Chapter 503
Chapter 503:
“Your wife?” She blinked. “Rusty mentioned it. I thought he was joking p>
“He wasn’t p>
“It’s just… hard to imagine you married. Of all the guys in the gang, you were the least likely p>
I wished Mira could have heard that. Maybe then she would understand why I insisted on the wedding. Without a very public, very official ceremony, no one believed me when I said I had a wife.
“Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.” I closed the door behind me and took the stairs up to the next floor.
Mira was awake.
“How was the dress fitting?” I asked.
“Who is she?” she asked at the same time.
“Her name’s Lea Marchand—Lea Lopez, once she’s divorced. Her husband’s a drunk, violent arsehole. He turned up at her hotel and wouldn’t leave her alone. I had to get her out. She’s coming back to Skyline with me. He can’t touch her there. His family’s powerful and old-school. The divorce makes them look bad, so they’ll try everything to make her back down p>
Ashton’s voice was calm, unemotional, as if he were reading a weather report.
I caught some of the words, but most of it blurred into a low, distant hum.
I was preoccupied with the feeling settling heavily in my chest.
What I felt was panic.
But not the usual kind.
I was terrified by how calm I was. And how… relieved.
I liked Ashton. That much was still true.
But for the first time, I was certain—I didn’t love him.
Or maybe I just didn’t deserve to.
He was too good to be true.
𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲:
If your boyfriend came home late, reeking of perfume and wine, after dinner with another woman, wouldn’t you be at least a little angry? You would. If you cared. So why wasn’t I?
When Rowan Hale had tried to stir up gossip about her and Ashton, I hadn’t felt jealous then, either.
I had told myself it was because he’d shut it down quickly and made it clear he wasn’t interested.
I believed him. He wasn’t the cheating type.
But this? This was different.
This woman, a head-turner in a red dress, wasn’t just some singer looking to boost her profile. She was someone from his past. Someone with history. Someone he hadn’t exactly rushed to tell me about.
He’d had dinner with her, come home late. Now he was canceling our dress fitting to fly her back to Skyline.
This was the same man who’d accused me of not taking our wedding seriously.
If that’s not a red flag, what is?
I should have been livid. Jealous. Throwing things. Screaming.
Instead, I felt nothing.