No fucking way.

Anger surges.

My pulse screams through my veins.

And everything Nola told me is tossed right out the window as I descend the rest of the stairs and head straight to the kitchen, where I will be shutting down whatever plans they have for tonight.

* * *

MYLA

I picked up Nichole an hour ago. While we drove home, Nichole listed off all the bars and clubs she wants to take me to. I just sat there quietly, nodding my head even though the last thing I really want to do is go out.

But that’s why Nichole is here, to get me out of my funk.

Once we got back to the house, she picked out a dress for me to put on—a red number that I haven’t worn in years—pulled my hair up into a tight bun, and did my makeup for me. Ryot has always made me feel sexy, but this outfit, this makeup, makes me feel sexy on my own. Like I don’t need a man to boost my confidence, and that’s sort of nice.

The only problem is, Nichole has it set in her mind that we’re going to have “fun” and fun to me right now is eating ice cream in bed while bingeing Netflix. But I understand what she’s trying to do. She’s trying to shake me alive again, so I’m wearing this dress and listening to her plans for the evening.

“I think we start at Four, and then we move on from there. I heard they have great appetizers. Soft pretzels with beer dip? Yes, please.”

“Sure, yeah, I went there—”

“Myla, a word,” Ryot says from behind me, startling me. I didn’t even hear him creep down the stairs.

“Oh, why hello there,” Nichole says, waving her fingers at Ryot. “How’s it going, Bisley?”

I catch Ryot flash his icy glare at Nichole before turning back toward me. “Myla, I would like to speak to you in private.”

“Not even a hello?” Nichole asks.

“Cut the shit, Nichole. You know the last thing I want to do is say hi to you.”

“What a greeting. And here I thought we were friends.”

“We were until you convinced Myla to break up with me after her father passed. Since then, you’ve been someone I’ve tolerated because I love my wife.”

Nichole’s face falls, and she’s about to open her mouth to reply, but I move Ryot out of the kitchen and toward the guest bedroom, out of earshot. The last thing I need is a fight between them.

When the door is closed, I turn toward him and say, “Don’t be rude to her. That was a while ago, and we’ve moved on.”

“She might have, but I never did. What is she doing here anyway?”

“She thought I needed support.”

“You, support?” he asks, his eyes blazing with fury. “How the fuck are you the one who needs support? I’m the one whose heart is being ripped out of his goddamn chest. I’m the one who was blindsided. I’m the one who thought everything was fine with this marriage.” And therein lies the problem. Ryot simply has no idea how desperately invisible I’ve felt for months. He’s lost sight of me in his world. In us. It’s why my heart feels so utterly crushed. Why I’ve felt so alone.