“Dolly, please,” he whines. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
A week ago, those words would have found purchase in my heart. But now? They barely graze the surface. There’s no anger, no sadness in me—just a quiet, eerie nothingness. I’ve already chartered a new course, one that has no place for regret, especially about him.
Ben stands and crosses the room, arms outstretched like I’m supposed to fall into them. When he reaches for my hands, I step back, voice sharp as a blade.
“Don’t call me Dolly. And don’t fucking touch me,” I bark.
“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands like I’m the unreasonable one.
“Dahlia,” he amends, offering the name like a peace offering. He exhales shakily, as if this is hard for him. Him!
“It was one night. I was weak and lonely without you. We’d never been apart for so long before.” His voice trembles—just slightly. The perfect balance of remorse and vulnerability.
But now I know, it’s a performance. Our years together have taught me to read his micro expressions. I watch him closely, and there it is—the tell. His fingers spin his ring on his right hand. His left eyebrow twitches upward.
I’ve seen this exact expression before. When he schmoozed trustees for funding. When he convinced donors to cut a check. When he humored students who weren’t pretty enough to warrant his real attention. And now, he’s doing it to me.
Curious, I play along. “Why, Ben?” I whisper, tilting my head just slightly. Widening my eyes in feigned wonder. “Why should I forgive you?”
He relaxes, thinking he’s won me over, and I use the moment to edge back toward the door. There’s nothing here I need. Nothing worth fighting over. And the hair on the back of my neck is standing on end, prickling with the instinct to run.
Ben’s voice softens, taking on that coaxing tone he uses when he wants something, as he steps toward me.“Dahlia, we’ve been together for years. We have too much history to throw it all away over a silly mistake that meant nothing.”
The word silly sinks into my stomach like a stone, leaving emotions rippling in its wake. Incredulity. Hurt. Betrayal. All my logical thoughts about putting myself first collapse in on themselves, a house of cards knocked down by a tsunami of emotion.
He gestures between us, narrowing his eyes. “It’s you I love. You I’ve devoted my life to.” His lips press into a thin line, voice lowering. “I’ve sacrificed so much for you. For us. Think of our work. Think of the lab. The department.”
I retreat another step, feeling the transition from carpet to linoleum as my back nears the entryway at the door. Think ofwhat? I gave him years of my love, and he’s making it sound like our relationship was some kind of contractual agreement. As if we were business partners and our love was nothing more than a footnote. Like I owe him something. Like I owe the freaking university something.
What about me? What am I owed?
He must see my hesitation because his mask drops, face hardening. “We’re so close, Dahlia. So close to everything we wanted. Let’s go back—together. I know I can help you find the plant. You just needed me. I should have gone with you from the beginning.”
My blood chills. Help me find the plant?
He hadn’t wanted to go. He dismissed my theories as wishful thinking, suggesting I was allowing my bias and grief over my mother’s death to color my research. He had no interestin trekking through the Himalayas, sleeping in guesthouses, or bathing with buckets of cold water.
So why does he suddenly care now?
His voice drops, turning smooth. “The university funding wasn’t enough for your expedition. If you really want to find your plant, help other people like your mom, we need investors. There are far bigger players out there. People who pay for innovation.”
Foreboding skates down my spine as his words echo in my mind. I think back to the hushed conversations at the university, the ones Ben always brushed off when I tried to ask him about them. The rumors that pharmaceutical companies had been sniffing around, quietly pressuring researchers to sell early findings before they became public knowledge.
I remember the way Ben used to roll his eyes at the idea, scoffing that real scientists didn’t chase corporate money. That staying in academia kept the research pure.
But now when there’s money on the table for him? Suddenly, he cares. The nausea in my gut has nothing to do with last night’s tequila. This was never about us. Never about me.
Ben isn’t here because he lost me—he’s here because he wants in.
I’m piecing it together, but I don’t have all the information yet. And he sees it—the moment I falter, my mind racing through the possibilities. He knows I’m on the cusp of figuring out something important, something he doesn’t want me to know without being on his side first.
Ben takes a slow step forward, voice smooth, cajoling. “Come on, Dolly.” His voice rolling over that damn wretched nickname leaves an oil slick over my heart. Although he keeps his voice controlled, I see the flash of anger in his eyes. “Let’s be smart about this.”
I shift my weight, fingers tightening around the door handle.My instincts scream go, go, go, as right on cue, he lunges and snags my free wrist.
“Ben,” I gasp, shocked that he would lay his hands on me.
In response, he tightens his grip, grinding the bones together. Not hard enough to break them, but enough to make his point. Enough to remind me that, for all his carefully constructed charm, power and control have always been what he wanted most.
