I Refuse to Be Your Second Choice novel Chapter 7

One of the two pillows on the bed was gone. The walk-in closet, now open, held only Alexander’s belongings.

While packing the night before, Natalie had moved out of the master bedroom. The few things she still needed were now in the guest room.

“I’ve moved into the guest room. My things are in there.” Her voice was calm and steady.

Alexander’s expression darkened. He walked over to her. “Trying to draw a line between us?”

“You’re hardly ever here anyway. What difference does it make which room I sleep in?” Natalie looked up, her clear eyes holding a faint trace of sarcasm.

From their dating days to the first six months of marriage, they had been inseparable. He knew when her period was due, noticed if she bought a new bottle of nail polish, and could tell if she’d eaten even one less grain of rice than usual. Back then, she would curl up in his arms and complain that he watched her like a hawk, that she had no secrets from him.

Alexander would stroke her hair and kiss her lips. “It’s an apt comparison,” he’d say. “But I’d rather you were a charm I could wear around my neck, keeping you with me every day.”

The sweetness of those days had been intoxicating, and she had been completely lost in it. She thought she had married the right man. At her parents’ grave, she had told them she had found the best person in the world for her.

But beautiful things never last.

The coldness came out of nowhere. He started staying out all night. Natalie, clueless as to what she’d done wrong, tried everything to please him, cooking elaborate meals, but he stopped coming home for dinner, too.

One day, she learned how to bake a cake and couldn’t wait to have him try it. The study was quiet as she entered; he was on the phone.

Through the receiver, she heard Bruce Ward ask, “There’s a party tonight. You in? Heard they’ve invited a few models.” Then, as if realizing the futility of the question, he added, “Why am I even asking you? You’re the model husband.”

Alexander saw her enter but made no move to hide the conversation. He was already grabbing his suit jacket. “Which ear did you hear me say I wasn’t going with?”

“Whoa, what’s gotten into you? Aren’t you afraid your precious wife will be heartbroken?” Bruce’s shocked voice came through loud and clear.

Alexander didn’t reply. He just hung up.

Natalie stood by the door, holding the crystal platter, a sharp pain in her heart. As he brushed past her, she found her voice, a raw, aching sound. “Can you please not go?”

Alexander stopped. He glanced down at her, his tone chillingly dismissive. “You’ve got the title of Mrs. Ramirez, and I spoiled you for six months. Don’t get greedy.”

That was a year ago, but his words were seared into her memory.

Now, she no longer cared if he came home or who he was with, yet he was bothered by her moving out of their bedroom?

“Move your things back,” Alexander commanded, his voice cold.

“No.”

“Disgusting?” Alexander repeated through clenched teeth, then crashed his lips down on hers. It wasn’t a kiss; it was a punishment—a brutal, angry assault. His hands moved swiftly under her clothes, exploring every inch of her skin.

He knew her body too well, knew exactly how to make her surrender. Within moments, she was lost.

…

Over an hour later, Alexander was finally satisfied. He lay beside her, gently kissing her back. Natalie was completely drained of energy, lying motionless on her side.

“Are you exhausted?” he whispered in her ear. “If you are, you can move your things back tomorrow.”

His voice was so soft, so magnetic. It had been a long time since he had spoken to her with such gentleness. She stared blankly at a point in front of her, her eyes empty.

After a moment, her lips parted.

“Alexander.”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s get a divorce.”