The Placeholder Wife: His Too Late Regret

Brooke POV

Ethan slammed his palm against the partition so hard the glass rattled in its frame.

"Stop the car," he barked.

The driver, a massive man named Luca who had been with the Spencers since before I was born, slammed on the brakes. The SUV lurched to a violent halt in the middle of the highway.

Ethan was gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. He wasn't looking at me. He was entirely focused on the voice on the other end, his jaw working as he ground his teeth.

"Calm down," he said into the phone, his voice tight with controlled fury. "Don't do anything stupid, Kylie. Put the pills down."

My stomach turned. Suicide baiting. The oldest trick in the book for a girl who needed to be the center of the universe.

"She's threatening to call her uncle," Ethan said, speaking more to himself than to me. "She's saying she's going to tell him about the shipment coming in at the docks if I don't come over. She's hysterical."

He looked at me then. Really looked at me.

"I have to go to her," he said.

It wasn't a question.

"You're leaving me," I said, my voice hollow. "On our anniversary. After she threw wine on me. To go comfort her because she's throwing a tantrum?"

"She's a liability, Brooke," he snapped. "If she talks, the Feds raid the warehouse. We lose millions. People go to prison. This is business."

He shoved his door open.

"Get in the front," he ordered.

"Excuse me?"

"Luca needs to stay with the security detail. You drive. I can't have a driver hear what she might say. She's loose-lipped. You're my wife. You're safe."

Safe. The word tasted like ash on my tongue. I wasn't a wife. I was a vault for his secrets and a chauffeur for his mistress.

I didn't move.

"Brooke," he growled. "Now."

I got out of the car. The night air was biting. I climbed into the driver's seat of the massive SUV, my hands shaking on the steering wheel. Ethan got in the back.

"Drive to the Holland estate."

I drove. I drove the man I loved to the woman who wanted to destroy me.

When we pulled up to the wrought-iron gates of the Holland mansion, Kylie was waiting on the steps. She wasn't holding pills. She was holding a bottle of vodka, looking perfectly fine, just beautifully tragic in the moonlight.

Ethan jumped out before the car even stopped completely.

"Kylie!"

She ran to him. She threw herself into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. He caught her. He held her. He buried his face in her neck, whispering things I couldn't hear but could feel in the marrow of my bones.

He wasn't pushing her away. He wasn't scolding her for threatening the family business. He was holding her like she was the only fragile thing in the world.

I sat in the front seat, watching them through the rearview mirror. I was the invisible woman. The staff.

After a long minute, Ethan led her toward the car.

"She's coming with us," he said as he opened the back door. "I need to get her to the safe house at Lake Villa. She needs to detox."

Kylie slid into the back seat, smelling of liquor and triumph. She saw me in the mirror and smirked.

"Thanks for the ride, Brooke," she slurred.

Ethan got in beside her. He pulled her head onto his shoulder, stroking her hair.

"Just drive, Brooke," he said softly.

I drove them to the lake house. It took forty minutes.

Forty minutes of listening to Kylie whimper and Ethan comfort her.

Forty minutes of him promising her he would fix everything.

Forty minutes of realizing that the contract marriage wasn't just a business deal for him. It was a waiting room until he could figure out how to be with her.

When we arrived, the Holland family guards were waiting. They took Kylie from Ethan with deferential nods. They ignored me completely.

Ethan stood by the open door of the SUV, looking down at me.

"I have to stay," he said. "To manage the situation. Make sure she doesn't talk."

I gripped the steering wheel until my fingers hurt.

"You're not coming home?" I asked.

"I can't."

He tapped the roof of the car.

"Take the SUV. Luca will meet you at the apartment. Go home, Brooke."

He turned and walked into the house with her. The door closed, shutting out the light, shutting out the warmth, shutting me out of his life.

I put the car in gear and drove away. I didn't cry. I was done crying.

As the tires crunched over the gravel, I realized something terrifying.

I hated him.