Chapter 7: WHAT I NEVER TOLD HER
Dominic
*Three years earlier...*
I married Ciara to escape.
My mother had been relentless — "Marry the Blake girl. Their family will stabilize your business. Stop being selfish." Every family dinner was a war. Every phone call, a negotiation.
Then I met Ciara. Quiet. Unassuming. Working as a temp assistant at a consulting firm where I'd been pitching for investment. She spilled coffee on my laptop the first day. Apologized seven times. Offered to pay for it with a salary that probably couldn't cover the keyboard alone.
Something about her calmness steadied me.
When she proposed the arrangement — "Marry me, I'll help you find an investor, you help me stay off the radar" — it seemed perfect. A paper marriage. Clean. Simple. No feelings.
I agreed because I thought I'd never feel anything for her.
I was wrong by month three.
It started small. The way she hummed while cooking. How she always left a glass of water on my nightstand even when I came home past midnight without texting. The way she laughed — rare, genuine, like sunlight breaking through fog.
By month six, I was watching her when she wasn't looking. By month nine, I was finding excuses to be in whatever room she was in.
But I couldn't say it. I couldn't even acknowledge it to myself.
Because Ciara was supposed to be temporary. Our contract was supposed to end. And I — Dominic Ashford, self-made CEO — was not supposed to need anyone.
So I built walls. Higher and higher. I stayed late at work. I kept conversations short. I told myself: *Don't get attached. She'll leave when the contract ends.*
Then Vanessa reappeared. Confident, aggressive, *available*. She made me feel powerful in a way that was easy — no vulnerability, no risk. With Vanessa, everything was surface-level. Comfortable. Safe.
With Ciara, everything was terrifying. Because Ciara saw through me. And I wasn't brave enough to let her.
So I chose the coward's path.
I chose Vanessa publicly because I was too afraid to choose Ciara honestly.
And now — sitting in my empty apartment, staring at the divorce papers — I understood what I'd done. I hadn't just lost my company or my reputation.
I'd lost the only person who loved me when I had nothing. Who stayed when there was no reason to stay. Who invested — literally — in my dreams without asking for a single thing in return.
I picked up my phone. Dialed her number. Voicemail again.
"Ciara," I said. My voice sounded foreign — broken. "I know you won't answer. I know I don't deserve you to. But I need you to know — it was never about you not being enough. It was about me being terrified that you were everything. And I didn't know how to deserve it."
I hung up.
Then I signed the divorce papers.
Not because I wanted to — but because she asked me to. And for once in my pathetic life, I was going to give her what she wanted.
Even if it destroyed me.
*Three years earlier...*
I married Ciara to escape.
My mother had been relentless — "Marry the Blake girl. Their family will stabilize your business. Stop being selfish." Every family dinner was a war. Every phone call, a negotiation.
Then I met Ciara. Quiet. Unassuming. Working as a temp assistant at a consulting firm where I'd been pitching for investment. She spilled coffee on my laptop the first day. Apologized seven times. Offered to pay for it with a salary that probably couldn't cover the keyboard alone.
Something about her calmness steadied me.
When she proposed the arrangement — "Marry me, I'll help you find an investor, you help me stay off the radar" — it seemed perfect. A paper marriage. Clean. Simple. No feelings.
I agreed because I thought I'd never feel anything for her.
I was wrong by month three.
It started small. The way she hummed while cooking. How she always left a glass of water on my nightstand even when I came home past midnight without texting. The way she laughed — rare, genuine, like sunlight breaking through fog.
By month six, I was watching her when she wasn't looking. By month nine, I was finding excuses to be in whatever room she was in.
But I couldn't say it. I couldn't even acknowledge it to myself.
Because Ciara was supposed to be temporary. Our contract was supposed to end. And I — Dominic Ashford, self-made CEO — was not supposed to need anyone.
So I built walls. Higher and higher. I stayed late at work. I kept conversations short. I told myself: *Don't get attached. She'll leave when the contract ends.*
Then Vanessa reappeared. Confident, aggressive, *available*. She made me feel powerful in a way that was easy — no vulnerability, no risk. With Vanessa, everything was surface-level. Comfortable. Safe.
With Ciara, everything was terrifying. Because Ciara saw through me. And I wasn't brave enough to let her.
So I chose the coward's path.
I chose Vanessa publicly because I was too afraid to choose Ciara honestly.
And now — sitting in my empty apartment, staring at the divorce papers — I understood what I'd done. I hadn't just lost my company or my reputation.
I'd lost the only person who loved me when I had nothing. Who stayed when there was no reason to stay. Who invested — literally — in my dreams without asking for a single thing in return.
I picked up my phone. Dialed her number. Voicemail again.
"Ciara," I said. My voice sounded foreign — broken. "I know you won't answer. I know I don't deserve you to. But I need you to know — it was never about you not being enough. It was about me being terrified that you were everything. And I didn't know how to deserve it."
I hung up.
Then I signed the divorce papers.
Not because I wanted to — but because she asked me to. And for once in my pathetic life, I was going to give her what she wanted.
Even if it destroyed me.