After My Fiancé Stopped My Ex’s Attack

I returned to the penthouse with rain-soaked shoes and a hollow chest. The security guard's sympathetic nod as I entered the lobby had been the only kindness I'd received since leaving the courthouse. Now, I just wanted to sink into Benedict's arms and feel something other than this numbing emptiness.

The penthouse was dark except for the glow of Manhattan's skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I found Benedict in his study, his silhouette sharp against the city lights as he reviewed documents on his laptop.

"I'm back," I said quietly, my voice still raw from crying.

He didn't look up. "You're making noise."

I stood there, dripping rainwater onto his pristine hardwood floors, waiting for him to acknowledge what had happened. To ask how Everett was. To offer some semblance of comfort.

Instead, he sighed and closed his laptop. "This merger is already complicated enough without your family drama distracting everyone."

The words hit me like ice water. "Family drama?"

"Chloe, you've been a mess for weeks." He finally looked at me, his expression a mixture of annoyance and impatience. "The entire office is walking on eggshells around you."

"I just lost my brother," I whispered. "He's going to prison for something he didn't do."

"And that's tragic," he said, checking his watch. "But it's not my fault, and I have a company to run."

I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to stop fresh tears. "I thought... I thought you'd understand."

"Understand what? That your brother is a criminal?" He stood up, straightening his tie. "Stop crying and make yourself useful. We have the Wilson deposition tomorrow."

---

I stumbled to the master bathroom, needing a moment alone. The cool tile floor was solid beneath my feet as I gripped the marble countertop and stared at my reflection. My mascara had smudged, creating dark shadows beneath my eyes. I looked like a ghost.

I splashed cold water on my face and reached for a towel. As I turned, something caught my eye—a flash of emerald green hanging on the back of the door.

A silk robe.

Not mine.

I stepped closer, my fingers trembling as I touched the delicate fabric. The robe was expensive, the kind that whispered of luxury and intimacy. It wasn't Benedict's style—too feminine, too bold.

I checked the label: Ivanna's size.

The realization hit me with sickening clarity as I buried my face in the fabric. The faint scent of Ivanna's distinctive perfume—something expensive and cloying—clung to it like a secret finally revealed.

How long had this been going on? How many times had I been in this apartment while they...

---

"Explain this," I said, my voice steadier than I expected as I walked back into the living room.

Benedict looked up from his phone, his expression shifting from annoyance to something like resignation when he saw the robe in my hands.

"It's not what you think," he said automatically.

"It's exactly what I think." I threw the robe at him. It landed on his lap like an accusation. "How long?"

He didn't deny it. Instead, he sighed and set the robe aside. "Chloe, you've been unavailable lately. Depressing. Ivanna understands what I need."

"What you need?" The words felt like acid on my tongue.

"You've been so focused on your brother's problems," he continued, as if explaining something simple to a child. "Do you know how that feels? To be with someone who's constantly bringing you down?"

I stared at him, seeing him clearly for perhaps the first time. "So you slept with your colleague."

"I didn't say that." He stood up, smoothing his pants. "But you're being hysterical again."

"Hysterical?" My voice rose. "My brother just got a life sentence! And you're—" I gestured wildly at the robe.

"Get over it," he said coldly. "Where else are you going to go?"

Something inside me snapped—or perhaps, healed into armor.

Without another word, I walked to our bedroom and pulled a suitcase from the closet. I packed mechanically, grabbing essentials without thought or care.

Benedict appeared in the doorway, watching with a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "You'll be back in a week," he said. "You always come back."

I zipped the suitcase closed and straightened my spine. For seven years, I'd believed his love was conditional. Now I knew it was nonexistent.

I placed my key on the entryway table and walked out into the rain, not looking back as the door closed behind me with a final click.