Chapter Eighty Five

Chapter Eighty Five
Athena
"What do you expect me to think?" Lysander demanded, stepping closer, his voice sharp and accusing. "You act like you don’t care about me anymore. You’ve been spending all your time with Eros."

He didn’t stop there. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed—the late nights, the way you laugh with him, how you suddenly hang up the phone when I walk into the room.”

“There’s nothing going on,” I snapped, my voice rising with frustration. “He’s my boss. A friend, at most.”

Lysander’s expression twisted with disbelief. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Athena.”

“I’m not,” I shot back. “But you’re so wrapped up in your paranoia, you’re creating things that don’t exist.”

He scoffed. “Paranoia? I’ve seen the way he looks at you—like you belong to him.”

That was it. I exploded.

“And what about the way you treat me?” I challenged, voice trembling with pent-up rage. “You think one apology gives you the right to interrogate me? To doubt every move I make?”

“I’m your husband! I deserve honesty!”

“And I deserve respect!” I fired back.

His eyes darkened with something I’d seen before—something dangerous. But this time, he was too furious to control it.

It happened in a blink.

One second we were staring each other down, and the next, pain erupted across my face. His fist connected with my jaw, sending me crashing to the floor.

The room spun, and the silence that followed was deafening.

He froze.

And then I saw it—that flicker of horror in his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered, kneeling beside me, voice trembling. “Not again. Never again. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

But the damage had already been done.

The first time was a warning. This was confirmation.

I wasn’t safe with him. And I finally saw the truth I’d refused to face: I was trapped. Just like my mother. Just like every woman who forgives too quickly, hoping for a miracle that never comes.

“I’m done,” I said, calm and unwavering. My jaw throbbed, but I stood with quiet resolve.

He shook his head in disbelief. “No. Please, Athena. Don’t do this.”

“I gave you one last chance, Lysander,” I said coldly. “And you shattered it. You finally showed me who you really are."

I walked to the bedroom, pulled the suitcases from the closet, and began packing—methodically, emotionlessly. I didn’t cry. I wouldn’t give him that anymore.

Lysander lingered at the door, helpless. “Athena, please. I love you.”

I zipped the last bag shut. “I don’t doubt that. But your love hurts. And I won’t live in fear. I won’t stay with a man who doesn’t trust me—who tries to control me with guilt and anger.”

He collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t go. I can change. I love you.”

I paused, looking at him—really looking. At the man I once dreamed of growing old with. Now, I barely recognized him.

“I loved you,” I whispered—more to myself than to him.

“Then stay,” he pleaded.

“I loved you,” I repeated, firmer this time. “But I love myself more. And I hope you do change. Not for me, but for yourself.”

I walked out, the soft click of the door behind me sounding louder than any goodbye. I made my way down the stairs, careful not to stumble with the bags, jaw aching but spirit unbroken.

“Athena!” Lysander’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs. “We can still fix this!”

But it was too late. There was nothing left on this earth that could fix what was already beyond repair. A shattered ceramic can't be restored to its former shape—no matter how carefully you try to piece it back together, the cracks remain. 

It loses its strength. Its purpose. Our marriage was just like that—broken, sharp-edged, and useless now. And all that was left for me to do… was throw it away before it cut me any deeper.

It was night, but not too late to find a hotel. I opened the front door, dragged my bags outside, and shut it behind me.

This time, I didn’t look back.

I wasn’t coming back. Not now. Not ever. Not even if he came crawling, bloody and repentant.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

And I wasn’t so in love that I’d let him destroy me.
He wasn’t the only man in the world.
\~~~~~~
I found a hotel about thirty minutes from Belmonte Group and went through the motions—booked a suite, handed off my luggage to the bellboy, tipped him, thanked him. Polite. Mechanical. 

Once alone, I let the door click shut behind me, slid down to the floor, and finally allowed the tears to fall. Silent. Uncontrollable.

Sometime later, I heard my phone ringing faintly. I didn’t move. It was buried in my bag, which sat on the bed—too far, too irrelevant. I curled up on the cold floor near the door and shut my eyes, silently begging for sleep to take over.

But just as I was starting to drift, the room phone rang. Peace was fleeting.

I groaned. Of course.

Too tired to walk, I crawled to the nightstand, dragged the cordless phone to my ear, and leaned against the wood. Whoever it was, I wanted them gone.

“Hello,” I rasped, my voice wrecked from crying.

“Athena? It’s me. Eros.”

My eyes flew open. I stared at the phone for a second in disbelief, then brought it back to my ear. “Eros Belmonte?”

“Do you know another one?” he asked, sounding faintly amused.

“How did you—” My words trailed off.

“I called your cell. You didn’t pick up. So I tracked your phone.”

“You what? Why would you do that?” I asked, though my anger was dulled by sheer exhaustion. “Seriously? I’m not lost.”

“Where are you right now?” He asked, tone sharp.

“You dropped me off at home, didn’t you?” I replied flatly.

“Exactly. So imagine my surprise when I found you checked into a hotel barely two hours later. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Try again. And think carefully before lying to me,” he said, his tone hardening. “Did that bastard hurt you?”

“I told you to stay out of my marriage,” I snapped, gritting my teeth.

“Well, I’m not going to. I won’t,” he said firmly. No hesitation. “I can’t.”

I blinked. “What does that mean?”

“I’m coming up.” He said casually.

I sat up straighter, eyes darting to the door. “Wait—what? You’re here?”

“In the elevator,” he confirmed. “Open the door when I knock.”

“No,” I said petulantly.

He chuckled, arrogant and unbothered. “Darling, I own the hotel. I’ll get in one way or another.” He didn’t miss a beat.

I scowled. “I hate you.” 

Eros Belmonte had a talent for getting under my skin, but despite everything we’d been through, he remained the only person I could still call a true friend.

“No, you don’t,” he replied easily. “Open the door.”

A knock echoed through the suite. Deliberate. Firm.

And even though every stubborn bone in my body wanted to resist, I found myself standing, walking to the door. Because as much as I wanted to push him away, I wanted more to be held. To feel safe. And somehow, in a world where everything else was falling apart, Eros Belmonte was the only place that still felt like safety.

He felt like home—a warmth and safety I suddenly realized I'd never known with Lysander. Yes, Lysander had stood by me through the darkest chapters, quietly offering his presence for years, and yes, I had loved him.

But love meant nothing when it came wrapped in fear—fear that I was reliving life with James Carter all over again. And I’d sooner pull the trigger myself than go through that hell a second time.