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Novel Catalog
Chapter_33
Quinn followed Kyle into the Porsche, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts, each more chaotic than the last. The idea of celebrating her birthday felt strange, almost surreal. Just the day before, Alexander had torched the one thing that had truly mattered to her—her connection to Abigail, the portraits that symbolized the only friendship she had ever truly felt. Now, he expected her to step into his world and pretend like it was all normal.
The car ride was quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound filling the space between them. Kyle, although respectful, was a stranger to Quinn in this moment. She couldn’t read him, couldn’t connect with him the way she could with Abigail, who had always seen her. Kyle, on the other hand, seemed more like a messenger, someone to deliver what Alexander ordered without question. Quinn’s thoughts kept drifting back to the child growing inside her. This was her priority now, not Alexander’s whims, not the life she had built around him for two decades.
As they drove through the streets, Quinn’s gaze drifted outside the window. The world seemed to pass by in a blur—so much had happened so quickly, and yet, she felt frozen in time. The promise of a celebration, of things being “right,” seemed like a distant illusion.
When they arrived at the restaurant, an elegant establishment tucked away on a quiet street, Quinn’s heart didn’t race with excitement, but with resignation. Kyle opened the door for her, and she stepped out, her shoes clicking softly against the pavement. Inside, the soft murmur of other diners mingled with the clink of silverware. The waitstaff immediately led them to a private table where Alexander was already seated, looking perfectly composed as always.
His gaze met hers, and for a brief moment, Quinn wondered if he saw the weight she carried in her eyes. She couldn’t tell. His face remained impassive, unreadable. As she sat across from him, the space between them felt vast—more than just the physical distance, but an emotional chasm that had only deepened since the day before.
“Happy Birthday, Quinn,” Alexander said, his voice almost too soft, too polite.
She nodded, but the words stuck in her throat. Her heart ached to speak, to ask why, to demand answers for the wreckage he had caused in her life. But she couldn’t. Not here. Not now.
Dinner passed in an awkward silence, with Alexander occasionally glancing at his phone, checking messages, completely absorbed in his world. Quinn picked at her food, the taste dull on her tongue. She wasn’t hungry—not for the food, not for his affection, not for anything except the possibility of peace, however fleeting it might be.
As the meal ended, Alexander finally put down his phone and met her gaze. “I know you’re upset,” he said, his tone almost tender, but there was something in his eyes—something cold—that made her stomach churn. “But I’m still your husband. I’m doing my best to make things right.”
Quinn swallowed, trying to suppress the lump that formed in her throat. “You didn’t make anything right,” she signed softly, her fingers trembling. “You destroyed what mattered most to me.”
Alexander’s expression flickered, a moment of something close to regret flashing in his eyes before it was masked once again. “It was just a few paintings, Quinn,” he said, his voice hardening. “You’ll forget about them soon enough. You have me now.”
Quinn’s heart twisted painfully. Just a few paintings? Did he truly not understand? It wasn’t just the paintings—it was everything that had once felt real in her life, everything she had held onto in the face of his indifference. And now, there was nothing.
The rest of the evening passed in a haze. She sat beside him in the car as Kyle drove them back to the villa, the silence between her and Alexander stretching longer with each passing mile. Quinn knew, deep down, that nothing had changed. The birthday, the new clothes, the dinner—these were just distractions, brief illusions meant to mask the reality of her life with him.
By the time they arrived home, Quinn’s mind was exhausted, her heart heavy. She could feel the weight of the child within her, and the burden of the choices she’d made, choices that seemed to have led her to this place of unspoken pain. She had no idea what the future held, but one thing was clear: She couldn’t keep pretending that everything was okay. Not anymore.
