He could hear himself speaking before he'd even formed the words in his head. "Sage...what are you doing here? This is Amanda... She's...a friend." The explanations kept spillingout, clumsy, stuttering and half-formed as his ears buzzed. He wasn't really choosing what to say, just filling the space with noise. Something aboutworking together, something abouta misunderstanding. He was only half aware of what he was saying, his voice sounding far away.
And then Sage looked down.
He followed her gaze, just in time to see Amanda's pale fingers move across the white tablecloth until they rested over his darker hand. The touch was light and warm against his cold knuckles, but there was nothing casual in the meaning. It was a claim, a simple gesture of possession.
A gold wedding band glinted faintly on Amanda's finger.
Something flickered in Sage's eyes—pain, sharp and quick—before her eyes turned hollow again.
And for a second, Amanda's lovely face was not so lovely anymore. There was an expression there he had never seen before. There was fear and...excitement before the softness returned.
Sage did not say a word. She just quietly left.
He pulled his hand back and looked down at the table. The silence was thick, almost tangible. Amanda cleared her throat softly. "It's for the best," she whispered. "She had to know."
Ronin's eyes stayed on the white linen. He reached into his pocket, took some money from his wallet, and set it on the table. "I have to go," he said quietly as he slipped away.
Ronin's hands tightened on the wheel to keep them from shaking on his drive home. His shirt was sticking to his back in patches, and the chill was seeping into his skin. The collision of his worlds had happened, and now his mind darted in sharp, panicked bursts.What would Sage do? In her state of mind, would she do something foolish?The thought made his throat close up.
In a moment of clarity, he knew he didn't want them to end. He had been infatuated with Amanda, but Sage was a part of him. And he couldn't let her go.
When he pulled into the drive and walked into the boot room, something in his chest unclenched at the sight of her shoes. She was home. He opened the door after hanging his coat, trying not to make a sound. The house was Sage's labour of love. Every corner, every room was decorated by her. It was warm and cozy with earthy colours and well-made, carefully chosen pieces of furniture.
Inside, he found her sitting at the kitchen island. Her posture struck him first; not the straight-backed pose his mother used to insist on, often reminding her to "sit properly," but bent forward, small and slouched, like the weight on her back was more than she could bear.
He crossed the room and slowly sat opposite her, waiting and silently pleading for her to look at him. When she finally did, her clear eyes were dull, and after a moment, they dropped again, as if her thumb had suddenly become more interesting than anything he could possibly say.
And then he was speaking again, words tumbling out before he could choose them: explanations, excuses, fragments of the truth mixed with softer lies. He didn't know what he was saying, only that the silence between them was unbearable.
Then, there was thetap-tapof footsteps, and David came around the corner.
Ronin watched Sage's face closely as she tried to absorb what David was saying. The confusion in her eyes flickered to hurt, then to something deeper, like her heart was breaking. He watched the sliver of light in her eyes fade and die.
Her breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. Ronin saw the way her fingers curled against her leg, how her lips parted but no sound came.
The silence that followed was heavy, pressing in from all sides. Sage just stared at David—her own son—as if she were trying to reconcile the words with the boy she'd raised.
"She's nice. If Dad's happy with her..."
Ronin didn't need to look at her to know the damage was done. He saw it in the way her posture collapsed, in the way her eyes dimmed completely, as though whatever fragile scaffolding she'd been leaning on had just been kicked out from under her. It was like watching someone's back break without a sound.
Chapter 4
She didn't say a word as she moved past them, her footsteps slow and dragging, carrying her to the grand staircase. Her hand found the banister—the same one she had lovingly buffed with beeswax over the years. She gripped it harder than she needed to, feeling the faint stickiness from the polish under her palm. She needed the support.
Her head was throbbing, but it felt far away, as though her body had decided to mute every physical discomfort except for the hollow ache in her chest. Later, she would understand that adrenaline did that—pushed pain to the corners until it had room to come rushing back in.
She climbed, each step heavier than the last, and turned towards the smaller guest bedroom at the far end of the hall. It was the one with the queen-sized bed and pale curtains; the one she'd always meant to redecorate but never had the time for.
Inside, she closed the door softly and leaned against it for a moment before locking it. They had decided when David was small that every room needed a lock and privacy, especially with tiny curious ears and eyes roaming the house. But David was allgrown up now and no longer needed his mother, it seemed. She was extra, surplus to needs, she thought as her mouth wobbled. She then began stripping away the day, removing her slippers, then her trousers, and blouse. She left her bra and panties on, her bare skin prickling with gooseflesh in the cooler air, and slid between the sheets.
She thought sleep wouldn't come. She thought the noise in her head—the chaotic reel of images, words, and meanings—would keep her rigid and restless. Her mind looped over the same moments, dissecting them from every angle, each repetition cutting deeper than the sharpest blade. Dark emotion filled every available space in her until there was no oxygen left. That was what it felt like now—the memory of Amanda's hand over Ronin's, David's voice saying 'She's nice,' the taste of metal in her mouth as her body tried to keep up with her mind. Her mind conjured up images of Ronin's darker familiar body entwined with Amanda's pale one. Her shining hair on the pillow, his lips on hers. His hand on her breast, his hips holding her down.
She didn't hear the knock at the door as she drifted off. Or maybe she pretended not to.
And yet, somehow, sleep came. Heavy, sudden, a retreat into darkness where she could postpone the pain digging its tentacles into her chest. She didn't fight it; she let it take her. A small mercy, an escape from reality.
When she woke, sunlight was streaming directly onto her face. She'd forgotten to close the curtains. Her pillow was still damp, though she didn't remember crying, and her hair was a tangled mess in yesterday's braid.
