Chapter 6
Over the next week, Nathan tried everything.
First came the flowers — extravagant bouquets delivered to my hospital every single day. Roses, orchids, peonies. Hundreds of dollars worth of apologies that said nothing at all.
I had them donated to the geriatric ward.
Then came the jewelry. A Cartier box appeared on my office desk with a note: "I should have given you these years ago. Please accept them. — N"
I returned them via courier without opening the box.
Then the letters. Handwritten, pages long, filled with memories of our relationship. The way he described our marriage, you'd think we'd been blissfully happy.
I shredded them.
Finally, Nathan cornered me at the hospital parking garage.
I was walking to my car after a twelve-hour shift when his figure emerged from behind a pillar. He looked terrible — unshaven, eyes bloodshot, expensive suit rumpled like he'd slept in it.
"You won't take my calls. You won't read my letters. You return everything." His voice was raw. "What do I have to do, Aria?"
"Nothing." I kept walking. "There's nothing to do. We're over."
He blocked my path. "How can you say that? Three years—"
"Three years of what, Nathan?" I stopped, exhaustion making me sharp. "Three years of hiding me? Three years of never holding my hand in public? Three years of 'it's not the right time'?"
"I was protecting you! My family, my business rivals — I didn't want you dragged into—"
"You brought Serena to your grandmother's birthday." My voice was deadly quiet. "In front of 200 people. In one week she got what I never received in three years."
He flinched.
"That's different—"
"How? How is it different?" I stepped closer, fury finally breaking through my exhaustion. "You never once introduced me as your wife. Not at galas, not at dinners, not even to your friends. But your pregnant MISTRESS gets a public debut?"
"She showed up uninvited! I couldn't just—"
"Stop lying." I was so tired of his lies. "Just stop."
His expression crumbled. The polished, confident Nathan Cross fell apart in front of me.
"I was a fool," he whispered. "I know that now. I took you for granted because you were always there. You never complained, never demanded anything, and I... I mistook your patience for permanence."
His voice broke: "I thought you'd always be there."
For one moment — one single, treacherous moment — I felt something.
Then I remembered Serena wearing my robe. Drinking from my mug. Sleeping in my bed.
"Move," I said.
"Aria—"
"NOW."
He stepped aside like I'd struck him.
I drove away without looking back. But in the rearview mirror, I could see him standing alone in the empty parking garage, watching my taillights disappear.
When I got home, Dominic was reading on the couch, glasses perched on his nose. He looked up immediately, scanning my face with those perceptive eyes.
"He found you," he said. Not a question.
"At the hospital." I dropped onto the couch beside him, drained.
His jaw tightened. "I'll have security—"
"No." I leaned my head against his shoulder. "I handled it."
He was quiet for a moment, then pressed a kiss to my hair.
"You always do," he murmured. "But you don't have to handle everything alone anymore."
I closed my eyes, breathing in his warmth.
"Dominic?"
"Hm?"
"Thank you for not being the kind of man who makes me prove I'm worth keeping."
His arm tightened around me. When he spoke, his voice was rough:
"You never should have had to prove that to anyone."
First came the flowers — extravagant bouquets delivered to my hospital every single day. Roses, orchids, peonies. Hundreds of dollars worth of apologies that said nothing at all.
I had them donated to the geriatric ward.
Then came the jewelry. A Cartier box appeared on my office desk with a note: "I should have given you these years ago. Please accept them. — N"
I returned them via courier without opening the box.
Then the letters. Handwritten, pages long, filled with memories of our relationship. The way he described our marriage, you'd think we'd been blissfully happy.
I shredded them.
Finally, Nathan cornered me at the hospital parking garage.
I was walking to my car after a twelve-hour shift when his figure emerged from behind a pillar. He looked terrible — unshaven, eyes bloodshot, expensive suit rumpled like he'd slept in it.
"You won't take my calls. You won't read my letters. You return everything." His voice was raw. "What do I have to do, Aria?"
"Nothing." I kept walking. "There's nothing to do. We're over."
He blocked my path. "How can you say that? Three years—"
"Three years of what, Nathan?" I stopped, exhaustion making me sharp. "Three years of hiding me? Three years of never holding my hand in public? Three years of 'it's not the right time'?"
"I was protecting you! My family, my business rivals — I didn't want you dragged into—"
"You brought Serena to your grandmother's birthday." My voice was deadly quiet. "In front of 200 people. In one week she got what I never received in three years."
He flinched.
"That's different—"
"How? How is it different?" I stepped closer, fury finally breaking through my exhaustion. "You never once introduced me as your wife. Not at galas, not at dinners, not even to your friends. But your pregnant MISTRESS gets a public debut?"
"She showed up uninvited! I couldn't just—"
"Stop lying." I was so tired of his lies. "Just stop."
His expression crumbled. The polished, confident Nathan Cross fell apart in front of me.
"I was a fool," he whispered. "I know that now. I took you for granted because you were always there. You never complained, never demanded anything, and I... I mistook your patience for permanence."
His voice broke: "I thought you'd always be there."
For one moment — one single, treacherous moment — I felt something.
Then I remembered Serena wearing my robe. Drinking from my mug. Sleeping in my bed.
"Move," I said.
"Aria—"
"NOW."
He stepped aside like I'd struck him.
I drove away without looking back. But in the rearview mirror, I could see him standing alone in the empty parking garage, watching my taillights disappear.
When I got home, Dominic was reading on the couch, glasses perched on his nose. He looked up immediately, scanning my face with those perceptive eyes.
"He found you," he said. Not a question.
"At the hospital." I dropped onto the couch beside him, drained.
His jaw tightened. "I'll have security—"
"No." I leaned my head against his shoulder. "I handled it."
He was quiet for a moment, then pressed a kiss to my hair.
"You always do," he murmured. "But you don't have to handle everything alone anymore."
I closed my eyes, breathing in his warmth.
"Dominic?"
"Hm?"
"Thank you for not being the kind of man who makes me prove I'm worth keeping."
His arm tightened around me. When he spoke, his voice was rough:
"You never should have had to prove that to anyone."