Chapter 188 Chapter 188 Dinner with His Brother
Elizabeth guides me into their dining room while Jax finishes plating dinner. The whole townhouse smells like garlic, rosemary, butter, and fresh bread. Warm. Comfortable. Safe. The kind of home that feels lived in instead of staged for a magazine.
The second we sit down, the questions start.
“What is going on?”
“Why are you divorcing him?”
“What happened?”
Heavy questions. Loaded questions. Questions that make my chest ache because saying the answers out loud makes everything real.
Elizabeth reaches across the table and squeezes my hand gently. “Talk to us.”
I stare down at the wine in my glass before finally speaking.
“He cheated.”
Silence falls instantly.
Not shocked silence.
More like disappointed silence.
Elizabeth’s face softens immediately. Jax leans back slowly in his chair, jaw tightening.
“Is there anything you can do to work on it?” Elizabeth asks carefully. “Therapy maybe?”
If it were one drunken mistake, maybe.
If it were one woman, maybe.
But a year?
A whole fucking year?
I shake my head slowly. “He’s been cheating for a year. Multiple girls. Sometimes more than one at once.” I laugh bitterly into my wine. “I’m tired. I can’t carry this shit anymore.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jax mutters. “How did you find out?”
“Someone started texting me after the first time.” I swirl the wine in my glass. “Photos. Videos. Hotel receipts. Dates. Everything.”
Elizabeth looks horrified.
“And you’ve known for a year?” she asks quietly.
I nod once.
“At first I wanted to kill him.” I shrug. “Now I just feel numb.”
That’s the part that scares me the most.
Not the anger.
Not the betrayal.
The fact that I barely feel anything anymore.
Elizabeth turns toward Jax immediately. “Baby, go get another bottle.”
He gives her a look like he knows exactly why she’s sending him away but stands anyway.
The second he disappears into the kitchen, Elizabeth leans closer.
“Are you going to be okay?”
Eventually.
Probably.
Maybe.
I force a smile anyway. “Yeah.”
It sounds more like a wish than an answer.
My phone vibrates again against the table.
Ivan.
Still calling.
Still texting.
Still pretending he doesn’t know exactly why I filed for divorce.
I unlock the phone and finally text him back.
We’ll talk when I get home. Think carefully about everything you want to say because I know everything.
The typing bubble appears instantly.
Then disappears.
Silence.
For the first time since Keenan called me, I can breathe again.
Jax returns with another bottle and refills everyone’s glasses. Dinner becomes quieter after that. Safer topics. The kids. Work. Travel.
They keep watching me carefully though, like they expect me to shatter at any second.
I don’t.
I refuse to.
“Snaz wants to paint me,” I say suddenly.
Elizabeth perks up instantly. “Oh my God, I love his work. You met him already?”
“He’s having an exhibit at Chessman in two weeks.” I nod. “That’s why I’m here.”
“What’s he like?”
“A child.” I snort into my wine. “Barely twenty. Paint all over his hands. Zero social skills.”
Jax laughs softly. “Sounds like an artist.”
“He asked to paint me nude.”
Elizabeth nearly chokes on her wine. “Excuse me?”
I laugh for real this time. “Apparently I have a face that says emotionally devastating.”
“That sounds accurate,” Jax says immediately winking at me.
I flip him off.
Then I take another sip of wine before quietly adding, “I think I’m going to let him do it.”
Both of them stare at me.
“Why?” Elizabeth asks carefully.
The honest answer slips out before I can stop it.
“I want to see what everyone else sees.”
Her face falls immediately.
Because she understands what I’m really asking.
Why wasn’t I enough?
Jax, unfortunately, does not read the room.
“Well,” he says casually, “you can always get back at Ivan with me.”
After all this time he is still trying to sleep with me.
Something inside me snaps.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
I set my wine glass down too hard.
“You are such an ass.”
The room goes completely silent.
Jax blinks at me.
“It’s not funny,” I continue, anger rushing out before I can stop it. “Why do all of you act like cheating is genetic? Like fidelity issues are buried in your DNA?”
“Elena—”
“No.” I shake my head hard. “It’s a choice. Love is a choice too. Every single day you either choose the person beside you or you choose yourself.”
Jax’s expression hardens slightly now.
“You don’t understand our relationship.”
“No, I do.” I laugh bitterly. “Your relationship works because Elizabeth agreed to it. That’s the difference. You didn’t lie to her for a fucking year. I need you to stop trying to put me in the middle of it, it will never happen. You and me, never.”
Elizabeth stays quiet beside him.
I keep going because now I can’t stop.
“Why don’t any of you try being better than your father instead of becoming him?”
Dead silence.
Immediately guilt crashes over me.
I exhale sharply and stand too fast from the table.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “That was unfair.”
“Elena—”
“No. I shouldn’t have gone off on you.” I grab my purse. “Thank you for dinner. Really.”
Jax follows me toward the front door while Elizabeth stays behind to give us space.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “Too soon for jokes.”
“If you were joking,” I reply.
His silence tells me enough. He wants what he wants just like Ivan, there is no changing them.
Because the truth is, their marriage works differently than mine ever could. They share people together. There are no lies between them. No betrayal. No pretending.
That’s not what Ivan and I had.
I really believed marriage would change him.
Stupid girl.
Jax pulls me into a tight hug before I can spiral further. For a second I let myself sink into it, exhausted.
“We’ll see you in Spain after the holidays,” he says.
I pull back immediately. “I’m not going to Spain.”
“What?”
“I’m not part of the family anymore.”
“That’s bullshit.” His expression turns serious. “My father loves you more than he loves half his actual children. You’re the mother of his grandkids. You’ll always be family.”
The words should comfort me.
Instead they make me feel sick.
I am going to be like one of their moms, set aside. Still in my prime looking sad and beautiful at every family event. At my own table with my kids, watching Ivan play with his flavor of the month. Not me, I am not doing that.
Absolutely fucking not.
“I’m not going to sit there watching him move on in real time,” I say quietly. “He can bring the kids himself.”
Jax looks like he wants to argue but doesn’t.
By the time I reach my hotel room, exhaustion crushes me completely.
I kick off my heels, crawl into bed fully emotionally drained, and the second my head hits the pillow, I pass out hoping tomorrow won’t come with a wine headache and another dozen texts from my husband asking why I finally got tired of being humiliated.