Page 122 of The Wrong Groom

“What’s going on?” I step closer to him.

His jaw flexes, a muscle ticking in his cheek. His gaze flickers to me for the briefest second before dropping back to the countertop like it burns to meet my eyes. “My mother raised me to protect the people I love,” he says quietly. “That’s what I’ve always done, and it’s what I’ll always do. No matter what it takes.”

“Gabriel,” I say, my heart in my throat. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. His fingers flex against the counter. Then he drags in a breath and turns his head, and when his eyes finally meet mine, something inside me shatters.

Because I see it there, plain as day. The walls going up. The distance slamming into place. And I know, before he even says the words, that whatever he’s about to tell me will break me.

“I… I want a divorce.”

Stunned, I reach out blindly, my hand catching the wall to keep myself upright because it feels like the floor just dropped out from under me. “You… what?”

He swallows, as though the words are stuck in his throat. “We need to get divorced.”

“Are you serious?” I stare at him in disbelief. “But… why? Where did this come from? I…” I trail off, unable to reconcile this with everything we’ve been through. Nothing makes sense. Everything seemed fine. Better than fine. Perfect. So why? Why now? Why is he tearing it all apart?

He breathes in deeply, and as he does, I feel the distance between us grow. “I thought I could do this,” he says. “I was wrong.”

“What happened? I—I thought⁠—”

He shakes his head. “My mind is made up.”

There’s a sickening, hollow feeling in my chest, like a fracture has opened in my heart. I always knew that he didn’t plan to stay married to me for longer than the required three years. That was the nature of this arrangement, the reality I had prepared myself for since the start. Three years of marriage into the Thorne family would boost the Beaumonts’ status, and as soon as Gabriel was free to break things off, he would.

That had always been the plan. I told myself I understood that. I told myself I could handle it. But somewhere along the way—somewhere between quiet breakfasts together and the soft kisses he started pressing to my temple without thinking—I’d started to believe in something more. A future where this was permanent.

The deadline faded into the background. The arrangement felt real. I let myself dream like a fool.

Now, standing here with my heart cracking open like thin glass, I feel the weight of that foolishness settle on my chest until I can barely breathe.

“But… the w-will,” I say, struggling to maintain my coherence.

His lips thin, and he closes his eyes. I pray that when he opens them, he’ll take it back. That he’ll say this was a cruel joke, a mistake. That none of this is real. But when he returns his gaze to meet mine, there’s pained reluctance there. “That’s not your concern.”

“The company—your shares⁠—”

“I told you, that’s my business, not yours.”

I feel as though he just kicked me in the gut. He wants to back out of our marriage before the three years have expired, before his father’s deadline has passed. That means he’ll essentially be forfeiting his inheritance.

The company. His connection to his father’s legacy, to his family’s business. He’d rather lose it all than stay married to me.

He must want nothing more than to get away from me. He’s willing to sacrifice almost everything, just to get me out of his life.

The realization hurts more than I can bear. My chest constricts, my vision blurring. I try to hold myself together, but the weight of it all is crushing me. I take a trembling step toward him, driven by instinct, desperate to close the distance. But Gabriel shifts back, retreating even as I move forward, keeping the space between us like a barrier I can’t cross.

I grip the back of one of the dining chairs for support. “Please,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened,” he says heavily. “It’s nothing you did.”

“Then why?” I rasp, tears slipping free now, no matter how hard I try to blink them back. “What changed? I thought we were⁠—”

“This is just how it has to be,” he interrupts. He holds himself straight, his posture rigid.

“No. That… that can’t be it. There has to be something. Something I did. Something I said⁠—”

“I’ve already set you up with a place to live. You won’t have to go back to your family when you leave here.”