Chapter 11

Rain drummed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, nature's percussion accompanying the tense silence that had fallen over the room.

Henry burst from William's bedroom like a man possessed, his usual Wall Street composure shattered as he chased after Isabella's retreating form. I watched him disappear through the front door, not even pausing to grab an umbrella, his desperation to reach her overwhelming even the ingrained Harding family etiquette.

Watching him choose Isabella yet again, I understood the depth of Henry's love for Isabella was matched only by the depth of his contempt for me.

I walked to the dining table, my heels clicking against the marble floor in a rhythm that seemed to mock the evening's chaos. Sinking into my usual chair, an emptiness spread from my stomach to my heart as I mechanically lifted my silver fork to my mouth. The exquisite French cuisine had lost all taste, each bite like ash on my tongue. Around me, servants moved with practiced silence, their eyes carefully averted from the unfolding drama.

"You worthless nobody!" Catherine's voice shattered the artificial calm, her aristocratic facade crumbling as she gripped a bone china plate with white-knuckled hands. "How dare you ruin our family dinner! Are you completely uncivilized?"

I met her gaze steadily, "Yes, I'm uncivilized. Just like all the 'nobodies' you look down upon."

"Catherine!" Richard intervened, grabbing Catherine's arm as she raised the plate threateningly. "Control yourself. Sophia is a member of this family!"

He practically dragged Catherine from the dining room, leaving me alone. The air felt thick, almost solid, as if the very atmosphere had crystallized around me. I continued eating in silence, each mechanical bite a small act of defiance. 'I have to eat to have the strength to be heartbroken', I thought grimly.

After a while, the dining room doors burst open again, and Henry strode in, his dark shirt dotted with crystalline raindrops, his usually perfect hair dampened by the rain. Without a word, he grabbed my wrist, yanking me roughly from my chair.

I barely registered the journey up the stairs before he threw me onto our bed, his tall frame casting a dark shadow across my face. His cool fingers found my throat, not quite squeezing but carrying an unmistakable threat.

"You just had to antagonize Isabella, didn't you?" His voice was low, dangerous. "She comes for a simple dinner, and you turn it into complete chaos?"

I stared at the ceiling, my eyes hollow with disappointment. When you truly dislike someone, I realized, even their breathing seems wrong to you. "If killing me would avenge your precious Isabella, then do it quickly."

Something flickered in Henry's eyes, an emotion I couldn't name. Like weeds taking root in fertile soil, a complex tangle of feelings seemed to grow behind his carefully maintained facade.

"I'm so tired," I whispered, my body and soul exhausted beyond measure. "Death would be a relief at this point."

Henry's fingers tightened slightly on my throat. "What are you saying?"

"I'm begging you for divorce," my voice cracked. "What more do you want from me? I've already said I don't want anything, just Billy. Why can't you let me go?"

The rain outside grew heavier, its rhythm matching the pounding of my heart. Henry's weight on the bed shifted, but his hand remained at my throat, a constant reminder of the power he held over me.

"You think I'll just let you walk away?" His voice held a note I'd never heard before. "You think you can just decide to end this marriage?"

"Why not?" I met his gaze, no longer afraid. "You've made it clear who you trust, who you love. 'I trust her,' remember? Those words you said to Isabella, have you ever once said them to me?"

His grip tightened momentarily, then relaxed. "You don't understand anything."

"I understand everything!" I whispered. "I understand that you love her so much it blinds you. I understand that you hate being married to me so much it makes you cruel!"

The rain continued its relentless drumming against the windows, filling the silence between us. Henry's body was tense above me, his breathing slightly uneven. For the first time in our marriage, I saw uncertainty in his eyes.

"Billy needs his father," I said softly. "But he doesn't need to see his father despise his mother. Let me go, Henry. Let me take Billy somewhere far away, where we won't remind you of your obligations. You can be with Isabella openly then."

"Shut up!" he growled.

"Why? Because I'm speaking the truth?" I felt tears sliding down my temples into my hair. "You trust Isabella? Fine. But I trusted you once too, Henry. That night five years ago, I trusted you. And look where that got me!"

Henry's fingers finally left my throat, but he didn't move away.

"You can't have Billy," he said finally, his voice hard.

"He's my son!" I protested.

"He's my heir."

Hearing his words, I laughed. "Of course. The Harding heir. That's all that matters, isn't it? Not his happiness, not his emotional wellbeing. Just the family name."

Henry's weight suddenly lifted from the bed. He stood looking down at me, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "This discussion is over. You will remain my wife, and Billy will remain here. That's final."

As he turned to leave, I spoke to his back. "She'll break your heart again, you know. Just like she did five years ago. And this time, I won't be here to pick up the pieces!"

Henry paused at the door, and in the next moment, he was on top of me again, his weight pinning me to the mattress. His gray eyes burned with an intensity I'd never seen before.

"You think you know everything about Isabella and me?" His voice was rough, dangerous.

"I understand enough," I whispered, refusing to look away from his gaze. "I understand that every time you touch me, you're wishing it was her!"

His fingers dug into my shoulders. "Shut up!"

"Why?" I felt reckless, beyond caring about consequences. "Go ahead, Henry. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you've felt anything for me in these five years besides contempt."

For a moment, something flashed in his eyes – pain, anger, or perhaps something else entirely. His grip on my shoulders tightened, then suddenly released.

"You want the truth?" His voice was barely audible over the rain. "The truth is, I don't know what I feel anymore."

The admission hung between us, heavy with implications. I laughed, a broken sound that seemed to surprise us both. "That's the first honest thing you've said to me in five years."

Henry's hand moved to my face, his thumb roughly wiping away tears I hadn't realized were falling. "Why are you crying?"

"Because I'm tired," I whispered. "So tired of pretending this is a marriage. So tired of watching you love her while I..." I caught myself before the words could escape.

His thumb stilled on my cheek. "While you what?"