Chapter 9
1004 Words
(Caroline’s POV)
I sit down next to him and pick up a yellow block. "Should this one go next?"
Charlie nods, taking the block from my hand and adding it to his collection. His fingers are so small, so careful as he positions it exactly right.
Aiden comes into the room and settles on the couch behind us. "How was the soccer tournament, buddy?" I ask him, trying to shift the mood to something lighter.
"We won," Aiden says, and I can hear the pride in his voice. "The kids played really well. Tommy scored the winning goal in the final minute."
"That's great."
"Yeah." He's quiet for a moment, watching Charlie work. "You know, we should take Charlie to the park later. Let him run around, burn off some energy. It might help with the transition."
It's a good idea. Charlie loves the park, loves the swings and the slide. And keeping busy will be good for all of us.
"That sounds perfect," I say.
Charlie finishes sorting all the blocks by color—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple—and sits back to admire his work. Then, carefully, deliberately, he starts arranging them into a rainbow.
I watch him, and make myself another promise: I will give him the best life I possibly can. A life filled with love and acceptance and people who see how special he is. A life where he never has to hear anyone call him not normal again.
Samuel doesn't get to be part of that life anymore.
And honestly? We're better off without him.
(Hailey’s POV)
The bed is still warm where Samuel was lying next to me an hour ago. We've had s*x three times since Caroline left—in the study, on the kitchen counter, and finally here in their bedroom. Each time felt like a claim, like I was marking my territory, taking what should have been mine all along.
He’s now in the shower, washing away the evidence of what we’ve shared. Again.
I run my hand over the expensive sheets—Egyptian cotton, a thousand thread count, the kind I could never afford on my own—and try not to think about how Caroline used to sleep here too.
Used to. Past tense.
I won the bed. I won the man. I finally got what I deserved.
I sit up and look around the master bedroom that I've fantasized about claiming as my own for five years.
The big windows with their designer curtains. The walk-in closet that's bigger than my entire apartment. The bathroom with the soaking tub and the fancy shower that has like six different settings.
Tasteful and elegant, like everything Caroline touches. Soft gray walls, white furniture, a plush rug that's fluffy and soft under my feet. There's a photo on the nightstand—Caroline and Samuel on their wedding day, both of them smiling like they'd just won the lottery.
I pick it up and study it. Caroline looks radiant in her white dress, her dark hair swept up, her smile wide and genuine. She always photographs well. Always looks perfect, even when she's not trying.
I smash the frame face-down on the nightstand.
The bathroom door opens, and Samuel emerges in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around his waist. He's handsome—I'll give him that. Tall, well-built, with that confident swagger that comes from old money and older privilege. He's exactly the kind of man I always dreamed about when I was growing up in that hellhole with my foster parents.
"Come back to bed," I say, patting the space beside me.
But Samuel doesn't move. He's looking at his phone, his expression darkening with every second that passes.
"She's not answering my texts," he mutters.
A flicker of irritation runs through me. "So?"
"So she needs to come back." He finally looks at me, and there's something in his eyes that makes my heart sink. "This has gone on long enough."
I sit up, pulling the sheet around myself. "What do you mean, come back? Samuel, she wants a divorce. You heard her."
"She's being emotional. Irrational." He waves a dismissive hand. "She'll calm down in a few days, and then we can talk about this like adults."
"Talk about what?" My voice is rising despite my best efforts to stay calm. "You cheated on her. With me. She's not going to just forgive or forget that."
"She doesn't have a choice."
The certainty in his voice sends a chill down my spine. "What are you talking about?"
Samuel crosses to his dresser and starts getting dressed—expensive slacks, a button-down shirt. He moves with practiced ease, like this is just another business meeting he needs to prepare for.
"Caroline won't actually go through with a divorce," he says, not looking at me. "She's too practical for that. She knows what she'd be giving up."
I watch him button his shirt, and something ugly twists in my stomach. "When are you going to divorce her?"
The question hangs in the air between us.
Samuel's hands still on his buttons. He turns slowly, and the look on his face makes me want to take the words back.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." I force myself to meet his eyes, to not back down. "Caroline wants a divorce. You clearly don't want to be with her anymore. So when are you going to end it?"
For a long moment, Samuel just stares at me. Then he laughs—actually laughs—and the sound is so cold it makes goosebumps rise on my arms.
"You can't be serious."
"Why wouldn't I be?" My hands clutch the sheet tighter. "We've been doing this for five years, Samuel. Five years of sneaking around, of lying, of pretending. Now it's out in the open. So why not just—"
"I'm not divorcing Caroline." His voice cuts through my words like a knife. "I thought I made that clear right from the beginning."
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