Prepare the divorce and ruin your husband by Mark Twain 18
Chapter 18
“God, they’re both unreal.”
“And her too, she looks like trouble.”
Cameras flashed and I kept my chin up and my smile slow. I walked like I owned the damn place. The dress hugged me tight, every step deliberate, and the envy in the air brushed my skin like fingers.
Then I saw his grandfather.
The host of the night. Old money. Old blood. The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to end lives.
He froze when he saw us, his sharp eyes locking straight on me. His cane stilled, grip
tightening.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he said, voice rough with surprise and something softer underneath. “You actually showed up, boy. I thought you’d avoid your own family circus again. And this,” his gaze swept me head to toe without shame, “this is not who I was expecting.”
Colt’s jaw tightened. “Careful, Grandpa.”
The old man laughed, deep and dangerous. “Relax. I’m appreciating. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
I met his eyes, calm and unblinking. “Nadia Joseph.”
He hummed like he was tasting it. “Pretty name. And you belong to which mess exactly?”
Before Colt could speak, Ax leaned in with that lazy grin of his. “She’s with us tonight. Very with us.”
Colt shot him a look that promised violence later, but he didn’t correct him.
His grandfather smiled wider. “Good. About time you brought someone interesting. The room’s been dead all night.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Roxanne.
She stood near the champagne tower, stiff as glass. Her face drained when she saw me. For half a second her mouth dropped open like she’d seen a ghost.
David was beside her.
His eyes found me and didn’t let go. They dragged over my face, my hair, my body like
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he was trying to remember a dream he’d ruined. Too slow. Too familiar.
Roxanne grabbed his arm hard and hissed something in his ear. He blinked and looked away, but I already had his attention burned into my skin.
Good.
People swarmed fast after that.
“So where are you from, Nadia?”
“You’re not in politics, are you?”
“Are you with Ax or with Mr. Blackwood?”
Ax answered half of it, voice smooth and mocking. “She’s from wherever she wants. And no, you can’t Google her. And yes, you should stop asking stupid questions.”
I laughed softly and sipped my champagne.
Colt stayed close. Quiet. Watching. His hand brushed mine once and it wasn’t an accident. Grounding. Possessive. Like he was reminding the room I wasn’t prey.
Then she walked over.
Red silk dress. Red lips. The kind of woman who thought power meant volume.
“So this is Nadia,” she said, smiling thin. “Interesting. I always thought Colt preferred women with a little more polish. A little more class.”
The women around her tittered, waiting for blood.
I tilted my head and smiled sweetly. “That’s funny. I didn’t realize his taste needed your approval. Or your imagination.”
Silence hit hard.
I took another sip like nothing happened.
Ax turned away fast, coughing into his glass to hide his laugh. Colt’s mouth curved just slightly and that was enough.
Her smile cracked. Her eyes burned. I turned my back on her anyway.
Let her choke on it.
The cameras kept flashing, whispers followed me like shadows, and as I walked deeper into the night, I felt it clearly.
The night dragged on and the air inside the mafia gala started pressing on me like hands. Too many eyes. Too many fake smiles. I needed space before I broke something or someone. I slipped out through the side doors, hmthe cool night air hitting my lungs and slowing my pulse.
11:10 Wed, Jan 28
I was halfway down the terrace when I heard his voice.
“I swear to God, I think I knew you,” David said. “I don’t remember much anymore. I had a bad car accident last year, messed my head up pretty good. But when I look at you, my chest feels like it’s tearing itself apart. It hurts so bad I can’t breathe right. I don’t know why.”
I turned slowly, face calm, spine straight, every emotion locked behind my eyes. “You’re wrong,” I said. “You don’t know me. You’re reaching for something that isn’t
there.”
He took a step closer, eyes red, frantic, like he was drowning on dry land. “No, don’t do that. Don’t lie to me like that. The way you look at me, like you already buried me once. That’s not nothing. Please. Just tell me the truth. Tell me who I am to you.”
I shook my head, voice steady, almost bored. “You should stop digging. Whatever you think you lost, it’s not something you can get back. Let it go before it eats you alive.”
His hands curled into fists. “I can’t. I try, I really do. But every time you walk away it feels like I’m losing you all over again. Just tell me your real name. I don’t need anything else. Just that. Please.”
I looked straight through him, letting the silence cut deeper than any answer I could give. His breathing turned uneven. That was when I knew I still had power over him.
Then a laugh cut through the night.
Too bright. Too fake.
Roxanne slid in beside him, her arm wrapping tight around his like she owned him. Her smile was wide but her eyes were sharp, watching me like a threat. “David, seriously, you’ve had too much to drink! I’m so sorry about this. He gets emotional when he drinks. Always thinking he’s remembering things.”
Her nails dug into his arm as she pulled him back.
I tilted my head and smiled slow. “Why so nervous, Roxanne? Afraid he remembers
me?”
She froze.
Just for a second. But I saw it. The crack. The fear slipping through before she patched it up.
She forced a laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
I didn’t bother replying. I turned and walked back toward the doors, heels steady, back straight, heart ice cold.
Behind me, the night swallowed my steps.
Then I heard it. My name.
11:10 Wed, Jan 28
I didn’t turn around.
Some ghosts don’t deserve answers.
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