Chapter 51

Audrey's POV

I let my eyes fall closed, momentarily lost in the weight of the silence.

Though I had resigned myself to the divorce, there was no denying the gravity Blake Parker exerted in such close proximity. Three years of marriage had left deep grooves in my heart, a dangerous familiarity that made my resistance feel like a crumbling fortress. Despite the hurt and the betrayal, a part of me still craved the security I once thought his presence provided.

As he leaned closer, the tension in the car reached a breaking point. For a fleeting second, I wondered: One last time? To remember what we were before we became enemies?

But just as the atmosphere shifted, Blake suddenly pulled back. The fragile peace shattered like glass, leaving me exposed and cold.

I blinked, staring up at him in confusion. "Blake? What’s wrong?"

"It seems you haven't been lacking company lately, Miss Sinclair." His cold laugh cut through the air like a blade. His gaze dropped pointedly to my neck, his eyes darkening with a dangerous intensity. "Was it James Collins? Or perhaps that boy you were clinging to tonight?"

His accusation hit me like a physical blow. I looked down, my fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of my collarbone. I realized then what he was looking at—the red marks left over from the intense pressure treatment at the spa yesterday.

I remembered Astrid’s teasing voice: "Trust me, with Blake’s temper, he’ll mistake these marks for something far more scandalous."

I let out a soft, bitter laugh. My best friend knew my husband better than I did; she had predicted his reaction down to the exact shade of fury in his eyes.

However, my smile only fueled his fire. His face darkened. "I have maintained a standard of conduct for the sake of our families," he said icily, "yet here you are, entangled with others, showing the evidence of your 'freedom' before the papers are even processed."

The irony was suffocating. Here he was, the man planning a high-profile engagement to Laurel, playing the role of the betrayed husband.

"Get out," he commanded, his voice devoid of warmth.

"Fine."

I didn't bother to explain. What was the point? He had already written his own version of history, just as he had for every day of our marriage. I pushed open the car door, the night air hitting me like a cold slap. I adjusted my hoodie, my fingers trembling as I walked toward my building. Three months left, I reminded myself. I don’t have time for this.

My phone suddenly vibrated. It was Ethan.

"Hey, it's me," he said, sounding urgent. "I just noticed something on my jacket. There are white cat hairs on the shoulder—Snow’s hair. I wasn't near her today, Audrey. That means..."

My heart stuttered. The only person who had been close enough to Ethan to transfer those traces was Blake, during their confrontation.

"Blake," I whispered. He had been near my cat. He knew where she was.

I spun around just as the sedan’s headlights flared to life. "Wait!" I shouted, breaking into a run. "Blake, wait! I need to know!"

Blake's POV

"Sir, she’s running after us," the driver noted, looking in the rearview mirror.

I reclined in my seat, closing my eyes. "Keep driving."

After what I’d seen—the protective embrace of that student, the marks on her neck—I wasn't interested in more excuses. She had made her choice to leave my world; let her see how far she could get on her own.

"Sir..." The driver hesitated, the car slowing. "She... she’s fallen."

My eyes snapped open. In the mirror’s reflection, I saw Audrey struggling to her feet, a small, vulnerable silhouette against the vast emptiness of the street. A sharp pang of something I refused to call guilt pierced through my anger.

"Turn back," I snapped. "Now!"

Audrey's POV

I stood in the darkness, catching my breath, until the headlights swept over me again. The car reversed smoothly, the window sliding down to reveal Blake’s face—a mask of studied indifference.

"Get in," he said.

I climbed back into the car, my heart hammering. I immediately pulled back my collar, pressing my fingers firmly against the skin next to the existing marks.

"Look," I said, tilting my head to the light. Within seconds, a new, identical red mark blossomed under the pressure. "It’s a reaction to the spa treatment I had yesterday. The trainee was far too aggressive with the massage tools."

His eyes narrowed as he studied the evidence. "Explain the smile, then."

"I was smiling at the absurdity of it," I said, my voice steadier now. "Astrid warned me you’d jump to the worst possible conclusion. She was right."

He turned to stare out the window, but I caught the slight softening of his jaw. "She has a childish sense of humor."

I felt a wave of relief wash over me. He believed me. For a moment, the wall of hostility between us lowered.

He began rolling up his sleeves, his movements slow and deliberate. "So that’s it? You risked a fall in the middle of the night just to prove your 'innocence' regarding a spa treatment?"

His voice dropped lower, the earlier anger replaced by a different, more complex tension. "Or did you realize you weren't quite ready to say goodbye?"