The courthouse smelled like old paper and rain-soaked stone; it was strong enough to permeate a person's bones. Even though the storm had already passed, my umbrella felt heavy in my hand as I stood at the bottom of the marble steps and gazed out at the road in front of me. The sky above me remained silent, drab, and expectant, as if it sensed that something had come to an end.
Perhaps it has.
That day, even the sky realized that Aurora Hale was no longer Damon Blackwood's wife.
I tightened my fingers around the manila envelope that contained the divorce papers. My signature was there already, precise and almost unseen at the bottom of every page. His signature was the only thing left and that was the end.
I took a long breath, slowly and shaky. No matter how I tried to steady myself and look presentable, my reflection in the window of the court house still resembled that of a ghost. Pale, dark-eyed. Very calm for a lady whose marriage was seconds away from being a thing of the past.
The doors sprung wide open on automatically, my heels made loud sounds as I walked my way into the building. People moved around me like ghosts, lawyers, clerks, couples, but I barely noticed anyone around me. I barely noticed Damon until he stopped directly in front of me.
He was inside already. Just waiting.
Damon Blackwood never waited for anyone.
His charcoal suit looked perfect for the occasion, ironed and immaculate even in a situation like this. His tie went so well with the suit. His posture was perfect. His expression, well unreadable.
Just like always.
His eyes flicked down to the document in my hands then back to my face. Aurora.
My name sounded so strange on his tongue, too calm, almost fragile. As if he wasn't sure if he still had the right to say it.
Let's get this over with, I whispered.
Damon's jaw shifted, a tiny muscle ticking. Annoyance? Regret? It was impossible to tell. He'd perfected the art of hiding everything from me long ago.
We heard our names being called by the clerk. We took our seat side by side, like strangers sharing a bench. The lawyer spoke, pens scratched, pages flipped.
Then it was Damon's turn.
He took the pen.
My breath hitched.
He hesitated.
For the first time in three years of marriage, Damon Blackwood hesitated.
His hand hovered over the paper, unmoving. The air seemed to thicken, stretching tight between us. I kept my gaze forward, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing even a flicker of the storm inside me.
Finally, he signed.
His pen slid across the paper with a soft, final stroke. A marriage ending in less than a second. A vow breaking with a whisper.
I felt nothing.
Or maybe I felt too much to understand it.
I stood. My knees wobbled dangerously, but I didn't let myself falter. I placed my wedding ring on the table.
Damon's eyes snapped to it, to the small circle of gold that he had never once noticed was missing, even on nights when I removed it to cry alone in the bathroom. It's done, I said quietly. He turned toward me. Aurora but I didn't stay to hear the rest. I walked out. The wind slighted my hair across my face as the courthouse doors swung shut behind me. I gobbled sprucely, the first breath of what was supposed to be freedom.
I'd loved him. God, I'd loved him more than was healthy, more than stable. I'd given him everything, hoping one day he might give me a bit of it back. rather, he gave that love my love to someone else.
Seraphina Cole. Her name still felt like acid on my tongue. The woman he had always protected. The woman he had always chosen. The woman who three nights ago at the charity gala, had very publicly labeled me the "temporary wife"a convenient placeholder until Damon returned to her. I waited for Damon to defend me. To deny it. To say something-anything. He said nothing. I believe that silence hurt more than her words. I reached my apartment-small, warm, nothing like the cold marble mansion I'd lived in. Boxes were partially unpacked. My bed was just a mattress on the bottom. My life was beginning again, piece by fragile piece.
But as I opened the door, the quiet felt wrong. Too still.
I poured the hot water burning down the courthouse air and old recollections. I wrapped myself in a kerchief and padded out to make tea, but before I could reach for the kettle, a knock thundered across the apartment.
Three knocks.
Hard. Desperate.
My heart leapt sorrowfully against my chest.
No. It couldn't be him.
I approached sluggishly, palpitation racing, lungs refusing to expand. The knocks came again louder this time.
My fritters locked around the doorknob. I opened the door.
Damon stood on the threshold drenched from head to toe, rainwater trickling off his hair, his suit ruined, his breath uneven. His tie was gone. His eyes generally sharp and cold looked wild.
Haunted.
Broken.
My heart slammed against my chest so hard it hurt.
Why are you here? My voice quivered.
He swallowed, throat working. Rain cleaved to his eyelashes, making them look darker, heavier. He took a step forward, near enough that I could smell his cologne beneath the storm.
Don't leave me, Aurora.
My breath dissolved.
Damon.
His hand caught the doorframe, as though he demanded support to stay standing. His chest rose and fell too snappily, like he'd run long hauls to get here.
His voice cracked. Actually cracked. Please don't leave me.
This is not real. Damon didn't plead. Damon didn't chase. Damon didn't break. Why are you saying this now? I managed.
He closed his eyes, forepart dropping slightly as though he couldn't bear the weight of his own answer. I didn't understand until moment. His voice was coarse, raw. Until you walked out of that courthouse. Until I felt something I haven't felt in times.
What are you talking about?
Fear, he said.
He opened his eyes. I was hysterical. Because you didn't look back. Because you didn't sway. Because you were gone ahead I could breathe.
Shock gurgled through me, sharp and suspecting. Damon, you had three years. Three years to choose me. You chose her rather.
His jaw gripped. His eyes darkened with something I didn't understand. I was wrong.
A harsh laugh burst from me. You realized that moment? After signing the papers?
He stepped closer, overrunning my space, sopping water onto my bottom. I realized it when I came home and you weren't there.
The house felt Empty? I snapped. "Dead." His voice was almost not audible. Aurora, I didn't know how much of my world depended on you until I walked inside and felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. My throat tightened. This wasn't the Damon I knew. The Damon I knew didn't talk about feelings.
He locked them down, guarded them like secrets too dangerous to expose.
Let me in, he begged.
I goggled at him this broken, hopeless interpretation of the man who had formerly shattered me. Why should I?
His voice dropped to a fragile murmur. Because I need you.
A storm outside cracked with thunder. Inside, an even fiercer storm raged between us. I felt my resolve waver, dangerously, stupidly. But before I could respond, Damon reached for my hand. His fingers trembled.
Damon Blackwood the untouchable billionaire, ruthless CEO, my cold wave, distant hubby quivered.
Aurora, he breathed, tell me how to fix this.
For a twinkle, for one reckless second, I wanted to believe him and then reality struck.
You can't fix something you never tried to make, I cried, pulling my hand down.
The pain in his eyes was unmistakable sharp, unguarded, real.
Aurora,
I shut the door in his face.
But long after it clicked shut, I stayed there hand pressed to the wall harkening to the sound of Damon's breath on the other side.
Listening to the man who had never chased me… refuse to walk away. And somewhere deep inside me, a terrifying truth stirred: This wasn't the end. It was the beginning of a storm that neither of us was ready for.