CHAPTER 13
1368 Words
RONAN
I shouldn’t be mad that her husband showed up. But trust me, I am. Not just mad—furious. I wanted to let her out of her tight bottle, loosen the cap and give her air. It doesn’t take a blind man to notice how sad she’s
been looking since the last time I saw her.
I genuinely thought she wanted this. Him. The polished suit and branded name. But I can see the way she’s drowning, gulping down her unhappiness like bitter water. And the worst part? She’s too damn stubborn to walk away.
But I’ll stop at nothing until she leaves that spoilt, smug bastard. Even if it costs me my job
“Good of you to join us, Mr Blackwell,” I said smoothly, though my jaw ached from holding back.
“Yeah, well, I would’ve been here sooner, but my flight was delayed,” he answered as if the whole session was a minor inconvenience on his calendar.
“Oh, you traveled?” I asked lightly, turning a page in my notepad. “Funny, your wife didn’t mention that.”
Her head snapped towards me, quick and sharp. The scowl on her face was enough to tell me she didn’t like me outing her like that.
“Yeah, everything went by quickly. I got a message from my assistant the night before your mail came in—said there was going to be an important meeting in Chicago.” He leaned back with a small tilt to his mouth, sliding one hand into his pocket like he was posing for a photograph. “And doc, all thanks to you, I was able to make that trip.”
My grip on the arm of the chair tightened. Of course, he’d thank me. Such an arrogant bastard.
“Well, like I said, we’ve just started,” I continued, leaning back into my seat. “Please, have a seat.”
He dropped down next to her, sprawling with an entitled ease that made my hands itch.
“Now, Mr. Blackwell,” I began, “to pick up where we left off—I asked your wife how she feels about your marriage. I’d like to hear your perspective.”
He smirked, resting an arm behind her where she was seated, like a display of ownership. “She feels too much. That’s the problem. Women always do. If you ask me, marriage is about doing what works. Feelings—” He waved his hand dismissively. “Feeling me just get in the way.”
My pen stilled.
I forced out a polite smile. “So… you don’t believe emotions are central to marriage?”
“Not really.” He shrugged. “Stability is. Image is. Love’s fine, but it’s not the foundation. That’s… childish.”
Childish.
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard it stung. All I wanted was to plant my fist right into that smug, clean-shaven jaw.
I slightly looked at her, making sure she heard what he said. Making sure she was on the same line of thought as me.
Her shoulders stiffened beside him, her gaze fixed on her lap. She twisted her wedding ring like she wanted to carve her skin open with it.
“You disagree?” I asked her gently.
Her lips parted, but he cut in before she could breathe. “She disagrees about everything. That’s why we’re here, right? He chuckled, like he was entertaining the room.
My control snapped for a second. “Actually, no. We’re here because both of you need to be heard. Not dismissed.”
His smirk wavered, just slightly.
“Let’s try something different,” I said, collecting myself. “Mrs. Blackwell, tell us one thing you need from this marriage that you feel you aren’t receiving. Mr. Blackwell—your only role now is to listen. No interruptions.”
She hesitated. I could see the war in her eyes, the tug between her fear for what he’ll say and her need to say the truth. Finally, softly, she whispered:
“I need… to feel like I matter.”
I looked at her broken state, the way she fiddled with her fingers like it took every ounce of her strength to get those words out—and I’m sure it did. In that moment, there were a hundred things I wanted to do to her to forget what pain even felt like. But I had to be professional. Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got you.
The silence that followed pressed against the wall. It was heavy.
He broke it with a laugh. “You matter a lot. You’ve got the house, the cars—all in your name. And oh, let’s not forget—you’ve got the Blackwell name. What else do you want, a parade?”
My grip on the pen tightened. I wanted to snap it in two and use the shards to carve the arrogance off his face.
“Mr. Blackwell—” I began.
“No, really,” he pressed, leaning forward. “She’s always chasing something dramatic. You know what she told me last month? That she doesn’t feel seen.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Seen. Like she’s some kind of ghost. I’m sorry, doc, but isn’t that ridiculous? Who talks like that?”
I do, I thought savagely. I see her. Every damn shadow, every fracture she tries to hide.
Instead, I said evenly, “It’s not ridiculous. It’s human. We all feel the need to be seen, heard, valued, and that’s fundamental in any relationship.”
Her eyes lifted then, wide and startled, fastening on mine. There was something raw in them, something that cracked open in my chest and left me unsteady.
But he sneered, turning to her. “So, what—you need me to validate every little mood swing now? That’s not marriage, sweetheart. That’s babysitting.”
I nearly lost it. My pulse throbbed in my temple. I pictured grabbing him by his tailored collar and slamming him against the wall until his smirk broke.
“Marriage,” I said tightly, “is a partnership. Not performance. Not dominance. Partnership.”
And for the first time, his grin faltered.
She exhaled, a shaky breath escaping her lips, and whispered, “Thank you.” Barely audible. Not for him. For me.
It cut me open.
But before I could respond, he clapped his hands together like we’d wrapped up a business deal. “Well, doc, this was… enlightening. But I think we’re good here. Don’t you, honey?” He nudged her elbow, forcing a stiff smile out of her.
She flinched.
I saw it. And I saw red.
“Actually,” I said, my voice dropping low, steady, dangerous, “we’re not done. Not by a long shot. If you keep dismissing your wife like this, there won’t be a marriage left to fix.”
The air in the room shifted instantly. Thick. Charged.
His eyes narrowed, the polite smirk slipping. “Careful, counselor.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. “Or what?”
Lillian’s hand froze on the armrest, her eyes darting between us, panic rising like a tide.
He leaned forward, his smirk gone, his voice low enough to crawl under my skin. “Or maybe you’ll find out.”
I leaned in too, the space between us sharp with tension, daring him.
And then Lillian jumped out of her seat. She stood abruptly, breath ragged, eyes wide. “Enough!” She burst out, voice cracking.
Both our heads snapped towards her.
She was trembling, fists clenched at her sides, her ring catching the light like a shackle. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, like she’s been running a million-meter race.
“I can’t—” she said, cutting herself off. She pressed a hand to her forehead, her face pale.
“Sit down,” Joe said sharply, reaching for her arm.
She jerked back, shaking her head violently. “Don’t. Touch me.”
Her eyes zeroed in on mine, and the raw pain laced with desperation told me everything I needed to know.
I had gone far. And the next thing that would happen might change everything.
- Writer
