Page 6 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

My body never got the memo that he stopped being mine.

The ballroom blurs behind us as he leads me down a quieter corridor lined with marble and gold trim. His grip never loosens.

He opens the door to a private lounge and ushers me inside with cold efficiency.

The moment the door shuts behind us, silence crashes into the room.

Dante releases my wrist.

The sudden absence of his touch feels strangely brutal.

He turns away immediately, walks stiffly toward the fireplace, crouches before the flames, and grabs the poker. His hand trembles slightly as he adjusts a log.

For several seconds, neither of us speaks.

I watch the rigid line of his shoulders rise and fall.

Then:

“Where were you?”

His voice is low, sharp, hollow. The voice of a man who asked that question into the void a thousand times and stopped expecting an answer.

I wish I could tell him.

But what I have to say can’t be spoken half-dazed with emotion, locked in a room where we’re both bleeding raw. Not like this. Not tonight.

He takes my silence as an answer.

“Two years. Two fucking years without a word. And now you show up here tonight like nothing happened. Tell me how exactly I’m supposed to interpret that.”

At last, he turns to face me. His eyes sweep slowly, methodically, over me, taking inventory. I watch him shut down more with every passing second.

“So you were alive this whole time.”

His voice is cold. Empty of any obvious emotion. But I know him—I know the cracks hidden beneath that ice, the way his jaw tightens when he swallows back something he refuses to show.

“You really made a fool out of me.”

Every word lands like a sentence.

“I hope you enjoyed watching me grieve you like an idiot.”

No.

The scream lodges in my throat.

No, Dante, you’re so wrong. You have no idea what these past two years cost me.

But he doesn’t give me the chance to speak. He rises to his feet, and something changes in his expression—a deliberate hardness like he’s searching for the exact spot to drive the knife.

“But don’t worry. I didn’t stay heartbroken forever.”

His voice drops lower.

“I found someone else. She was there when I hit rock bottom. And soon, she’ll be my wife.”

My hand tightens around my own arm.