73
The sound of the door opening was not what startled Kingsley—it was the familiar click of heels, too fast, too confident to be any of the house staff. He looked up from the armrest of the leather couch, where he’d been half-reclining with a phone still clutched in his hand, Katherine’s voice lingering in his thoughts like a fading perfume.
“Kingsley,” came the voice—sharp, composed, and entirely too early.
He sat up slowly.
Beth stood in the foyer, her silk trench coat clinging to her like it had just walked off a runway. Oversized sunglasses shielded her eyes despite the dimness of the entry hall. Her luggage trailed behind her, wheeled in by a staff member already backing away discreetly.
Kingsley blinked. “Beth?”
“Surprised?” she asked lightly, removing her sunglasses with a quick flick and tucking them into her purse. “Campaign wrapped up a little earlier than expected.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You said you wouldn’t be back for another month.”
“Well,” she shrugged, stepping fully into the room now, her heels clicking softly on the marble. Plans changed. The charity event lost a major sponsor last minute, so the last leg of the campaign in Bali got canceled. I figured there was no point sticking around doing nothing.”
She moved closer, studying him as if she were trying to see if anything about him had changed. “You look… different. Lighter. Or maybe just well-rested.”
He said nothing and simply gestured for one of the maids to help with her bag.
She glanced around. “I see the house hasn’t burned down without me.”
“You weren’t gone that long.”
Beth gave a half-smile and then narrowed her eyes just a bit. “So…” she said, sinking gracefully onto the edge of the sofa, crossing one leg over the other. “How was it?”
Kingsley furrowed his brow. “How was what?”
“The retreat,” she said flatly, leaning back against the cushions.
There was a pause.
“I don’t remember telling you I went on a retreat,” he said carefully, his voice calm but curious.
“You didn’t,” Beth said with a shrug. “But you don’t have to. I always know your movements, Kingsley. Just because I was away doesn’t mean I wasn’t watching.”
He studied her now, face unreadable.
“So,” she continued, tucking a strand of her highlighted hair behind one ear, “how was it? Did you find what you were looking for out there? Any… clarity about us?”
Kingsley’s jaw tensed. “It was insightful,” he said slowly. “And quiet. Just what I needed.”
Beth nodded, though her eyes flickered, a hint of something unreadable in them. “Well, good,” she said, standing and stretching slightly. “I’ll just shower and lie down. Jet lag’s still biting.”
He gave her a small nod. “You should rest.”
And he meant it. He wasn’t going to start a war tonight. She had just come home. And he needed space—not conflict.
The bedroom was quiet. The kind of silence that held weight.
Soft city light leaked through the tall windows, brushing the furniture in faint silver. A warm glow from the bedside lamp offered a halo of calm, but nothing could soften the unease thick in the room.
Beth lay under the covers in her silk robe, scrolling absently through her phone. Her hair was damp from a shower, and she smelled faintly of vanilla and lavender. She glanced over at Kingsley as he stepped out of the bathroom, his hair also damp, a towel slung over his shoulder. He wore dark pajama pants and a simple white shirt that clung lightly to his frame.
He didn’t look at her at first—just moved with a sort of careful exhaustion, like each step was part of a rehearsed dance. He sat on his side of the bed and began to dry his hair slowly, then reached for the water on the nightstand.
Beth watched him closely. “So,” she said lightly, “still the same routine.”
Kingsley let out a small breath—half laugh, half sigh. “Some things don’t change.”
Beth placed her phone aside, turning to face him. “But some things do,” she said. “Right?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he adjusted his pillow and climbed under the comforter. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling for a long moment, before finally turning slightly away, onto his side.
The silence settled again.
Beth shifted closer, drawing the covers with her. Her hand slipped gently across the sheets, brushing his shoulder. “I’ve missed you,” she said quietly.
Kingsley’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t move.
“I mean it,” she whispered, voice silk-wrapped. “Being away… I had time to think, you know? About us. About what we used to be.” She leaned in now, her lips near his ear, her hand trailing down the side of his chest. “Let me show you.”
Kingsley turned slowly, just enough to meet her gaze. He caught her hand gently, his fingers firm but not unkind.
“Beth…” His voice was low. “I’m really tired. It’s been a long day.”
She blinked, her hand resting on his. “That’s not the only reason, is it?”
He held her gaze, searching for the right words—ones that wouldn’t cut, but also wouldn’t lie. “I just… need to rest tonight.”
Beth didn’t move for a moment. Her hand remained in his. “You know,” she said softly, eyes narrowing just slightly, “I hoped this retreat you went on would bring you back to me. I thought maybe you’d finally see what we had, what we could still have.”
Kingsley looked at her, his face shadowed by the low light. “You’re not wrong. It did bring me clarity.”
She tilted her head. “And what did that clarity say?”
He looked away. “I’m not ready to talk about it. Not yet.”
Beth’s breath hitched faintly—whether in irritation or sadness, it was hard to tell. She let her hand fall back to her side and turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling beside him.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
“I still want you, Kingsley,” she murmured into the darkness.
He closed his eyes.
But he didn’t respond.
Eventually, he reached over and turned off the lamp. The room fell into darkness.
The sun leaked into the room through the sheer drapes, casting a muted gold across the walls and bed linens. The soft rustle of city life beyond the windows filtered in—subtle but present. In the stillness of the morning, the space between them in bed was almost symbolic: an invisible trench carved over time, filled now with silence and unmet expectations.
Beth was already awake, lying on her side and watching Kingsley as he stirred beneath the sheets. His eyes opened slowly. He blinked at the light, then reached for his phone without glancing at her.
“Morning,” she said, her voice quiet but deliberate.
Kingsley mumbled a “Morning” in return, setting his phone down. He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck.
Beth sat up as well. “So, we’re not going to talk about last night?”
He paused, not turning. “Talk about what?”
Beth’s eyes narrowed. “You refused to touch me. Me reaching for you and you pulling away like I was a stranger.”
Kingsley finally looked back at her. His expression wasn’t cruel—it was calm. Too calm. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Well, newsflash,” she said, voice hardening. “You did.”
There was a stretch of silence. He stood and reached for the robe hanging by the chair. She watched him wrap it around himself with practiced grace like he was already emotionally checked out.
Beth stood too, letting the tension sharpen her spine. “I need to know what’s going on, Kingsley.”
He turned to face her fully now. His jaw clenched slightly before he spoke. “I want a divorce, Beth.”
She blinked. A sharp intake of breath hitched in her throat. “What?”
“I want a divorce,” he repeated, slowly. Clearly. “It’s time to let this go.”
Beth laughed. A bitter, disbelieving sound. “What are you even saying right now? You think you can just wake up and throw away a marriage?”
“It’s not just waking up. This has been building for a long time. You know it too.”
Beth stepped forward, her arms folding across her chest like armor. “I thought the retreat was for clarity. For healing. To make our relationship better. You were supposed to come back ready to fix things. Is this about Katherine?”
He lifted a hand, not in anger—but as a firm boundary. “Leave Katherine out of this. This isn’t about her. This is about us. This marriage has been broken for years. We both know it. We’ve been trying to force something that hasn’t felt right in a long time, and you have told me several times if I don't want this marriage, I should let you go, I am letting you go.”
Beth’s eyes glistened now, her voice tightening. “Speak for yourself. I don’t know what you’re talking about. When I told you that if you wanted me to leave, you should let me know, I didn’t mean it. I said that hoping you’d fight for us. I never wanted this.”
“I know,” he said gently. “But I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t keep sleeping next to someone and feeling like I’m drowning. I want peace. I want to feel alive again.”
Beth’s voice trembled. “No. No, we are not getting divorced. I have poured everything I am into this marriage. My career, my identity—my entire image is built around being your wife.”
Kingsley’s mouth tightened. “Reputation again. That’s what it always comes down to with you, isn’t it? Not how we feel. Not how I feel. Just optics. Public image.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” she said. “We can go to counseling. We can figure this out. If it’s her—”
“It’s not just her,” he said firmly. “It’s me. It’s us. I can’t do this anymore.”
Beth’s voice broke. “You are making a mistake. What do you think is going to happen to the business? My father will pull his investment. The stock will crash. You’ll lose everything we’ve built together.”
Kingsley shook his head slowly. “I don’t care anymore.”
“You don’t care?” she spat. “Really?”
“I care about being happy. I care about waking up and not feeling like I’m lying to myself. I care about not dying slowly in a house that feels less like a home every damn day.”
Beth sank onto the edge of the bed, the weight of his words hitting like bricks. Her eyes filled. “So that’s it?”
He nodded, quiet and resolute. “That’s it.”
And this time, he didn’t offer comfort. He didn’t move to hold her.
Because finally—he was done pretending.