It feels like the wind just got knocked out of me. I blink, a little stunned that she just compared me to my father. Contemptible. Criminal. Sleazy. Exploitative. Manipulative and self-serving. Maybe she didn’t fully verbalize the comparison, but that’s how I take it.
My wife sweeps by me again, collecting Mr. Kibbles’ leash, toys, and food from the kitchen. I wish I could convince her that I’m telling the truth. I really did think Guy was going to give the campaign to her, and I really did do everything I could to sell her as the next face of Maxilene. But why bother trying to earn her forgiveness and make her stay? It’s obvious that she only cares about her career. I was aware of that going into this marriage—hell, it’s written right into our marriage contract—but it still hurts.
And if she’s able to throw away our relationship so easily, I’d be a fool to try to save it. It’s clear she has no interest in working through this together if it’s so easy for her to believe the worst in me, to just walk out on our marriage like it doesn’t mean a thing.
“Where are you going?” I ask, striving for a neutral tone. I watch her clip the leash onto the dog’s collar and then whip out her cell to tap on the Uber app.
“Mateo just got a gig in LA for a few months. I’m going to stay with him since there’s nothing meaningful here for me anymore.”
I was right. Nothing I say to her will change her mind. She really believes that I booted her out of the way so that Monica could take the spotlight, and she believes I did it because the only thing I value is making money, even if it means destroying other people in the process.
So, fuck this. Fuck all of this. If that’s what she thinks of me, this entire relationship really has been a sham. I’ve worked so hard to make this work, to makeuswork, even if my original motive was to repair my reputation. But along the way, something changed.Ichanged. But she doesn’t believe it. She thinks I’m just as bad as my father, a trafficker currently on trial for his crimes. I hate that he makes me feel dirty by association, but I despise that my wife just made me feel stained by it in a way I can’t ever hope to wash away.
The worst part is, I really had faith that Brooklyn and I were going to make it.
“I can’t believe I actually cared about you when it’s obvious you don’t care about anybody but yourself,” she says, punching the button for the elevator that opens into the penthouse. “All you’ve ever done is lie to me.”
My defenses go up, way up. I feel myself shutting down, compartmentalizing, pushing away any concern that I had over her feelings. I’ve never stuck my neck out for someone the way I have for my wife. I’ve never cared enough to try to work on a relationship. I’ve never let myself fall for someone. You know why?
Because I couldn’t stand the thought of going through exactly what we’re going through right now.
“All I do is lie, huh?” I snap. “Well, it’s the Zoric way. You should have known better.”
She glares at me. “Fuck you, Luka.”
The elevator dings and the doors slide open.
“C’mon, Kibby,” she says, tugging the dog’s leash. He’s still hovering at my feet.
But as she wheels her suitcases into the elevator car, the little traitor actually runs to her and sits on a wiggly bottom, gazing up at her with his ears back, anxious for attention. He’s leaving me. They’re both leaving me.
My mind goes blank, and I feel like I’m watching this all happen from a distance. A hole could open up and drop me a thousand feet right here, right now, and I wouldn’t feel a thing. I’m just…empty. Numb.
I know this feeling. It’s one that visited me often as a kid after my mom died, and my father was physically in the same house, but never truly present. When I was upset or lonely or scared, but I had nobody to tell me it would be fine. Part of me would just go someplace else.
“Goodbye,” Brooklyn says, her gaze cold as the elevator doors start to close.
Something in me breaks, and I kick the doors so they slide back open.
“It was never about you and me at all, was it?” I say accusingly.
Her brow crinkles, and her look of hard resolve wavers. “What?”
“All of it. Every moment we spent together. It was never more than a way to further your pathetic career.”
“Pathetic?” she shoots back. “Get the hell out of the way. I’m leaving.”
I keep one foot over the threshold so the elevator doors stay open. “You were a failure when I met you! A nobody. I could have chosen anyone to marry, but for some reason I still can’t figure out, I chose you. But you’re still nothing, Brooklyn.”
“Fuck you,” she says. With that, she kicks me in the shin and I finally pull my foot back. The doors start to close again, agonizingly slow.
I know how to low-blow her to her knees, and I’m going for it.
“You want to know why you didn’t get the job?” I tell her. “Your image was too clean. You’re just not sexy enough, Brooklyn. That’s why they chose Monica.”
I’m acting like a monster and I know it. I wish I could feel regret for what I’m saying, but I can’t. The only thing fueling me right now is the need to defend and protect myself from pain.
Brooklyn jabs the Door Open button and smirks as she hurls her final words at me: