Eva's POV

"I refuse to sit around waiting for when you decide to come back to me," I say, my voice steady even though my insides tremble. "I'm done, Stephan. I'm tired."

The door clicks shut behind him. He walks further into the living room, the divorce papers clenched in his hand.

He lifts them, waving the pages like they're some sort of joke. "Whatever this little act is, it's not working. Take your luggage back to our room."

"Our room?" I let out a short, humorless laugh. "That room hasn't been 'ours' for nearly two years. Stephan, we don't have to fight about this."

A hollow sound escapes his throat.  He runs a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his calm facade.

"You've completely lost your mind," he mutters. "And if you think I'm letting you walk out of here..." He pauses, eyes darkening. "Then you must be much more insane than I thought."

My chest tightens. I grip the handle of my suitcase, trying to pull it from his hand, but he refuses to let go.

"Stop this, please," I whisper. "We can part amicably. It doesn't have to end with hatred."

His laugh is sharp and ugly. "Amicably? When you've been living off me for years? When you spent my money like water, lounging around the house while I kept us afloat? Clothes, food, jewelry. You had everything you wanted."

I flinch. The words sting more than I expect.

"We were married," I manage weakly. "You told me not to work."

He grabs the suitcase from my hand and starts up the stairs. "We are married, Eva. And that's exactly why I'm not signing those papers."

I rush after him, catching up on the staircase and blocking his way with trembling hands pressed to the wall and railing.

"You don't love me anymore," I say quietly. "You don't even respect me. You don't respect the marriage you're pretending to fight for."

"I don't have to love you to be married to you." His tone is flat, his jaw tight. "Now move."

The words hit me like a slap.

I stand there frozen, feeling the final thread that held us together snap in my chest.

He doesn't love me.

Not anymore.

Tears blur my vision as I whisper, "I can't stay in a loveless marriage, Stephan."

"You're going to have to try, Eva!" he yells.

"No." I lift my chin, forcing the words out. "We're over. We've been over for a long time."

His eyes flash. "You're really going to leave me?"

"You left me first," I whisper. "After what happened..." My throat closes. The words tangle with my tears. "You changed after that night. I tried to reach you, Stephan. I tried so hard."

Something flickers across his face, then his expression changes into what I don't expect. 

"So this is it," he says. "This is how it ends."

I nod, silent.

"Fine." His voice turns hard. He grabs the pen from my hand, scrawls his signature across the page, and slams the papers against my chest. "There! Is that what you wanted?"

I clutch the papers before they slip. My hands shake so badly I can barely hold them.

Then, without warning, he shoves one of my suitcases down the stairs. It crashes loudly against the floor below.

"Get out of my house," he snarls. "Drop your car keys. I don't ever want to see you again."

I stare at him, numb.

He brushes past me, shoulder colliding with mine. I stumble, clutching the railing to keep from falling.

He doesn't look back. 

The door slams behind him, rattling the frame.

When silence fills the house again, I break.

A sob tears out of me, raw and uncontrollable. I sink to the floor, clutching my chest as the weight of everything crashes down.

He didn't even apologize. Ten years of my life, erased with a single outburst. Ten years of sacrifices, devotion, love and it all ends like this.

No child. No husband. Nothing left.

Through blurry vision, I spot my suitcase lying at the bottom of the stairs. The divorce papers in my hands are soaked with tears.

I drag myself up, wipe my face, and walk downstairs.

On the hallway table, I set my car keys beside my wedding ring. For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the symbols of the life I'm about to leave behind.

My lips tremble, but I don't cry. Not anymore.

I take one last look at the house that used to be filled with laughter, then walk out into the night.

---

"I'm sorry, ma'am. The card is declined."

The cashier's voice pulls me back to reality.

I blink, trying to process what she just said. "That can't be right. Try it again."

She swipes the card, her expression tightening. "Declined."

A nervous laugh escapes me. "Alright. Try this one."

She does and shakes her head. "Still declined."

My cheeks flush with heat. I can feel the eyes of other customers on me.

"I'm so sorry," I murmur. "It must be a bank issue. My accounts... they're probably frozen."

The cashier's lips press into a thin, skeptical line. "Of course."

Her tone drips with disbelief.

I fumble through my purse, searching for any loose cash. "How much for just one movie ticket and a small popcorn?"

My stomach growls, loud enough to make me laugh bitterly. Popcorn. Of all things, I suddenly wanted popcorn. Maybe because it was simple, salty, warm, uncomplicated. Everything my life wasn't anymore.

She folds her arms. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Leave?" My voice trembles. "I just said I'll pay. I know I have some cash-"

"Ma'am, please," she interrupts, glancing toward security.

"Just tell me how much," I say, my words shaking. "It's been a long day. I only want to see a movie."

"Three hundred dollars."

I force a tight smile. "Fine."

I dig through my bag again, hands trembling as I pull out useless receipts and empty cards. My breath quickens.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her pick up the landline. Panic grips me.

"Please, don't call security," I plead. "I'll leave right now."

"It's too late," she replies curtly. "I gave you a chance."

Two large men appear beside me, both in black uniforms.

"Ma'am, this way," one of them says, grabbing my arm.

"I'll walk by myself," I whisper, but they don't release me.

Humiliation burns through me as they lead me toward the exit. My hair falls forward, hiding my face, but I can still feel the stares of others.

Then, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

"Eva?"

My body freezes.

I lift my head slowly, turning toward the sound to see Micah.

When he sees me, recognition flashes across his face. He strides quickly toward us, his expression sharp with concern.

"Gentlemen," he says firmly. "She's with me."

"Sir, are you sure?" one of the guards asks.

He nods. "Yes. Release her."

The guards step back, and suddenly I'm free.

Without thinking, I go straight to him. He opens his arms, and I collapse against his chest, gripping his shirt tightly as sobs shake my body.

"Hey, hey," he murmurs softly, stroking my hair. "It's alright. I've got you. What happened?"

I hiccup between sobs. "He froze my accounts, Micah. I just wanted to see a movie."

His jaw tenses. "Stephan?"

The mention of his name makes me flinch. "Yes," I croak.

Micah's eyes darken. "Why would he do that?"

I shrug weakly, wiping at my wet cheeks. "Because he can."

He catches my hand gently, lifting it up. His gaze lingers on my bare finger.

"Where's your ring, Eva?"

Eva's POV

I stare at my empty finger, my chest tightening until it hurts. The skin where my ring used to be feels colder than the rest of me.

My throat tightens. For the first time all night, I realize, I don't belong to Stephan anymore.

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. My throat burns, and all I can do is look away before the tears spill.

Micah's jaw flexes. "Come on. What movie did you want to see?"

I shrug and wipe under my eyes. "Anything."

He doesn't argue. Instead, he takes my bag and rests a hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward a chair.

"Sit here," he says quietly. "I'll be right back."

I nod, too drained to fight him. People are still staring, and it makes me feel even smaller. I take out my phone, hoping to distract myself, but when I check my accounts, every single one is frozen.

My stomach sinks. He actually did it.

A shaky breath leaves me. My eyes sting again, but before I can cry, Micah is back with two movie tickets and a huge bowl of popcorn.

"SpongeBob?" He raises a brow, teasing.

A small, broken smile tugs at my lips. "Really?"

"Hey, I know you love it," he says, handing me the popcorn.

We walk side by side toward the theater.

When we step inside, I stop short. "Wait, where is everyone?"

Micah sinks into a seat in the third row. "I figured you could use some privacy."

My eyes widen. "You didn't...buy the whole theater, did you?"

"The movie's starting," he says, patting the seat beside him. "Come on, I know you won't admit it, but SpongeBob cheers you up."

I sigh but sit anyway. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're smiling again," he murmurs.

The lights dim completely. The screen flashes yellow, and for a while, it's easy to forget everything. The sound of the movie fills the space between us. I even laugh once, really laugh until his fingers brush mine inside the popcorn bowl.

The laughter dies.

My gaze flicks to him, but he's already looking at me.

"What?" I ask, rubbing my cheek self-consciously. "Do I have something on my face?"

He grins a little. "Yeah. Right there."

He reaches for a napkin and gently brushes at my cheek, his large hand cupping my face. His fingers are warm and something inside me trembles. My breath catches.

It's been so long since anyone touched me with tenderness.

I don't pull away.

"What happened, Eva?" he asks quietly.

I blink, pulling back a little. "What?"

"With you and Stephan."

A hard lump forms in my throat. "We're...getting a divorce."

His brows rise. "He served you?"

I shake my head. "No. I did."

Micah tilts his head, surprise flashing across his features. "You finally left him."

"I know you both don't like each other," I murmur. "But he's not all bad. Life just... happened."

And I still love him. Even now, that bitter truth stings.

He scoffs quietly. "Love didn't run out, Eva. Respect did. That man never deserved you."

I look away. "You don't know everything."

"I know enough," he says. "He's freezing your accounts and letting you suffer while he plays the victim."

I exhale sharply. "Micah, please. I don't want to talk about him anymore."

"Then tell me this, where are you staying?"

I'll be fine." I force a small smile. "I'll find a hotel."

"Eva." His tone leaves no room for argument. "Tell me."

"Micah, please..."

"I'm not dropping it." His voice softens, but his eyes are firm.

Heat creeps up my neck. "A cheap hotel, okay? I have some cash left."

He sighs and glances down at my bare hand. His thumb brushes the pale mark where my ring used to be. "Your account is frozen, love. You don't even have enough for a meal."

I swallow hard. "Then I'll start applying for jobs tomorrow."

"Stay with me," he says suddenly.

I freeze. "What?"

"I have a huge house all to myself. You can stay there until you figure things out. I'll even give you a job at my company."

I shake my head. "No, Micah. If this hits the press-"

"You don't have to decide now," he interrupts softly. "Just let me take you home tonight. Let me help you."

"I shouldn't-"

"Shush." His fingers find my chin, tilting my face toward him. "Let me cook for you. Run you a bath. You can leave after if you want."

Micah's gaze is steady, kind, and dangerously gentle. It's the kind of look that makes a woman forget every reason she should run.

He's gorgeous. The sharp cut of his jaw, the warmth in his brown hair under the soft light.

"I don't know," I whisper, heart hammering.

He smiles faintly. "You're scared of being alone with me."

My lips part. "N-no."

His eyes flicker down to my mouth. "Then relax. I'm only going to make sure you're okay."

I want to believe him. I really do. But something in his voice makes my pulse skip.

"Okay," I breathe. "But I'm not staying the night."

"Of course." His smile deepens.

–

An hour later, the credits roll. Micah stands, grabs my bag, and offers his hand. I let him pull me up.

The night air is cool when we step outside. His driver opens the door.

"Evening, sir. Ma'am."

Micah nods, guiding me inside. The leather smells faintly of mint and cologne.

For a while, we're both silent. He's scrolling through his phone; I'm staring out the window, pretending not to hope for a text that will never come.

My phone is still empty. No messages. No missed calls.

Typical Stephan.

A warm hand suddenly rests on my thigh, and I flinch.

"Hey," Micah says softly. "You're shaking."

"I'm fine," I lie, but my voice betrays me.

He doesn't move his hand. His thumb brushes against my skin, slow and deliberate, and I can barely breathe.

His hands are big, veins running like rivers beneath his skin.

Without thinking, I trace one with my fingertip.

He inhales sharply. "Eva."

The sound of my name on his lips sends a shiver down my spine. I jerk my hand away. "Sorry."

What am I doing? My husband's betrayal still stings, yet here I am, craving the warmth of another man.

Silence stretches between us, thick and charged. When the car stops in front of his house, the driver offers a quiet goodnight and disappears inside.

Neither of us moves.

Micah's fingers brush against my knee, then trail slowly down to my ankle. My skin prickles, goosebumps rising.

"Your eyes," he murmurs, voice rough. "They're saying something."

I gulp. "I-I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do." His gaze darkens, burning through me. "Tell me, Eva. What do you want?"

My pulse pounds in my ears. The air between us feels too hot. 

I want to deny it, to pull away. But when he leans closer, his breath fanning my lips, all the broken pieces inside me melt into longing.

"Look at me," he says.

I do, and almost forget how to breathe. His eyes are molten, filled with something I haven't felt in years. Desire.

"I need..." My voice breaks.

"Need what?" he asks, his breath brushing against my mouth.

Tears sting my eyes as the words tumble out. "I need to forget," I whisper. "Just for a bit."

Micah's POV

As soon as the words leave her lips, I take her hand and pull her inside.

The door clicks shut behind us, and I press her gently against the wall, heart pounding in my chest.

"Are you sure?" I whisper, my breath brushing her lips as my hands slide up to her throat, holding her there. Not hard, just enough to feel her pulse race beneath my fingers.

Her brown eyes are wide, pupils blown, and her lips part as she nods. "Yes... please."

God. 

She's trembling, chest rising fast, and for a moment I forget how to breathe.

Stephan doesn't deserve her. He never did. The same way he doesn't deserve anything good in his life.

Some selfish part of me feels triumphant knowing she's no longer his. That she's standing here, looking at me like I'm the only one she sees.

And then I kiss her - finally.

Her mouth is soft and warm against mine, and she melts into me like she's been waiting for this too. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us.

My mind spins at the first taste of her. It's intoxicating, heady...and I'm ready to drop to my fucking knees for her.

Her moan vibrates against my tongue, and I lose it. My hands grip her waist, then slide down to her hips, to the curve of her ass. She fits perfectly in my palms.

Soft, pliant.

When I squeeze, she gasps, a sound that goes straight through me, settling in the deepest parts of me.

"You like that?" I murmur, my lips brushing the corner of her mouth.

She doesn't answer. She just tilts her head, kissing down my jaw, her teeth grazing my skin before she sucks hard enough to leave a mark.

"Take it off," she whispers, tugging on my shirt.

"My hands are busy," I rasp, giving her another squeeze.

She huffs, grabs my shirt by the lapels, and rips it open, buttons scatter across the floor. I laugh against her lips, but the sound dies quickly when she kisses me again.

Her body is shaking. Mine's not any better.

When I slide my hand up her thigh and press against her, she moans my name, soft and breathless.

"Micah..."

The sound of it almost undoes me.

I tug at her dress, slipping the buttons loose until the fabric falls open. She's bare beneath the thin layer of her bra, and when I take one hardened peak into my mouth, she arches, whimpering like she's about to break.

"God..." she breathes, clutching my hair.

I could stay like this, touching her, tasting her  forever. And I'd never get tired.

But then I whisper against her lips, voice rough and low, "I want your mouth."

She blinks, confused. "You have my mouth."

"No." I kiss her again, slower this time. "I want your mouth...on me."

The air changes. She freezes. Her body goes still in my arms.

And instantly, I know I've pushed too far.

I step back, hands raised. "You don't have to. I shouldn't have said that."

Her gaze drops, cheeks flushed. "I shouldn't have... done any of this," she says softly. "I'm sorry."

I shake my head. "Don't be. I should've kept my promise."

She exhales shakily and straightens her dress, trying not to look at me. "I should go."

"Please," I say, reaching out before she can turn away. "Let me at least cook for you. You need to eat."

"It's fine, really-"

"I promised you a bath and food," I cut in gently. "That's all. No more lines crossed."

Her lips part, her eyes searching mine for a long moment. Then she finally nods.

"Okay," she whispers.

Relief floods me. I smile a little and squeeze her hand. "Thank you."

I lead her upstairs and run the bath, filling it with warm water and too many bath bombs until the scent fills the air. The bubbles nearly spill over the edge.

"There," I say quietly. "Towels and essentials are in the basket. I'll get some clothes for you. Once you're done, we'll eat. Then, we can talk, if you want to."

Her eyes lift to mine, soft and uncertain. "Alright."

I leave her there and step into my own shower, letting the water hit my back while my thoughts spiral.

Finally, she's here. Not as Stephan's wife,  but as herself. As the woman I've wanted for years.

And I swear, I'm not letting her slip away this time around..

---

When she comes downstairs, she's wearing my sweatpants and hoodie. A towel's still wrapped around her hair, and there's a shy smile playing on her lips.

She looks small and warm and so damn beautiful.

"Hi," I breathe out.

"Hi," she replies, glancing at the table.

Her eyes widen at the sight.  Lobster, potatoes, bread, and sauce. "This looks amazing, Micah."

"Thank you." I gesture toward the chair.

She sits, and I serve her, watching her eyes soften with every bite.

The way she eats, slow, savoring, with tiny sighs of pleasure, makes something inside of me ache. I've seen her starve herself for that bastard she calls  a husband, seen her break her back trying to please him.

But here, now, she looks... content.

And I can't help the burst of pride that settles in my chest for being the reason.

There's a bit of sauce at the corner of her lips, and before I can stop myself, I lean forward and wipe it away with a napkin.

She blushes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I murmur, unable to look away from her.

Something shifts between us again, quiet, fragile, but real. 

And before I can think twice, the words slip out.

"Marry me, Eva."

She freezes, spoon halfway to her mouth. "Wh..what?"

I swallow hard and meet her gaze. "Marry me," I repeat, voice low but certain. "Let me take care of you."