No More Groveling

Four years married. I never once touched her. Now she slides a stack of divorce papers across the table and waits for me to fall apart. To get on my knees. To beg her to stay.

That's when the comments start. Glowing text, scrolling through the air where only I can see it. Like a live audience is watching my life and narrating every second of it.

From the bits and pieces, it clicks. I'm the cold, cheating husband in one of those secondchance romances.

The kind where the neglectful jerk is fated to wake up too late, realize he loves her, and come crawling back. The audience is thrilled. They're already laughing at me.

He'll regret it. Any day now he'll be back on his knees, simping like a dog. They don't know the truth. They don't know Genevieve is the reason I'm here at all.

She held my dying grandfather's medication hostage until my family caved and handed me over. I never loved her. And here's what they really don't know.

Four years from now, the one who ends up broke, wrecked, and on her knees begging just to see me? It won't be me. It'll be her.

Chapter 1 Every light in the house was off when I got home.

Genevieve sat at the dining table in the dark, wrecked. "Where were you?" Her voice was raw. "Why didn't you come home?" "Working." She shot to her feet. Pointed at the table.

Dish after dish, a full spread gone cold. "I made all of this." Her voice shook. "I waited for you. It got cold, so I heated it up again. Seven times." I didn't get it.

She was playing the martyr, that was all. "I texted you.

I said I was working late and wouldn't be home for dinner." I looked at the food. "Even if you wanted to wait, you could've just warmed it up when I walked in.

There was no reason to keep reheating it, over and over." She wilted back into the chair. "Do you even remember what today is?" I flipped on the lights.

She winced against the glare. "Your birthday's handled.

I had my assistant send over that jewelry set you've been wanting." I paused. "I don't know what else there is to be upset about." Guilt pulled at me.

I said it anyway. "You're the one who forced your way into this marriage. You should've been ready for how it ends." She lifted her eyes to mine.

For a long moment she just looked at me. "Damien." Quiet. Almost gentle. "Did you ever love me?" Then a small, bitter laugh at herself. "Never mind.

It doesn't matter anymore." She pushed the folder toward me. "Let's get divorced." I opened my mouth to answer. That's when the text appeared.

Floating in the air, just for me. [Finally, the good part! Our girl's banked enough heartbreak to walk. Any second now it starts to hurt. First time he feels her slipping.

He'll refuse the divorce, watch.] [Nah, she'll push, he'll sign out of pride, and THEN it hits him he can't live without her.

Classic.] The comments blurred past, dozens of them, and slowly it came together in my head. I was living inside one of those secondchance romances. I was the cold husband.

The one fated to lose her, wake up too late, and come crawling back. Genevieve was my wife. I had never loved her. Four years, and I'd never once touched her. I barely came home.

If I could sleep at the office, I did. The photo on my desk wasn't of her. It was Sylvie. My ex. Genevieve never complained.

She just kept pouring herself out, one performance of sacrifice after another, playing house and playing nurse for four years straight. Then came this birthday. I didn't come home.

She sat with a table of cold food in an empty house, and something in her finally gave out. She knew I'd never let go of Sylvie. So she was the one who asked to end it.

And in the script, the real one, the one they all knew, here's what came next. She leaves. Only then do I realize I'm already in love with her, that I can't breathe without her.

So I go to win her back. I find her tucked against some other man, and she looks straight through me. Mr. Ashford. I don't know you. That was the ending the audience wrote for me.

The grovel. The crawlback. Every onmyknees second of it. Too bad. I wasn't lighting a single match for her. Chapter 2 We were at the divorce now.

I glanced at the papers she'd handed me and paused. "You're walking away with nothing?" Her face was set. "That's right. You don't love me, so I don't want you either.

I don't want anything that's yours. Just give me my freedom back." She wasn't even done talking. I signed my name. Clean, fast, like I was scared she'd change her mind.

The comments expected me to rip the papers up and drop to my knees. Sorry. The thing standing in my way was walking out on its own. I couldn't have been happier.

My only worry was that she'd take it back. Genevieve went still. Whatever she'd meant to say jammed in her throat. [Wait, WHAT. Why did he sign?

He's supposed to panic, throw the papers down, tell her to stop being dramatic.] [Right?? And seeing her willing to leave with nothing, he's supposed to feel how cold he's been.

He's supposed to sense he's about to lose the one person he loves.] I smiled to myself. Why would I mourn someone I don't love for choosing to leave?

Once, Sylvie and I were the real thing. We were just waiting for her to graduate so we could get married. Her family had nothing, but she was kind, and she was honest.

My parents never cared about pedigree, only character, and they loved her like their own. Then Genevieve fell for me on sight and lost her mind over it.

She used the Vance name to grind my family's company into the dirt. When my grandfather landed in the hospital, dying, she bought up his medication and choked off the supply.

She sent people after Sylvie again and again, until Sylvie left the country just to get away from her. For my grandfather's sake, I gave in. I married Genevieve. But love her?

Never. I still don't understand the whole redemptionarc fantasy the author was going for. Man has a girlfriend he loves. Girl uses her power to force him to marry her.

She sacrifices in silence for years, discovers he never loved her, and drops the big line, "I don't love you anymore." Then she walks, waiting for him to realize she was the one all along, and the crawlback begins.

Here's the thing. The obstacle was leaving. I was thrilled. Genevieve stared at my signature like it wasn't real. Her lips moved.

She fought with herself for a long moment, then forced the words out through her teeth. "Damien. I hope you don't regret this." Regret it? I was more worried she would.

To prove she meant it, she'd chosen to leave with nothing. And the Vance family had gone bankrupt in the third year of our marriage.

What her life looked like after she walked out of the Ashfords', I had no idea. It was none of my concern. I posted the divorce on Ashford Group's official account.

Cleared my whole calendar. Booked the next flight out and went to get her myself. I was bringing Sylvie home. We'd already lost four years.

I wasn't losing the rest of my life too. [The male lead's off to fetch his first love. Ha.

Give it a few days, he'll fall for our girl and fall right in line.] [He's SO into the other one.

Watching him love someone else is how you know he never loved the heroine.] [Don't worry, everyone. The scumbag gets his reckoning by the end.

Just wait for it.] They were all sitting there, waiting for me to wake up and come crawling back to her. But I was already in the air.

On my way to the woman she'd chased out of the country. The one I should have married in the first place.

Chapter 3 I found her in a park, camera in hand, taking pictures of an elderly couple. Her head was tipped to one side.

Sunlight sat on her apricot beret, and she looked like one of her own photographs. Alive. Bursting with life. "Sylvie." I stepped closer. My voice shook, and I couldn't stop it.

Her shoulders went stiff at the sound of me. She turned around slowly, and her eyes landed on mine. Wind moved through her hair.

Light broke through the thin branches and scattered across the ground.

For one second we were kids again, standing under those two trees, looking at each other from far apart. [Okay, I feel guilty, but this shot of him and the other girl?

It's beautiful.] [Same. That whole "after all the detours, it was still you" feeling...] I told Sylvie everything about the divorce. I knew she wanted a clean kind of love.

But she was soft, and she was kind. So I gave her the truth. Four years married, and Genevieve and I had never once shared a bed.

The divorce was her idea, not mine, and even after the Vance family went bankrupt, I never kicked them while they were down. That's not who I am. Sylvie understood.

Those four years, she'd been on her own too. She'd never let me go. Falling back together was the easiest thing in the world.

I spent a month with her, finishing the honeymoon we never got. We walked through a quiet little town in the snow, and time slowed right down. A month later, I brought her home.

Introduced her to my parents again, walked her into my world, and married her in a church that looked out over the sea. The dream I used to have. I finally got to live inside it.

If Genevieve hadn't shown up, the day would have been perfect. I never sent her an invitation. But as we exchanged rings, there she was, sitting in the crowd. White gown.

White veil. There to upstage the bride, and not hiding it. I tightened my grip on Sylvie's hand and stepped in front of her without thinking.

Genevieve's eyes went red in a heartbeat.

She pressed her lips shut and said nothing, just stared at our joined hands with tears standing in her eyes. [Her face is breaking my heart. Does he even deserve her?

She has to be fully awake now.] [At their own wedding he was cold and impatient the whole time. Now look how gentle he is with the homewrecker.

Makes the heroine's four years look like a punchline.] The comments made me frown. If we're splitting hairs, Sylvie isn't the homewrecker.

Genevieve is the one who forced herself into a relationship that was already whole. And those four years of hers, all that performance of sacrifice? It really was a joke.

The kind of martyr who suffers on purpose so she can guilttrip you for it later. I didn't have security drag her out. I didn't need to. To me she'd already stopped existing.

So while Genevieve sat there in her white dress, knuckles white in her lap, I turned back to Sylvie. We exchanged rings. We poured the champagne.

We swore the rest of our lives to each other. Not once did I look down at her. The reception ran late into the night. I thought the circus was finally over.

I had no idea Genevieve was just getting warmed up. Chapter 4 I brought Sylvie home.

I'd had a lot to drink and wanted something sweet, so I called in the young maid, Brianne. "Go make a couple of hot toddies." Brianne pressed her lips together like she was sitting on some private grief. "What is it?" I asked, leaning back into Sylvie.

A tear caught on her lashes. She mumbled, "The toddies you always had, sir, the lady of the house made those herself. I don't know how to..." The comments lost it. [Ha.

NOW you think of our heroine's hot toddy? Regretting it yet? Too late. Wait for the crawlback.] [He'll figure it out slowly. She was his oxygen.

Never noticed her until he couldn't breathe.] The corner of my mouth twitched. Did the comments think I was stupid? I waved the old housekeeper in. "Rosa.

Two hot toddies." "Of course, sir." Rosa called it back without missing a beat. A few minutes later, two of them came out steaming.

I handed one to Sylvie and tasted mine in the living room. "Tastes exactly like the ones I always get." "The mix is storebought, readymade," Rosa said. "The rest too.

You just heat it up." Brianne started to shake. Fear all over her face. I let out a cold breath. "I don't know what you are to Genevieve. But she's gone.

Sylvie is the lady of this house now. Get one more idea you shouldn't have, and you're out of this house for good." I turned to go. Behind me, the comments went feral.

I tuned them out. Showered. Climbed into bed and pulled Sylvie into my arms. I looked at her, and it filled me up, the joy of holding what I'd lost. The mood was easy.

I had my fingers in her hair. Then the noise cut in. "Sir!

I can't find your medicine!" Brianne came crashing through the door without knocking, drenched in sweat, like the house was on fire. I like to think I'm eventempered.

Even I was starting to lose it. I pulled the blanket up over Sylvie and bit out the word. "What." Brianne looked terrified, like she knew she'd walked in on something.

Then she squared her shoulders into the loyalservant act, ready to die on the hill of my own good. "You drank so much tonight, sir.

I was afraid you'd get a headache, so I went for your usual medicine. But the lady of the house always kept it. I don't know where it is!" She was loud about it.

Shouting, and craning her neck the whole time to catch Sylvie's reaction. [Heh. Let the scumbag sit with his headache and miss her.] [Sylvie's the latenight liquor.

Our Gigi was the warm breakfast the next morning.] I wanted to throw her out on the spot. But Sylvie was right there, and I had appearances to keep. "First.

How much I drink is none of your concern, and I don't have a headache. Do your job and stop poking around in things that aren't yours. "Second.

Who told you that you could say Genevieve's name in front of Sylvie? There is one lady of this house, and it's her. "Last.

You're a maid in this house who can't even tell me where the medicine is.

I'd call that negligent." Brianne's face went grayer and grayer. "You're fired." Chapter 5 Brianne's eyes went huge.

She lunged and caught the edge of the bed. "You're firing me because I don't know where your medicine is?!" My voice dropped flat and hard. "I could pull any other servant in this house in here right now, and they'd tell me where the painkillers are.

Whether you really don't know, or you've got ideas you shouldn't, you already know the answer." She kept shrieking. I had her out the door anyway.

The comments went quiet for a beat. Then they buried me. [This is wrong. Brianne is the most righteous side character in the whole book.

She's supposed to nudge the scumbag until he sees the heroine's worth. Why isn't he sobbing? Why did he FIRE her??] [You're done, scumbag. Brianne is the heroine's best friend.

When your crawlback arc hits, the heroine is going to put you on your knees to pay her back for this.] On my knees? The corner of my mouth lifted. Sure. Let's see.

When this book turns its last page, the one who's kneeling, regretting all of it, begging to be let off the hook. Who's that going to be? The comments churned all night