I'm sitting in the passenger seat, watching the city pass by, my back straight, my hands clenched on my white dress. My fingers tremble slightly despite myself.
Tony is driving.
Focused.
Rigid. His jaw is clenched, his eyes fixed straight ahead, occasionally throwing a glance in my direction. He hasn't said a single word since we left the city hall.
The engine hums.
My heart does exactly the same. I try to breathe calmly, but the air seems to be missing inside the car.
Then his voice falls.
Cold. Sharp.
— We're going to clear things up.
My stomach knots immediately.
— I'm listening, I say softly, without looking at him.
He tightens his grip on the steering wheel.
— Why were you late to the city hall?
I swallow. My throat tightens. I feel the argument coming back, settling between us like a third passenger.
— It's not important, I murmur.
He still doesn't look at me.
— Yes. It is important.
His gaze leaves the road for a fraction of a second. Long enough for me to feel it. I hate when he looks at me like that. I feel… intimidated.
— I don't owe you any explanations, I say, my voice trembling despite myself. And why do you care so much about knowing?
A heavy silence falls. He takes a deep breath as if he's searching for his words.
Then he says, bluntly:
— Who is Malik Belrose?
My blood freezes instantly, as if time has stopped. He had already seen him at the mall, but he had never asked questions. Not until now.
I slowly turn my head toward him.
His gaze is fixed on me.
Dark. Piercing. Sharp.
His dark brown eyes cut right through me. I'm literally out of breath.
I immediately look away, unable to look at him any longer.
Damn, this is the first time I've ever looked away in front of someone.
— Who is he to you? he repeats.
My chest tightens violently.
My hands clench the fabric of my dress. How do I explain it? How do I tell him who he is?
— Wh… why are you asking me this…?
— Because I want to know.
— You don't have to know, and besides…
The ringing of his phone cuts us off abruptly. He pulls it out of his pocket, glances at the screen, lets out an annoyed breath, and puts it back without answering.
— I want to know why he's with you. Why he's chasing after you.
Who. Is. He. To. You. Damn it!
He shouts so loudly that I flinch.
I don't like being yelled at. So I turn toward him. His eyes are still just as piercing, but this time I refuse to look away.
— Why are you shouting? I'm right next to you, I say as calmly as possible. And besides, who he is to me is none of your business. And stop interfering in my life as if it belongs to you.
— Don't push me, Esther. I'm warning you, if—
His phone rings again.
This time, he answers.
— WHAT DO YOU WANT?
_
— I CAN'T COME.
_
— I SAID NO. AND STOP CALLING ME.
He hangs up abruptly. Anger is written all over his face. His shoulders are tense, his hands clenched on the steering wheel.
Then nothing. The silence returns, heavier, colder. I simply rest my head against the window and watch the scenery pass by.
I'd rather he never ask me any more questions about Malik. He is my past, and I want him to stay there.
I think about the future.
About how I'm supposed to live my life.
About how to live with a man so cold, arrogant, distant, and grumpy. How am I going to survive with him?
My stomach growls. I haven't eaten anything since this morning, and I'm starving.
I notice a restaurant by the side of the road that's still open. I turn toward him.
— Stop.
He brakes immediately and looks at me, surprised.
— What is it?
— Nothing. I'm just hungry. I want to get something to eat.
His gaze runs over me from head to toe.
Then he says, in a sharp tone:
— Hurry up. We don't have all evening.
I get out of the car.
Before closing the door, I turn back to him.
— You heard me, right? Don't leave.
He stares at me, his gaze hard.
— You have ten minutes. Not one more. If you go over, you'll walk home, and—
I don't let him finish.
I slam the door so hard that the window vibrates violently through the body of the car. I hear him curse under his breath:
— My God, give me the strength not to kill her…
I walk away without looking back.
And, against all expectations, a slight smile curves my lips.
I walk toward the restaurant and go inside.
I place my order.
I wait. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty.
I know I've gone over the time limit, but I'm sure he won't leave. I think.
When I finally come out, the bag of food in my hand, I stop dead.
The car is gone.
— No… am I dreaming?
My heart tightens brutally.
— He wouldn't dare… he actually carried out his threat.
I take a few steps, look around.
Nothing.
The road is almost empty.
— Unbelievable…
I know I shouldn't say this, but he's an asshole.
I sigh in despair and walk to the side of the road, looking for a taxi. Nothing. No one.
I sigh, exhausted. I'm tired, my heels really hurt, and he abandons me.
— Great… really great. What a model husband.
At that moment, a black car with tinted windows slowly pulls up in front of me.
Too slowly.
The door opens to reveal a man dressed all in black.
Dark sunglasses.
Straight, professional posture.
— Madam, he says as he approaches me, and I take a step back.
Mr. Arrison sent me to come and get you.
I freeze for a second. He left me and sent a stranger to pick me up.
A mix of anger and humiliation burns in my chest.
— Where is your boss?
The man hesitates for a fraction of a second before answering.
— Madam… I couldn't tell you where he is.
He simply told me to come find you here.
My jaw tightens. My fingers close around the bag of food, the plastic crackling under the pressure.
I don't answer.
I walk past him without a word, open the back door, and get into the car.
As soon as I sit down, my body reacts.
My back is rigid.
My shoulders tense.
My heart beats too fast, as if it wants to run away in my place.
My throat is tight, a painful knot stuck right there.
The door closes softly.
Too softly.
The smell of leather almost makes me sick.
My hands tremble slightly on my knees.
I stare at the emptiness in front of me, my teeth clenched.
I don't know why I'm reacting this way, but this behavior hits me deeply, like an open wound.
It's overwhelming, it hurts, and I can't put a precise word on it.
That's it.
My husband abandons me on the side of the road…