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All I wanted was Riggs's love. I assumed if I loved him, faults and all, nothing could break us. Yet the one person I trusted the most broke my entire world. And I loved being his wife.
I still am his wife.
I swallow the thick lump in my throat. I don't know what I'm going to do.
To torture myself further, I spin and lean against the glass, staring at the room, wondering how many of Riggs's other subs lived here. It oddly brings me comfort to think of myself as his sub instead of his wife. At the same time, it's a cruel stab to my already destroyed heart.
The jealous streak in me flares, and the regret of coming here begins to take hold. Thoughts of Aria here, kneeling for Riggs, re-sparks the hatred I had for him that night. And maybe that's why I came here. Perhaps I need to hold on to hatred so I don't run back to him, allowing him to manipulate me into thinking that what he did isn't a big deal. If I sweep what he's done under the rug, there'll be no limit to what he could do to me in the future.
No, Riggs can't get away with what he's done and not have any consequences. Yet, I'm still trying to determine what those consequences should be.
Am I really willing to divorce him?
To never be with him again?
To not let him love me?
The one question that's been nagging me reappears, igniting more queasiness I haven't escaped all day:How could he have loved me and done what he did?
I go into the bedroom, and all I can focus on is the last time I was in this room. I was mad at Riggs. He was just as angry with me. But still, I had him, and even in the mood I was in, I wanted him.
I assess the decor and then freeze, staring at a piece of paper on the pillow. I go over to it, and my pulse creeps up. I read it, and every word hurts. I can hear Riggs saying, "Pet" in his demanding and affectionate tone. It tears me up more, and I'd give anything to have the last twenty-four hours go away and hear him say it as if everything is normal between us.
The first statement of the letter shreds me. I knew he found the tests when Ears told me his threat about the "secret box." Yet the words on paper seem to make it real, and I can only imagine what's going through Riggs's mind.
Are you pregnant with my child?
I'm not pregnant. I took all the tests in the box to ensure that it wasn't a false negative. It doesn't explain my missed periods, but maybe the hormones he initially gave me to stop my period, the stress, or even a combination of the two messed up my cycle.
Riggs thinks I'm pregnant.
I once again feel relieved and disappointed all at once. And I curse myself. I'd be bringing a baby into a broken home like the one I was raised in. I vowed to never do that to my child. And the way things are between Riggs and me right now, that's what I'd be doing.
Yet as much as I know it's a good thing I'm not pregnant, I can't get the image of a little boy who looks like Riggs out of my mind. And if I can't have Riggs ever again, having a part of him wouldn't be so bad.
I squeeze my eyes shut, reprimanding myself for the thought.
I should call Riggs and tell him I'm not pregnant or text him at the very least. Maybe then he'd back off. Perhaps it's the only reason he's coming after me still. Would he even be chasing me now if he didn't think I was pregnant? He's destroyed my father, and all his cards are visible, so what else does he need from me?
That thought only deepens the wound I think may never heal. I don't want it to be true. I want his love to have been real. I want his demand that I come home to be because of it, not because he thinks I'm carrying his child. But he betrayed me so much, I don't know how it would even be possible to ever believe he loved me or still does.
I glance back down at the letter.
You and I are tied together forever. There's no escaping our love, and you know it.
My tears fall on the paper, blurring the words, creating a blue blob of ink.Is it another lie?
No. It's not. He does love me.
He used me. That's not love.
Is there some other purpose he needs to use me for?
I swipe at my tears, force myself to put the note in the nightstand drawer, and wonder what items other women have put in it. Then I curse myself again for coming here. I consider going to the L.A. apartment, and my stomach curls. So I finally leave the room, wander down the hall, and stop in the doorway of the red room.
Everything looks the same. Sex furniture is scattered across the room. I saw the same things at Club Indulgence and wonder how they're used. It's another reminder of how naive I am to everything Riggs has mastered. I gingerly step through the doorway and walk over to the wall displaying the toys, floggers, paddles, and many different restraints.
It looks untouched. My eyes lock on the black flogger that Aria chose.
