“No,” I say, chin held high. “Glad I wasn’t, actually.”

“Fucking liar,” he says once again as he moves back into the shower to clean himself up.

And he’s right. I am a liar.

But a liar who is protecting her heart, protecting her health.

I make my way back to my room and take a seat on my bed, where I just stare at the wall, contemplating tonight. I feel so . . . destitute. Should I move out now? For sanity’s sake?

Will I ever be able to leave this man?

Or the better question is, will this man ever leave my heart?

My emotions overwhelm me as I lie down on my bed and melt into my pillow, where I let out a sob. Nothing feels right. My mind is a complete mess. My heart is bruised and battered, duct-taped together and barely hanging on. I want him, I miss him, I love him. But he . . . he’s forgotten about me. He’s moved on to a life that doesn’t involve me. He never asked, he never discussed, he just took. And I feel so powerless. So lost. So left behind that I’m not sure this consuming love I have for the man could ever make up for the way he’s made me feel so . . . obsolete.

* * *

RYOT

After a long, drawn-out shower where I spent too much time tasting Myla on my tongue, I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed. Naked, I slip under my covers and stare up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell I just did.

Probably something I shouldn’t have. No, I know I shouldn’t have, but if I’m honest, the pain I’m feeling is more about the words I said.

“This will be the last time I touch this cunt. Don’t expect it again.” And Myla’s lack of response.

Agony slices through me because I can’t see any way around this. Myla didn’t protest. Just accepted my words. Accepted that we’re over.

She’s done.

And I feel so empty. And I have a feeling I’m going to feel this way for a fucking long time.

I grab my phone and shoot off a text.

Ryot: Man, I fucked up. I just got a taste of her, and now, I don’t think I can let her go. But I also don’t think I can fix this. I’m angry. I’m mad at her. I’m mad at myself. I want her, but I don’t like her, but fuck . . . I need her. I fucking hate this.

When I set my phone down, I flop back on my bed and cover my face with my hands as I groan out in frustration.

Fuck!

My intention of going to her room was to give her what she wanted nights ago, my mouth. After what she did tonight, pretending to still be a happily married couple, I wanted to do something for her. Feels lame, but I was more than willing to give in to her demand because she helped me out when she could have told me to fuck off.