Chapter 8 #8
Chapter 8
~ Shailyn ~
I kept pondering the divorce, turning it over and over in my mind like a puzzle I couldn't solve. It felt wrong—like I was betraying Dante, breaking some sacred vow I'd made five years ago in front of God and everyone. But at the same time, it felt right. Like finally choosing myself after years of choosing him. I was torn, split down the middle, unable to commit to either path.
Dante wasn't making it any easier. My phone buzzed constantly with his texts and calls, each message swinging wildly between apologies and threats, between promises to change and reminders of everything I'd lose without him. I ignored them all, but they still weighed on me, heavy as stones.
The next morning, I woke up and decided it was time. Time to stop moping around Aunt Patricia's house like a ghost. Time to face the world and Dante head-on. I was going to work.
I would continue my bold act, the one I'd started that day in the hospital bathroom.
Today, I would walk into SentientIQ and act like Dante didn't exist. I wouldn't consider his feelings or his threats. The divorce still stood, no matter what he said or did.
I got dressed carefully, putting on armor in the form of a fitted blazer and heels that made me feel taller, stronger. When I walked into the office building, my heart was racing, but I kept my chin up.
That's when I saw him.
Dwayne.
He was walking down the hallway toward me, and for one panicked second, I forgot how to breathe.
Thank God I'd spotted him from far enough away that I had time to compose myself. I gathered every scrap of courage I had and waved shyly as we passed each other.
He gave me a curt nod—polite, distant, professional.
That was it.
Phew. He didn't recognize me. He had no idea I was the woman from the mask club, the woman whose body he'd learned so thoroughly just days ago. Relief and something that felt strangely like disappointment washed over me in equal measure.
When I reached my desk, I noticed immediately that something was different. There was a new desk pushed right up against mine, close enough that our chairs would probably bump into each other. Office supplies were already arranged neatly on the surface—pens, notebooks, a cheerful succulent in a bright yellow pot.
Just as I was trying to process this invasion of my personal space, someone popped up behind me so suddenly I nearly jumped out of my skin.
"Hi! I'm Hannah!"
She was beaming at me like I was the best thing she'd seen all day, practically bouncing with excitement. Her energy was infectious and overwhelming all at once.
"I'm your new desk mate and I love you already!"
She giggled like a high school girl at a sleepover. I stood there frozen, wondering if she was really talking to me. No one at SentientIQ talked to me like this. Most people avoided me entirely, either out of pity or because they knew I was Dante's wife and didn't want to get involved in whatever mess that entailed.
Before I could respond, Hannah reached out and touched my arm, examining my skin like it was made of porcelain. "Holy mother of cheese balls, your skin is so neat and you're so frigging fine!"
Heat crept up my neck and flooded my cheeks. I wasn't used to compliments—genuine ones, anyway. Dante used to compliment me in that first year, but those words had been weapons disguised as affection, tools to manipulate me into giving him what he wanted.
"Indeed, she is."
The voice came from directly behind me, and my blood turned to ice.
Dante.
He said it in a tone that was somehow both possessive and menacing, like he was reminding everyone within earshot that I belonged to him. That no matter how fine I was, I was his property.
I felt Hannah tense beside me as Dante walked past without another word, his presence lingering like smoke even after he'd disappeared around the corner.
"Was that... was that Mr. Belmar?" Hannah whispered, her eyes huge. "Oh my God, he looks like a Greek God!”
She turned to me and to my name badge pinned on my left breast area.
“Wait… wait, you're the Shailyn? Shailyn Belmar? Like the wife of … oh my fucking God!"
I let out a smile, just so she doesn’t cage in with the fact that I might be hostile.
She grabbed my arm again, practically vibrating with excitement. "Oh my God, can this day get any brighter?"
I couldn't match her energy. I was exhausted, confused, still processing Dante's words and the shivers they'd sent down my spine. These days, I didn't know what I felt for him anymore.
One minute I was ready to sign divorce papers and never look back. The next minute, some pathetic part of me wanted to try again, to make this work, to believe he could change.
Hannah must have sensed my mood shift because she dialed back her enthusiasm just a notch. "Come on," she said gently, guiding me to my chair. "Let's get settled in. I promise I'm not always this high-energy. Well, actually, I am. But you'll get used to it!"
She definitely ran on pure sugar.
During lunch break, Hannah kept pushing for us to eat together. At first, I tried to decline because eating lunch alone had become my routine, my safe space…but she was so sweet, so genuinely eager for my company, that I couldn't bring myself to say no.
We found a quiet corner in the cafeteria, and to my surprise, conversation flowed easily. Hannah talked about her life, her dreams of becoming a lead developer someday, her terrible ex-boyfriend who'd cheated on her with her roommate. I found myself opening up too, just a little—talking about my mother's illness, about how I'd gotten into computer science because of my father's old code notebooks.
I didn't mention Dante's cheating or the infections or the abuse. Some things were still too raw, too shameful to share. But it felt good to talk about anything with someone who seemed to genuinely care.
By the end of lunch, Hannah had tears in her eyes.
I panicked. "Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?"
"No!" She laughed, wiping at her face. "I'm just so glad I met a new friend. Is that weird? I just... I really needed this. You have no idea."
A friend.
She'd called me her friend.
Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in my chest. Before I could think about it, I pulled her into a hug, tight and genuine and full of gratitude for this strange, bubbly girl who'd appeared in my life at exactly the right moment.
…
Back at the office, Hannah and I were still talking, laughing about something silly, when I suddenly bumped into someone. Hard.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" I said frantically, keeping my eyes down. "I wasn't watching where I was…"
"Careful there, my brother's wife."
Dwayne's voice cut through my apology like a knife.
I looked up slowly, meeting his eyes for the first time since that morning.
Heat flooded my cheeks, and I prayed he couldn't tell how flustered I was, couldn't see the guilt written all over my face.
Hannah cleared her throat loudly, breaking the moment. "Well, this is awkward!"
Dwayne's eyes lingered on me for one more second before he stepped around us and continued down the hallway without another word.
As soon as he was gone, Hannah grabbed my arm. "Okay, if you were not married to Dante, I would absolutely ship you and Dwayne together. Did you feel that tension? Because I definitely felt that tension."
She kept going on and on about how good we'd look together, how Dwayne seemed so mysterious and dangerous, how there was clearly some kind of chemistry between us. Part of me wanted to shut her down, to remind her I was married and that was inappropriate. But another part, was secretly delighted. I enjoyed hearing her talk about it, enjoyed imagining a world where I wasn't trapped in a loveless marriage, where someone like Dwayne could actually want me.
Hannah invited me out for Saturday, and I found myself genuinely looking forward to it.
Saturday came faster than I expected. I arrived at the location Hannah had texted me a trendy outdoor café in a nice part of town, and spotted her immediately in a pretty lilac dress that made her look effortlessly beautiful.
She waved enthusiastically, and I waved back, smiling despite myself.
But then I saw someone else. Someone familiar standing just behind Hannah, partially obscured by a decorative pillar.
I squinted, trying to place the figure.
Cynthia.
My mother-in-law, Cynthia Belmar, was here. At this café. With someone.
My first thought was that it was odd, Cynthia didn't frequent places like this, especially not with people who looked younger than her. My second thought died in my throat as I watched the scene unfold.
Cynthia leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. Passionately.
Not Tyler. Not her husband.
What the hell?
Hannah was still waving, still trying to get my attention, but I couldn't move. I stood frozen on the sidewalk, my brain short-circuiting as I tried to process what I'd just witnessed.
Cynthia Belmar — the woman who'd made my life hell for five years, who looked down on me like I was dirt beneath her designer shoes — was cheating on Tyler.
What in the actual hell?