.
.
.
The day dragged on in a blur of disjointed thoughts and fleeting moments.
I was supposed to be focused on Sophia, on the plan we'd spent hours crafting in whispered conversations and midnight phone calls.
But everytime I tried to direct my mind back to it, it slipped, like water through my fingers, right into the thoughts of Aiden.
His voice, his smirk, the ghost of his touch still lingering like smoke on my skin.
The kind of memories that crawl beneath your ribs and settle there.
Yeah, I know. I'm insane.
Because, it had been almost impossible to shake the feeling he left behind when he walked out.
That invisible grip he had on my psyche.
His absence wasn't freeing, it was suffocating. And that fact alone made me furious.
I told myself, repeatedly, that I was better off without him. I'd recited it like a mantra, time to time: you don't need him. You're stronger than this.
But the truth was, I didn't feel stronger. I felt adrift. Like I was moving through time, without really touching any of them.
Disconnection had become my default state.
The buzz of my phone on the nightstand jolted me from my thoughts. I grabbed it, expecting Sophia's name to flash across the screen. Some grounding words. An update. A reality check.
But it was Aiden.
Of course it was my stalker husband.
"Don't forget about tonight. I'll pick you up at 6. Wear something nice. I want you looking your best, like the wife of the Almighty Aiden Gallagher, that you are."
My stomach dropped. My fingers hovered above the screen, trembling slightly. I didn't want to reply. I shouldn't reply.
Not after everything. Not after the things he'd said. The things he'd done.
But then, my thumbs moved on their own accord, driven by some reckless instinct.
"I'm not your puppet, Aiden."
I stared at the message in horror, the sharpness of the words hitting harder than I expected. Regret followed fast, curling hot in my chest the moment I pressed send.
I waited.
A minute passed.
Then another.
Still nothing.
And for the first time in a long time, that silence didn't break me. It didn't even sting.
Maybe… maybe i didn't care what he thought anymore.
Maybe I was finally starting to mean the things I'd been telling myself.
I stood up, crossing the room to my closet.
My fingers grazed the line of hangers until I landed on the black dress. It wasn't showy, wasn't extravagant, but it fit me right.
Sharp neckline, clear lines, quiet strength. I wasn't dressing for him. I was dressing for the woman I was trying to become.
The next few hours slipped by in a daze.
Foundation and mascara, click of heels on the floor, the ritual of armor. I did my hair, but because I needed to look composed. Unshakable.
Like a woman who had nothing to hide, and everything to gain.
But underneath those, a different storm raged. Sophia's fate, tangled in a plan I wasn't sure I could see through. And then there was Aiden, a threat and a weakness all wrapped in one.
It was as if the walls in my mind were closing in, slowly, deliberately, shrinking my world down to one long, breathless corridor with no exit.
Click.
I glanced at the clock. 5:45 p.m
A knock at the door jolted me. Not a polite knock. Sharp. Impatient.
I exhaled, smoothing the dress down, grounding myself in the feel of the fabric. I was already moving toward the door when it opened on its own.
Of course. What did you expect?
Aiden stepped inside like he owned the space, like nothing had changed.
He wore that same air of quiet control, of confidence that bordered on arrogance. It clung to him like his cologne, subtle but suffocating.
His eyes swept over me in one calculated motion, pausing just long enough to make my skin prickle.
"You look good," he said, voice low. Too smooth.
I hated that I still felt it. That twinge deep in my gut.
That stupid, involuntary reaction.
"Let's just get this over with." I muttered, folding my arms across my chest, trying to cafe the unease spreading inside me.
"Is that how you talk to your husband?" His tone playful, but I caught the edge beneath it. A threat wrapped in silk.
I didn't answer.
Didn't flinch.
But inside, something twisted.
He took a step closer, and I instinctively stepped back, my heel brushing the edge of the rug.
"Relax, Cait," he said, voice dipped in something softer now.
Too soft. "We're not going to fight tonight. I promised I wouldn't lay a finger on you, and I meant it."
But his eyes betrayed him. They always did. A flicker of something, possession, control, maybe something darker, passed through them, and I felt it like a cold handvatound my throat.
I swallowed hard, forcing my breath to steady.
I could do this. I had to do this.
This night wasn't about him. It was about the mission. About Sophia. About the bigger picture I kept pretending I was brave enough to face.
"Let's just go.". I said quietly.
And I didn't wait for him to lead the way. I moved past him, out the door, into the night air that felt, for one moment.