“What?” I snap, too quick. I smooth it out before it becomes a scene. “I mean—he might. He should. That’s… that’s normal, right?”
Miles doesn’t answer immediately. He tips his head as if weighing how honest he can be without pushing me off a cliff. “You’ve been waiting for him to reach out for years,” he says quietly, even though I’ve never admitted that truth aloud. “So yeah. You expected a call.”
My jaw locks.
Across the room, Eli’s laughing with a couple of donors near the stage, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up like he can’t stop being himself even in a room full of people trying to impress each other. Drew’s beside him, smooth and steady. Vinny scans the entrances, half bored, always alert.
Miles nudges my elbow. “You heard anything at all?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
And that’s the thing.
There’s been nothing. Complete radio silence.
I know the papers were served a few hours ago—my very discreet lawyer texted me the second she saw the notification hit my legal portal. I’d expected something after that. A call, a text, even a “What the fuck is this?” because even if Ollie hates me, even if he thinks I’m the villain, this is still… us.
Whatever we are.
But there’s been nothing. No angry message. No pleading. No explanation. Not even a shortthank youlike the one he sent months ago when I confirmed the donation.
I should be relieved. Shouldn’t I?
This is what I wanted. Quiet. Clean. Private. A divorce filed in a way that stays out of the spotlight. No headlines, no “shocking romance revelation,” no public dragging of Ollie Marshall’s name through tabloids that would treat him like a scandal instead of a human.
It took me almost four months to find the nerve to do it. Four months of staring at the forms, filling them out, deleting them, filling them out again. Four months of my brain screaming that it was betrayal and my heart whispering that it was survival.
Even then I did it carefully. Through lawyers who can be trusted. Through channels that would keep it contained. Through a trust that wouldn’t flag entertainment news. Through quiet.
Because I could divorce him without outing him. That was the deal I made with myself.
Miles studies my face like he can see every thought I don’t say. “You doing okay?” he asks.
I laugh once, humorless. “Define okay.”
“Rafe.”
I look at him. Really look. Miles is dressed in a suit that fits him like it was born there, hair neat, smile easy for anyone who needs it. He’s always been like this—steady, grounded, the one who can hold a room without needing the spotlight.
The sensible one. The one who can say hard truths without making you feel cornered.
“The weird part,” I admit quietly, “is that I keep checking my phone like a teenager.”
Miles’s mouth twitches. “Because you wanted a reaction.”
“I wanted….” I stop, swallow. “I don’t know. Proof he’s real. Proof he cares. Proof?—”
“That he’s human,” Miles finishes, softer.
I exhale, long and shaky.
Miles reaches up and adjusts my tie for no reason except he knows I need something normal to latch onto. “He might call,” he says. “Or he might be in shock. Or he might be busy doing the thing athletes do where they pretend their emotions don’t exist until they explode in private.”
I snort. “That’s specific.”
Miles shrugs. “I’ve met athletes.”
My mouth almost smiles. It doesn’t last, though, because my brain flickers back to wondering about Ollie’s face when he got served.
