crushing me against his chest. I struggle, but he is too strong. I'm trapped against him, my face pressed to his shirt, the familiar scent of him, that scent I've breathed in every night for years, fills my nose.

"Rhea, I'm sorry," he whispers against my hair. "I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it, Rhea. I didn’t mean it.”

I go rigid in his embrace, shocked by this sudden affection after his cruelty. But I don't want his pity. I don't want these scraps of kindness that he tosses my way when guilt overtakes him. I push against his chest, hard, and he releases me. I stumble back, putting distance between us. My face is wet with tears and my form trembles with my sobs.

"Get out," I say, my voice hoarse but determined. "Just get out."

Miles takes a step toward me, one hand outstretched. "Rhea—"

"No." I cut him off, wiping angrily at my face. “Go! You want the divorce? Fine. I will sign your papers.” I take a shaky breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. “But not now. I’ll sign them after the inter-pack festivals. In one week. I need time to... to prepare for all this." What I don't say is that I need time to prepare for the humiliation, for everyone to know that Miles is finally leaving me for Roxy, just as they have all expected.

Miles hesitates, then nods tersely. "Fine. After the festivals. But Evans will bring the papers tomorrow. Sign them whenever you’re ready.”

Of course. He can't even wait a week without making sure there is a way out if I suddenly agree sooner. I move to the door and yank it open, gesturing for him to leave. "Go," I say. "Now."

He looks at me for a long moment, and I think I see something like regret in his eyes. But it doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters.

He takes a step towards me. "Rhea, list—"

"Just get out. Leave me alone," I say and push him toward the door. He lets me, his body stiff as he walks backward. As soon as he is on the threshold, I shove him out into the hallway and slam the door shut. The sound echoes through the bedroom like a death knell.

For a moment, I stand there, my palm flat against the door, as if I could push away the reality of what just happened. Then my strength leaves me all at once, my legs give out, and I slide down to the floor, my back against the door.

And then I break.