Chapter 99 *
Damon's POV
The drive back was quiet. Scarlett sat in the passenger seat. Her hands were folded in her lap. She kept opening her mouth like she wanted to say something. Then closing it.
I kept my eyes on the road. Tried to keep my grip on the steering wheel relaxed.
"I've decided not to get divorced." The words came out so quietly I almost didn't hear them.
My hands tightened on the wheel. I forced myself to keep my expression neutral.
"For now," she added quickly.
I didn't respond. Just kept driving.
She shifted in her seat. "I know what I said at the hospital. About wanting a divorce. But after seeing your grandfather..."
She trailed off.
I waited. Let the silence stretch out.
"I can't do that to him," she said finally. "He's already had one heart episode tonight. If I push for a divorce, it might actually kill him."
My jaw clenched. I should feel relieved. Should be happy she was staying.
Instead, all I felt was a cold sort of anger.
She was staying for my grandfather. Not for me.
"So here's what I'm thinking," she continued. Her voice got more businesslike. More confident. "We maintain the marriage. On paper. For your grandfather's sake."
I glanced at her. "On paper?"
"Separate living arrangements," she said. "We can tell him we're living together. But actually we'd have our own spaces. Our own lives."
My hands were going to break the steering wheel.
"This would be purely practical," she continued. "No emotional entanglement. No financial entanglement. Just a legal arrangement to keep him happy."
I let out a slow breath through my nose.
"That's not going to work."
"Why not?"
"Because Maria reports directly to my grandfather." I kept my voice level. Calm. "She's his eyes and ears in the estate. Always has been."
Scarlett went quiet.
"He'll know if you're not actually living there," I continued. "He has people watching. Always."
I could practically hear her brain working. Processing that information.
"Plus he does surprise visits," I added. "Shows up unannounced. Walks through the house checking on things."
"Oh."
More silence.
Then she spoke again. Slower this time. More careful.
"Okay. So I'll stay at the estate. We can maintain appearances there."
I waited for the other shoe to drop.
"But I'll pay rent," she said. "And my share of utilities and groceries."
My vision actually went red for a second.
I counted to five in my head. Forced myself to breathe.
She wanted to treat our marriage like a rental agreement. Like she was some tenant I was letting crash in a spare room.
"As my wife," I said through gritted teeth. "Even a fake one. You're entitled to housing. No rent required."
She turned to look at me. "Are you sure? Because I don't want to take advantage—"
"I'm sure."
My voice came out harder than I intended. She flinched slightly.
I loosened my grip on the wheel. Tried again.
"You don't owe me rent, Scarlett. Or utility payments. Or grocery money."
"So it's like employer-provided housing?" Her voice brightened. Actually brightened. "And meals?"
I stared straight ahead at the road.
Was she seriously comparing our marriage to an employment package right now?
"Sure," I said flatly. "Whatever you want to call it."
She actually looked relieved. Like she'd just negotiated a great deal on an apartment lease.
I wanted to pull over. Shake her. Make her understand this wasn't some business transaction.
But I didn't.
Because that's exactly how she saw it. A contract. An arrangement. Something temporary and transactional.
I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye.
She was sitting back in her seat now. More relaxed. Like a weight had been lifted.
Meanwhile, I was over here grinding my teeth into powder.
This woman. This fucking woman.
Her brain worked in the weirdest ways. She looked like a college kid. Talked like a college kid. But when it came to making decisions? She was brutal. Cold. Decisive.
If I hadn't gone to that apartment myself, she would have disappeared. Blocked my numbers. Ghosted me completely.
No guilt. No second thoughts.
Just gone.
I took a slow breath. Let it out.
Fine. She wanted a marriage in name only? I could work with that.
The important thing was keeping her close. Keeping her in my house. In my life.
I had time. Time to show her what being Mrs. Wolfe actually meant.
Time to make her want to stay.
Because one thing was certain. Wolfe men didn't divorce. Ever.
And I'd be damned if I was going to be the first.
We pulled up to her apartment building twenty minutes later.
"I just need to grab some things," she said. "Won't take long."
I got out. Followed her to the door.
She glanced back. "You don't have to come up. I can manage."
"I'm coming up."
She looked like she wanted to argue. Then just shrugged and led the way inside.
The building was old. Not run-down exactly. Just tired. The kind of place where the elevator made concerning noises and the hallway carpet had seen better days.
We took the stairs to the fifth floor.
She unlocked her apartment door. Pushed it open.
I followed her inside.
And immediately froze.
There was a smell. Strong. Spicy. Completely unfamiliar.
My eyes went to the small table by the window. There was some kind of electric device sitting on it. A pot. With red oily liquid bubbling inside.
What the hell?
Scarlett was already moving around. Pulling out a duffel bag from the closet.
I stared at the pot thing. Steam was rising from it. The smell was getting stronger.
It wasn't bad exactly. Just weird. Like nothing I'd ever encountered before.
"Want to join me?" Scarlett's voice cut through my confusion. "I just set up hot pot. There's plenty."
Hot pot?
I looked at the bubbling pot. Then at her.
She was watching me. Her expression was hopeful. Almost eager.
I checked my watch. Nine fifteen.
"It's too late," I said. "Not healthy to eat this late."
Her eyes went wide. Like I'd just said something completely insane.
"It's nine PM!" She actually looked scandalized. "That's prime time for hot pot!"
I just stared at her.
"Do you even know what hot pot is?"
My jaw tightened.
Of course I knew. It was... it was...
Fuck.
I had no idea what hot pot was.