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Me: If she tries to fight me on this, I'm coming in so we can discuss her little secret.
Another minute passes.
Ears: Fine. She'll take your driver but wants her stuff moved from the beach house to the apartment.
It's another blow. The thought of all of Blakely's things not in our walk-in closet, where I can see them, as if she's never coming back, is cruel.
Ears: She's not budging on it.
I groan out loud again.
Me: Fine. I'll have it sent over in the next few days.
Ears: Good. Go home. Get away from my building.
Feeling defeated but semi-relieved that she won't be at Noah's, I finally pull away. I arrange for two of my trusted drivers, who are also bodyguards, to be at Blakely's beck and call. I order them to send me reports on where she is at all times. The last thing I'm going to do is not know my wife's location.
Then I go to Apartment Thirteen and pace, looking around, trying to understand why Blakely wanted to stay here instead of the L.A. apartment. I can't figure it out, but I order groceries and wait for them to arrive. I put them away and then write her a note.
Pet,
Are you pregnant with my child?
You can't avoid me forever, and this living arrangement's temporary.
You and I are tied together forever. There's no escaping our love, and you know it.
Forever yours,
Riggs - Your husband, in case you forgot.
P.S. I'm sorry I hurt you. It was never my intention.
I putthe note on her pillow and begrudgingly leave, vowing that I'll do anything and everything and stop at nothing to earn her forgiveness.
For the first time in my adult life, I'm scared I might lose. And my wife isn't replaceable. She's not a deal, money, or some other thing.
She's my life.
The fear reminds me of how I spent my childhood, and I curse myself for the stupidity that got me here. I'm unsure how to fix this, which only deepens the growing panic inside me.
3
Blakely
The metal doors to Apartment Thirteen open, and the L.A. skyline lights up against the afternoon sun, making the room appear different than the one night I was here. Anxiety grows as I glance around.
Why did I choose to come here?
I can't go to the L.A. apartment. It's another one of Riggs's homes.
Part of me expected to see him here when I walked inside, even though his Porsche wasn't in the garage. Disappointment and relief play an evil tug-of-war within me, adding to my overly exhausted state. And I told him not to come, but it's another slap of reality about what's happened.
The black leather furniture almost feels cold without the warmth of the candlelight flickering against it or the soft music playing in the background. The silence is deafening, expanding my loneliness. And somehow, I feel exposed. To who or what, I don't know, but a shiver runs down my spine.
I go to the window, taking in the city's chaos below. It's a constant reminder of how I've lost everything I thought I had.
How could I have believed the lie I was living?
