Page 25 of In Love with My Secret Husband

"I need some time."

The quietness of his voice hurt so, so much because this was her husband once again trying to protect her...even though she was the one who had destroyed their marriage in an interview that was now being broadcast on every sports channel and uploaded countless times across all social media platforms.

"To process things..."

Laina whispered "okay" with a nod. Her voice came out thin and small, and she hated the sound of it, hated how tiny she had made herself, sitting in the middle of their bed with the sheet pulled up to her chin like a shield that couldn't shield anything.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stay here at home in the meantime."

She knew she should just nod and say okay again, but...

"What about you?"

She knew it was crazy, being the first one to walk out on their marriage first—

"W-When will you be back?"

But she was just so, so scared of him walking out on her now. Because she could see it. His keys were on the nightstand. His coat was draped over the chair. And the way he was standing, angled toward the door, every muscle in his body pulled tight like he was holding himself in place by force of will alone—

"I'm not sure."

Laina dug her fingers into her palms the moment she heard him say that. The nails bit into skin, sharp and grounding, because if she didn't hold on to something she was going to fall apart right here in this bed they had just made love in.

"Okay."

She told herself not to cry.

But it was just too late.

No no no.

The tears came hot and fast, sliding down her cheeks before she could stop them, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand but more kept coming, and her shoulders were shaking, and she couldn't stop, shecouldn't—

She hated herself for crying, and she hated herself even more when she heard him say her name—

"Laina, don't."

His voice cracked on the word, and that was worse. That was so much worse. Because he was hurtingforher when she had been the one to—

"I'm sorry," she choked out.

And she found herself scrambling off the bed and wrapping the sheet around herself when he tried to approach her. Her feet hit the cold floor, and she stumbled backward, dragging the sheet with her, putting the bed between them like it could stop what was happening.

"Please don't."

Her husband froze. The look on his face — the way his hand was still outstretched, reaching for her across the mattress — made her chest cave in.

"Why?"

She looked at him, and pain had turned him into a blur. She had to hold the sheet with one hand while wiping the tears away with the other. She wanted to see him clearly. Because that was what she deserved — to see clearly just how much pain she had cost him so that she would never ever do something stupid again.

Troy Barrymore stood on the other side of their bed in an untucked shirt with his hair wrecked from her fingers, and his eyes...

His eyes were the eyes of a man whose wife had just told the entire world she loved someone else.

"Because I hurt you, Troy," she whispered.

"I've hurt you for seven years—"