Chapter Seven

O ut of nowhere, my hand just hung there, empty in the air, the warmth of my wife completely vanished! My eyes darted around, searching for her presence—she was there just a second ago, and now? Gone! Just like that!

"Are you looking for someone?" That sweet, sickly voice pulled me in, and I was helpless against it.

This was never how it used to be. But ever since she started showing up with her stupid cakes and flowers, chatting about art and creation, I actually felt at ease. The gnawing sense of loss? Poof! It vanished, and I was actually happy about it.

Willow, that charming little distraction, loved to keep me company and help me in the studio. So, when she invited me for lunch and dinner at her place, how could I say no? Not when her tea smelled like a damn garden and her cake was a revelation! It was like a soothing balm for my soul!

But then, hours slipped away with her, and I felt a twinge of guilt leaving her alone in that desolate mansion. And the townsfolk? They treated her like dirt! Sure, they’d take her money, but warmth? Kindness? Forget it. They suddenly were just as ugly as their attitudes.

She was a stranger when she bought that house, and it was hard to wrap my head around the fact that the people of Willow Crest could be so cruel.

"I was looking for my wife," I told her, and she shot me a comforting smile before her gaze drifted to the dance floor behind us.

"That lovely woman is having a blast, so maybe you shouldn’t bother her," Willow suggested.

I couldn't take my eyes off her, but when I turned, there she was—my wife, wrapped up in the arms of some pathetic loser, laughing like she was in a damn fairytale. The calmness on her face, once twisted in anguish, made my heart pound like a war drum.

She was chatting with him, giggling, while he leaned in, whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

That sight? It ignited a fire in my veins.

How dare he lay a finger on my wife?!

A red mist descended over my vision, and my feet moved on their own, stalking toward her like a predator. My fists clenched so tight, the veins on my arms bulged with rage.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea, and I marched straight to Amery. She didn’t bother looking at me. The moment I stood behind her, that creep’s smug grin shifted from her to me, and it was crystal clear—he knew exactly who I was and why I was there.

No one uses my wife to play games with me.

I laid my hand on her shoulder, and she spun around, halting in her tracks.

"Who the hell—" Her eyes shot daggers at me, furious at my interruption, but I was seething at the sight of her with him.

"Your husband, Mrs. Rowan." My voice was a low growl, and with her tiny frame in front of my towering form, she looked like prey, ripe for the taking, ready to be devoured.

She shoved the guy away, sensing my fury, and gasped, "Ro."

I couldn’t tear my gaze from her fragile little self.

Of course, I thrive on that fear in her eyes just as much as I adore her.

But there was a side of me she didn’t need to see—not this crazed, obsessive monster who wanted to punish her and possess her entirely.

"We're leaving, Mrs. Rowan."

I clamped down on her hand like a vice, yanking her out of the club, and I could see Darius smirking in my peripheral vision while Willow's eyes were drowning in sadness. But you know what? For the first time in ages, I didn’t give a damn about her tears because my wife was my only focus.

"Ro, don’t be insane!" she screamed, struggling to break free from my grip, but tonight? Not a chance in hell was she escaping.

Not until I decided it was time.

I stormed over to my Jeep, and yanked her in front of me, her back slamming against the passenger door with a painful thud that made her groan.

Sweetheart, why?

I leaned in, boxing her in with my arms, trapping her between me and the car. A predator cornering its prey.

She glared at me, teeth clenched, every fiber of her being radiating defiance, but I could see her squirming, pressing her back against the cold metal, wincing in discomfort.

"Looks like someone’s enjoying my attention a little too much," I sneered, even though my rage was boiling over, teasing her was like a fine wine that I couldn’t resist.

She scoffed, her cinnamon eyes twisting into something unrecognizable, something unsettling.

"Attention? What kind of attention?" Her voice dripped with defeat.

"You were letting some guy touch you, my wife… Mrs. Rowan. If that’s not begging for attention, then what the hell is it?" I hissed, leaning in closer, my eyes darkening as I bore into hers.

Suddenly, I was starving, and nothing would quench that hunger but her.

She shrugged, as if my fury was nothing more than a passing breeze.

Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, and a single tear escaped, transforming me into one of those exquisite yet soulless creations of mine—beautiful on the outside but utterly devoid of life, emotion, and expression.

She was everything to me, yet I felt like I was staring into an empty void. It was maddening. I was hollow, a shell of a man.

Don’t cry, my love.

There was everything to her, but nothing to me.

"Listen, Ro," her voice trembling as she wiped away her tears with a fury that made my heart race. That weak smile? It was terrifying.

I swallowed hard, my nerves on fire. For the first time, she was a force I couldn’t predict, and it sent chills down my spine.

"Ro, our anniversary is in four days. You remember, right?" Her lips quivered, and I felt a muscle in my arm twitch, my hands itching to reach out, to comfort her, to erase whatever was gnawing at her.

I nodded, frozen in place, my body betraying me.

"After everything we've been through in these ten years, it all feels surreal. You were my first in so many ways—my first crush, my first kiss, my first everything. You were my rock, and I thought you were enough."

Fear gripped me. Me, Amir Rowan, scared? Unbelievable! I’ve faced life head-on, taken it all, but this weight inside me? It was suffocating, a disaster I couldn’t comprehend.

"Do you regret it, Mrs. Rowan?" I had to know. I stared into those captivating eyes, desperate for an answer. Did our shared history mean anything to her?

I cherished every moment with my wife!

Don’t ask that question. It doesn’t belong to us. I reminded myself but couldn’t stop.

"That’s the problem, Ro. I don’t regret it. I’m still in love with you, but I have my dignity. I see what’s happening, and I don’t need an explanation. You’ve fallen out of love with me, and I get it. Fuck, I respect it. Maybe this is just how it was meant to be... after all this time."

"Shut your mouth, Mrs. Rowan! Just for tonight, can we please fucking calm down?" I tried to get through to her, but she just shook her head like a stubborn child, refusing to hear a damn word I said.

"Just let’s get a divorce already!" She wrapped her arms around herself, sobbing like the world was ending, and it was driving me insane.

"AMERY!!" I bellowed, my voice echoing, nearly shattering my own eardrums.

She flinched, pressing herself against the cold metal, but I was done with this nonsense. There was no way in hell I was letting her slip away from me.

She belongs to me. Completely and utterly mine.

Ten damn years with this woman, pouring everything I had into us, and I was ready to keep giving every single second. But this? No way in hell was I accepting that.

"Ro-"

"Shut it, Mrs. Rowan! Get in the fucking Jeep right now. We’re going home, and I mean this very second." My voice was a weapon, sharp and deadly, and I could feel the eyes of our friends and strangers boring into us at the back. This was not the time for a heart-to-heart in front of an audience.

She met my gaze, and after a moment, she nodded, albeit reluctantly.

I flung the door open for her and seated her inside. I sprinted to the driver’s seat, and for one last time, I shot a glare at Darius, his face twisted in anger.

Something about him was off, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the one who pushed Amery to this breaking point.

I jogged to him, and punched him in face, growling in a deadly voice. "Let me tell you, if my wife thinks she can leave me, she’ll have to go over my dead body, and I won't have you be the reason for it, bastard. I’ll bury you with my bare hands."

No one is taking my Amery from me.

Not even that damn Willow.