Chapter 2
1861 Words
Hazel’s POV
"I'm heading out, and I have a dinner meeting later tonight," Julian said to someone in the hallway. "Let Mrs. Lucy know she shouldn't wait for me. She needs her sleep."
I kept my eyes squeezed shut, listening to the heavy thud of his footsteps as he walked back into our bedroom. I didn't move. I didn't breathe. I stayed tucked under the duvet, my face pressed into a pillow that was still damp from the tears I’d shed in the dark. My skin felt tight and itchy from the salt, but I didn't dare wipe it away. I couldn't let him see I was awake.
Usually, our mornings followed a strict routine. I would be up before him, selecting his silk tie and matching his cufflinks to his suit. I’d have his clothes laid out on the bench, perfectly pressed, so he never had to spend a single second thinking about his appearance. It was my way of being useful. It was how I showed him I cared, even if he never said it back.
Today, the closet remained closed. I heard the rustle of fabric and the click of hangers as he navigated the wardrobe himself. It was a small, silent rebellion, but it felt like a mountain between us. Eventually, the door clicked shut, and the house fell into that heavy, expensive silence that always felt like it was crushing me.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. My leg throbbed with a dull, familiar ache. It was a permanent reminder of the night my life split in two.
Before the accident, I was a dancer. I had been at the top of my class at the academy, with a future that felt bright and limitless. Julian had been my secret world since high school. He was the brilliant, popular boy everyone admired. I was just the girl in the art wing, someone who lived in the margins of his world. I never thought he’d even look at me.
Then came that summer. I found him stumbling down the street, reeking of gin and lost in a haze of grief because Penelope Chambers had moved away. I followed him because I was worried. When he stepped into the path of that speeding car, I didn't think. I just pushed.
He survived without a scratch. I ended up with a shattered limb and a career that died on the operating table.
Julian married me out of a sense of duty. He stopped drinking, he became a provider, and he treated me with a gentle, distant kindness that felt worse than anger. He bought me everything I could ever want, but he never gave me the one thing I actually needed. He was grateful, but he wasn't in love.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up, showing a notification for an email I had read a hundred times since midnight. It was an acceptance letter for a graduate program overseas. Yesterday, I was going to ask him if I could go. I wanted to see if he’d finally let me lead a life outside these four walls.
Now, the question felt pointless. Why ask for permission to leave a man who wasn't even really there?
My alarm went off, signaling the start of my study hour. Since the accident, I’d become a prisoner of my own schedule. I had to fill every minute with something productive to keep from drowning in my own thoughts. I swiped the alarm away and opened a social media app, my fingers moving on autopilot.
The first thing on my feed was a video.
The music was loud, a pulsing beat that hurt my head. The camera was shaky, capturing a group of people in a dimly lit, high-end lounge. A woman with long, flowing hair laughed into the lens. The username at the top of the screen read Penelope.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
"One, two, three! Welcome back, Penelope! Cheers!"
The voice behind the camera was deep and clear. I’d know it anywhere. It was the voice that had whispered that same name in our bed last night. It was Julian.
I watched the video again, my breath hitching. He wasn't at a work dinner. He was with her. He was celebrating her return while I was at home, wondering if I should pack my bags for a university thousands of miles away.
The woman in the video looked vibrant. She looked like she belonged in the light. I looked down at my pale, scarred leg under the covers and felt a wave of cold realization. Five years of playing the perfect, doting wife hadn't changed a thing. I was still the girl in the margins, and she was still his dream.
I sat up, the pain in my leg sharp and biting. I didn't care about the routine anymore. I didn't care about being the grateful, quiet girl who stayed in the house. The countdown hadn't just begun; it was already hitting zero.
I opened my laptop and looked at the acceptance letter. The deadline to respond was forty-eight hours away. My hand trembled as I hovered the cursor over the 'Accept' button.
The front door opened downstairs. I froze. Julian was supposed to be at the office. Why was he back?
I heard his footsteps on the stairs, faster than usual. He didn't knock. He pushed the door open, still wearing the suit he’d picked out himself. He looked at me, then at the phone in my hand, then at the tears I hadn't managed to hide.
"You're awake," he said, his voice dropping an octave.
"I am," I replied, my voice steadier than I expected. "I saw the video, Julian. The one from last night."
He didn't flinch. He didn't even look guilty. He just stood there, tall and untouchable, the same golden boy who had ruined my life without ever trying to.
"It was just a welcome-home drink for an old friend," he said calmly. "Don't make it into something it isn't, Hazel."
"An old friend?" I stood up, leaning heavily on my good leg. "You called her name last night. In this room. In our bed."
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Julian looked at me, his expression unreadable, before he finally spoke.
"Are you going to let me explain, or are you just going to stand there and cry?"
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