Chapter 22

In our six years of marriage, we’d only dined out for family holidays. Most nights we ate at home, though often interrupted by his endless phone calls. I’d cooked elaborate meals that went untouched.

Now that we had private servants preparing perfectly balanced dinners every night, he suddenly wanted to take me out.

I’d endured years of loneliness, disappointment, and the quiet heartbreak of constant rejection. Now it was his turn to taste that bitterness.

“Can’t. My plate’s full. Ask someone else.” I kept my eyes on my work, feigning concentration.

Jared went completely still. The polite smile froze on his face. He’d anticipated delight, not this offhand rejection.

“The work will still be there after dinner,” he said, with uncharacteristic patience.

“I’m not hungry.” I glanced up with a bland smile. “Had dessert earlier.”

Some of the tension left his posture when he realized this was about schedules, not rejection.

“I’ll head back for Yvonne then. Don’t work too late.” With that, he left without another word, and I returned to my files.

Jared said he needed to call a board meeting to decide on the appointment, but I knew it was just a formality.

He ruled the company with absolute authority. His competence left no room for challenges.

Our personal relationship blurred professional lines, but I believed that Jared could silence critics effortlessly.

It was 11 p.m. when I got home, arms full of documents. Jared had already tucked Yvonne in and was lounging on the sofa in his pajamas, sipping coffee.

He glanced up as I walked in, setting his coffee cup aside and crossing his long legs. His piercing eyes fixed on me as he said, “You’re back late.”

“Still trying to make sense of some things,” I said flatly. I kicked off my shoes and headed upstairs, not in the mood to talk.

Jared stayed frozen for a beat before slowly following me upstairs.

The second I reached the bedroom, I grabbed my pajamas and ducked into the shower.

I took my sweet time – thirty minutes – and when I finally stepped out, he was propped against the headboard with a book.

The familiarity of it stung. There’d been nights I’d waited for him, aching for this very moment. But when he finally lay beside me and I reached out, he’d catch my wrist, push it away, and murmur, “Not tonight. I’m tired.”

At the vanity, I smoothed lotion over my skin, the scent curling around me. The woman in the mirror looked different now – her eyes held no trace of their old shadows, only a quiet radiance that made her seem truly alive.

“You done yet?” Jared called from the bed, impatience creeping into his voice. I’d taken longer than usual, and he wasn’t hiding his frustration.

I knew he was thinking about sex. Was he going to make the first move?

My recent outfits had been more deliberately feminine – silky blouses, curves accentuated. Men always noticed those things. He might not love me, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want me.

Jared exhaled sharply, clearly annoyed at the wait. The moment I settled in, he threw his book down, switched off the lamp, and turned toward me under the covers.

His hands slid over my body, fingers burning against the curve of my waist before inching upward with purpose.

I caught his wrist. “Too tired tonight,” I mumbled into my pillow.

His arm tensed. “It’s been three months,” he said, his voice rough.

“Yeah, something like that,” I muttered, not wanting to get into specifics.

“You don’t want this?” He knew me inside out – my body and my desires. Normally, I’d be crawling out of my skin after three months without it, while he could go either way.

“Not really,” I said. Truth was, I didn’t want him at all anymore. Jared used to be the one losing interest, but now it was me.

His breathing grew noticeably heavier. In the past, one word of refusal would have made him pull away immediately.

But tonight was different. His fingers only tightened around me. Angry as he clearly was, none of his usual gentlemanly restraint remained.

“Did someone else satisfy you?” Jared’s voice was suddenly at my ear, his teeth grazing my earlobe. “Who was it?”

I almost laughed. Jared, always so proud and self-assured, was actually reduced to this kind of petty jealousy.

“Do you really trust me so little?” I pushed his arm away and sat up abruptly. “You accuse me of cheating just because I say no? Then who were you with all those months you ignored me? Don’t turn your own guilt into my crime.”

My anger clearly caught him off guard. In the warm lamplight, I watched his face flush and pale before he sat up, his eyes locking onto mine. “Then tell me why you won’t let me touch you.”

“I’m just not in the mood,” I countered firmly.

“What mood do you need for this?” Jared shot back.

I scoffed. “Of course. Men are always ready. But women? We only give ourselves to those who love us.”

Jared looked startled by my blunt words.

In my previous life, I’d kept quiet for thirty years, but now I refused to stay silent any longer. Speaking my mind was better than letting resentment fester.

“Victoria, what’s wrong?” Jared’s tone softened as he noticed my unusual behavior. “What’s gotten into you lately? Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I turned away in bed. “I’m just tired of this… this endless monotony with no future.

“My mother gave me life to live – not to waste away here. I want to see the world, to watch flowers bloom and rivers flow.”

Jared stared at me in shock, as if seeing me for the first time. The docile wife he’d known had been a facade. This version of me – passionate, unafraid – was likely the real one all along.

“Victoria, was being the perfect wife for six years such a chore?” Jared’s initial shock turned to anger – whether at my deception or because I no longer fit his ideal of what a wife should be.