Chapter 105 HOW CAN I FIGHT WHAT'S HURTING ME?

Chapter 105 HOW CAN I FIGHT WHAT'S HURTING ME?
CINNAMON.
"I told you that I'll explain everything soon. Please, trust me, Cinnamon," he begged.
I looked up, almost laughing in his face.
Trust. The one thing we'd built everything on. The foundation we'd been so proud of. And here he was, handing it back to me in pieces, asking me to hold it carefully like it wasn't already broken in his hands.
"Explain this." He slid the paper across my desk.
Interestingly, I glanced at the paper, not touching it.
I immediately thought of my promise to Dove not to tell anyone. But what was the big deal, and why was she so intent on keeping it a secret?
I needed to think of an excuse. Furthermore, if he believed I would be the only one suffering, I'll ensure he feels pain as well.
"I don't see the problem." I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. "If you're out doing whatever you're doing, the least I can do is console myself with some money. We're rich."
Yes, that's correct. It was satisfying to see the flash of disappointment on his face. I felt like a typical villain, and I loved it at that moment. I was shattering the ideal image he had created of me.
His face screwed up in distaste, lips twisted to the side, nose wrinkled. "So you're buying puppies from India."
"Maybe."
"Without telling me."
"Do you tell me everything, Dante?"
He stood speechless, looking down. "That's different—" he tried to say.
"Is it?" I tilted my head. "Because from where I'm sitting, we both seem to have things we're not discussing. So don't walk in here with a piece of paper asking me to account for myself."
He put both hands on my desk, leaning forward.
Narrowing his eyes, "I am not cheating on you."
"I saw her lips on your face."
"You saw something you didn't have the full—"
"Don't." My voice shook and I hated it. I didn't want this vulnerability. I wanted to be in charge. "Don't tell me what I saw. I was there. I walked into that room and I saw it and you stood there with nothing to say." I placed my fingers on the desk. "You still have nothing to say."
"Because I need more time—"
"Time." I stood. "You've had enough time." My voice was rising. I didn't pull it back this time. "How much time do you need?"
"Cinnamon—"
"You made a vow." It dropped like a gentle whisper, quieter than the others, but somehow it shook the room.
"You stood in front of everyone and said things I believed. And now I'm standing here not recognizing you."
"I haven't changed—"
"Then why does everything feel different?"
He straightened, running a hand over his face.
"You know what bothers me?" His voice changed. "You're out here telling Risa our business. Telling Khole. Letting them weigh in on our marriage like it's a group project—"
"They're my family."
"I'm your family."
"Then act like it!"
The words struck the ceiling and fell back down. We stood on either side of my desk, panting heavily. His eyes were dark—not in anger, but in pain. That felt almost worse.
"I don't run our business past anyone," he said. "What's between us stays between us."
"That's because I'm not the one frustrating you."
He went still. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means everything, Dante." I looked at him. "I watch you and your mother whisper in corners and go quiet when I walk in and I ask you what's wrong with her and you give me these — these thin answers about blood pressure and grief—" I shook my head. "She's scared of something. I can see it every time I visit. She holds herself differently. What is going on with her? What are you not telling me?"
Something crossed his face. It was gone in an instant, but I caught it. "Mom is getting older," he said, measured and careful. "Her blood pressure isn't stable. I reassure her. She misses Dad." He held my gaze firmly. "That's all it is."
A lie.
I recognized when he lied because he was terrible at lying to me. The real Dante stumbled when he spoke from the heart; this version felt fabricated. More lies piled on top of the others.
I sat down slowly.
"I need you to leave." And I meant it. I needed him out of my face. "I have work."
"Cinnamon—"
"I have work, Dante." I opened my laptop and stared at the screen, seeing nothing. "Please."
He remained there, his presence domineering.
"Don't let it get worse than this," he said, his voice lowered as if all the fight had drained from him. "Please, hang on for us. For Oliver."
I held my breath so I wouldn't cry.
"That's all I've been doing," I replied without looking up. "Hanging on, and the line is cutting into my hands."
His palm squeezed.
"You're right."
At that moment, I dragged up my eyes to see if there was a change in his eyes. I saw the vulnerability in his eyes, it was fleeting but enough for me to notice.
"It's almost over," he said softly. "I promise you. Whatever you think is happening, just hold on a little longer."
"Your words don’t match your actions." My voice was barely audible now. "Not anymore."
The burning sensation began behind my eyes.
No, not here, not in front of him, not today.
"Leave, please."
He shifted around the desk.
I stiffened.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to the top of my head, lingering there for one second, then two.
"I'll pick you up after work," he murmured against my hair. "I'm not going to let this get worse. I refuse."
He straightened up and walked out.
The door closed behind him as I stared at my laptop screen, my hand trembling uncontrollably against the desk in a futile attempt to steady it.
What was that. What was I supposed to do with that. The argument and the lies and then his mouth on my head like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like nothing could be that wrong if he still did that. If he still came to me like that.
I was at a loss about him. I didn't even know what to do with myself. I grabbed my phone and called Khole. My legs were shaking as I hoped she wasn't busy. Luckily, she answered on the second ring.
"How are you?"
Not "what happened," not "tell me everything." Just "how are you?" Something within me fell apart at her gentle tone.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I truly don't know, Khole. Everything is just—" I took a breath. "Confusing. It's so confusing."
"I understand." Her voice was soothing, with the background noise of New York behind her. "I can hear it."
"We just had this huge argument, and he still—" I placed my fingers to the spot on my head where his lips had touched. "He still kissed my forehead when he left, like he always does. Like nothing’s wrong." I laughed, though it felt off. "What am I supposed to do with that?"
"Cinnamon." She didn't rush her words. "I don’t think he's going to hurt you."
I straightened up. "Khole—"
"Just hear me out." Her tone was firm yet gentle. "I think he's dealing with something he can't show you right now. I’m not sure what it is, but from what I've seen of him loving you, I don’t see a cheater in him. I see someone who’s struggling and too proud to ask for help."
"But the woman—"
"I know what you saw, and I'm not dismissing it." Another pause followed. "I'm just asking you not to jump to conclusions before you have all the facts."
I fell silent.
"And Cinnamon—" Her voice lowered slightly. "Be cautious with Risa."
I frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
"I'm not entirely sure." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Something has changed with her. It's hard to explain, but I can sense it from the way she talks about Dante—"
"You heard that?"
"I hear everything. I'm a writer." There was a brief silence. "Just keep an eye on things around you before making any decisions."
"Risa has been my person since before I met any of these people, Khole."
"I know." She paused. "And Dante has been your family ever since you chose him." Another pause followed. "Both of those things can be true. Just watch."
I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes.
"Do you still love him?"
The question replayed in my mind
I didn’t respond.
Not because I didn’t know, but because I knew all too well.
The silence spoke volumes to Khole.
"That’s your answer," she said softly. "That love. It hasn’t faded. I can hear it, even in the way you're hurting." She took a breath. "Fight for that. Not for the argument or who's right, but for the two of you."
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.
'Dante, what is happening to you? What is happening to us?'
The top of my head still felt warm where he had kissed it, which was the most confusing part of all this. Even now, despite everything, he still felt like home to me. And I wasn’t sure if that was love holding me together or love making a fool of me.