Stefan’s eyes find me quickly. He knocks again, harder this time. Doing my best to swallow down my anxiety and anger, I step forward.
I refuse to cower, never again.
My marriage to Stefan taught me a lot of hard lessons—like choosing my battles wisely. Eventually, I learned it was easier to give him his way when it came to the unimportant, mundane things. Home décor, the flavor of our wedding cake, which cell phone carrier we would sign with,thosethings.
It was annoying, but arguing with him was more exhausting. By that point, I didn’t care about any of those things because it wouldn’t be enough to make me happy either.
The things that mattered to me—staying close to my family, going to culinary school, staying child-free—I never wavered on. It drove him crazy trying to force my hand to no avail.
Swinging the door open, I coldly say, “What do you want?”
He looks down at me, a familiar exasperation written across his face. It’s the look he gives me before lecturing me like I’m a toddler.
“What amIdoing?” he asks incredulously. “What the fuck areyoudoing, Calypso?”
“Before you showed up, I was about to have breakfast.” I grab the doorknob. “So if that’s all, you can leave now.”
His hand shoots out and he pushes the door open. “Don’t you dare,” he seethes. “I specifically told you not to embarrass me now that I’m back in town, and you move that bastard in.”
I position my leg behind the door so he can’t push it open anymore and cross my arms. My ears are pounding and anger floods through my veins, but he’ll tire himself out eventually.
I also learned that my silence often drives him crazier than my yelling. Stefan can’t callmea crazy bitch if he’s the one making a scene.
He doesn’t wait for me to say anything before continuing. “I wish I could say I was surprised, but you’ve always been impulsive and petty. I thought you’d outgrow the former, but apparently I was wrong.”
“Not the first time that’s happened,” I mutter, my smart-mouth getting the better of my ego.
He chuckles but it’s cold and humorless. “You want to know why I came back, Calypso? It’s because of you.” My expression sours as quickly as my stomach. “Because you haven’t done a goddamn thing with your life since our divorce. Unless you count fucking random men on the anniversary of said divorce.” He eyes me in disgust but that sense of ownership he has for me is always there, simmering under the surface. “Like I said,petty.”
I knew he’d hate it, but other than the one time we saw each other in passing, there’s no way for him to know that. Unless…
“Have you been watching me, Stefan?” I’m proud of how strong my voice is despite the prickly vines of violation crawling up my body.
“You make it sound like I’m some Peeping Tom with binoculars up to your window,” he says in disdain. “Don’t be dramatic.”
My mouth is dry. “Explain it to me then.”
“Only after I confirmed my assumptions about your ‘tradition.’” His eyes are cold and lifeless, and there’s not an ounce of shame there. “If you were anyone else, I would have assumed it was a coincidence seeing you in that hotel lobby three years ago.”
“You confirmed it…” I repeat slowly. My body realizes what he means before my mind does and I have to swallow down bile. “Tell me you didnotdo what I think you did, Stefan.”
He shuts his mouth and fixes his gold cuff link.
“Tell me,” I quietly demand.
Scoffing, he examines me like the baggage he forgot to unpack after vacation. “It’s your fault for being so goddamn predictable. Take some accountability for once.” That’s hilarious coming from him. “I thought to myself, ‘What are the chances she goes back to thesamehotel on thesamenight a year later? Not even she could be that stupid, right?’ Of course you were.”
“So you followed me.” It sounds insane to my own ears. “That’s crazy, Stefan. Even for you. Do you not see how fuckingweirdthat is?”
“I went and sat my ass at a hotel bar. That’s all,” he sneers. “Apparently, you give yourself to anyone who breathes in your direction.” He waves his hand in the air, gesturing toward my house. “It became abundantly clear that I needed to keep an eye on you, for your own good.”
There’s more to that statement than I’m capable of processing right now. Stefan thought I was cheating on him once, and threatened to put cameras in our house. I wasn’t having an affair, and he never told me if he installed them or not. I’ve always assumed he did.
When I think I’ve seen Stefan’s lowest of lows, just how vile and cruel he can be, he never fails to prove me wrong.
“Where’s Ruby?” I ask. “How does your fiancée feel about you stalking your ex-wife?”
His smug expression drops. “Who fucking cares? She’s my mother’s doing.”
