Page 2 of Fractured Empire

“Something has changed,” I inform her tightly. “I’ve decided that I can’t live this way anymore, and I don’t think you should have to either.”

She stiffens, barely a flinch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I almost kissed someone tonight,” I reveal evenly. “I’ve never once thought of myself as someone who could commit adultery but I don’t even think I know myself anymore. I’m fucking miserable, and lonely, and fucking done, Cleo. I can’t live like this. I shouldn’t have to. We shouldn’t have to.”

Whatever mask of indifference she tries to put in place, it doesn’t conceal her anger very well. “It was her, wasn’t it? The Todorov woman?”

Of course she would guess that, and of course she would be fixated on the one detail that doesn’t actually matter. I could have been drawn to kiss a waitress, a Moretti lawyer, or a prostitute. It would never be about the woman, no matter who it was, but about my insufferable loneliness and desire for human connection.

“Rayna,” I correct. “This isn’t about her. It doesn’t matter who I almost kissed, what matters is that I said vows and I nearly broke them.”

“Of course it matters who,” she argues.

A bitter laugh escapes me and I shake my head. “You know, I almost thought Rayna showing up might be a good thing. You showed the barest hint of jealousy when you met her, and I thought maybe she made you realize that you didn’t want anyone to take me away from you. But nothing changed, not even as Rayna became my friend.”

“A friend,” she scoffs. “I saw the spark of attraction in your eyes as soon as I saw the two of you together.”

“Attraction means nothing.”

“Says the man who almost kissed her,” Cleo snaps back. “I wasn’t showing jealousy in my coldness toward her, but anger. She isn’t the kind of woman you can make a mistress. She’s a wife, and you already have one of those. The last thing I needed was for her to come along and try to become something more to you.”

Her words are bitter and laced with a venom I’ve never heard come out of her mouth. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think her intense anger was born out of passion.

But I know better.

This is not the first time she’s suggested I seek physical release from another source, but it makes my stomach churn just as painfully as it did the first time. God forbid I did have another woman giving me affection and my lonely heart beat for her instead of my wife. Then I’d be even more utterly fucked.

Keeping my composure is becoming more and more difficult as I remind her, “I told you once, and I’ll tell you again. I won’t have a fucking mistress, Cleo. I don’t want to be with another woman while I have a wife. The thought makes me feel sick.”

She rolls her eyes and I almost snap.

Taking a deep breath, I continue, keeping my voice steady. “I could deal with you never wanting to fuck again. I could deal with never loving one another. But you don’t even talk to me. You act like being around me is a chore, and you make me feel like an outcast in my own home.”

“We’re not friends,” Cleo points out, folding her arms. “I don’t know what you want from me. Since when do you need to be coddled?”

“Stop that,” I demand, stepping closer to where she sits. “Don’t say I’m asking to be coddled because I hate the way you act around me. We’re not friends because you refuse to even try being my friend, so don’t say that like it’s somehow my fault.”

A beat of silence, and then, “I don’t want to be your friend.”

It shouldn’t hurt to hear, but a dull stab still seems to sink into my gut.

Even with the pain, I don’t miss a beat, delivering my next line with unbelievable calm. “If you don’t want to be with me, then we don’t have to be together.”

She tenses up, shoulders going rigid. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“It means I’ll get my father to agree to a divorce,” I reply plainly, the words tasting suspiciously like ash on my tongue. “We’ll separate and co-parent the kids.”

“A divorce?” she echoes, shaking her head in denial or disbelief. “Why the hell would I agree to that?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t you?” I counter, throwing my hands up. “What the fuck are we even doing, Cleo? Why would you want to live this way?”

Standing up in a huff, she places her hands on her hips and shows more emotion than I’ve seen from her in years. “Why should I have to change my life because you’re unhappy?”

“Are you serious?” I laugh incredulously. “You can’t be happy either, there’s no way! What would even really change? This isn’t a marriage, Cleo. This is some twisted roommate co-parenting situation and it’s not fucking working.”

“I’ve never been happy,” she hisses. “Happiness doesn’t matter, Leon. Grow up. Our only job is to give our children a good life, and we’re doing that.”

My hands connect around the back of my neck, squeezing and releasing as I try to hang on to what little composure I still possess. “Cleo, I don’t understand⁠—”