11
He raised his head, his eyes clear, the haze of alcohol completely gone.
Five years of marriage and countless social events had taught me how well Dominic could hold his liquor.
Caught in his lie, Dominic’s face flushed with shame.
“Do you think this is funny?” I said, wrenching myself free.
He lowered his head, refusing to meet my gaze, but kept a tight grip on my suitcase.
“Don’t tell me you regret this now,” I said, irritation creeping into my voice.
It had only been a few days since I last saw him, but he already looked unkempt, dark circles under his
Dominic Blackwell I’d known.
“I do regret it,” he murmured, his voice breaking.
But it didn’t matter anymore.
“Tomorrow, we’re going to finalize the divorce papers,” I said curtly.
“You’re serious?”
eyes, a far
cry
from the polished
“Dead serious.”
Dominic hesitated, then said, “Fine. Next week–I’ll be back from my business trip, and we’ll take care of it then.”
“Alright,” I replied, my tone indifferent.
