Page 42 of Iridescent
The keypad beeps.
He misses the code the first time and tries again.
The door swings open. Xavier steps through, carrying the scent of night air and expensive wine with him. Moonlight from the doorway outlines his tall frame in silver. He pushes the door shut behind him and pauses, sighing as he loosens his tie with one hand. He hasn’t noticed me yet.
Time to change that.
“Welcome home.”
Xavier whips around, startled. He squints toward where I stand. I take one deliberate step forward, letting a band of moonlight fall across me.
His eyes widen as he takes in my appearance. He just stares, lips parting, but no sound comes out.
I let the silence stretch. The seconds drum between us while he looks at me like he doesn’t quite recognize the woman standing in his house.
“Yara,” he says at last, my name hushed and cautious on his tongue.
He steps forward, and I see him clearly. Xavier Navarro—my handsome, infuriating husband—looks like hell. The top button of his dress shirt is undone, his black tie hanging loose around his neck. His dark hair is a disheveled mess, and there’s a drawn, almost haggard cast to his normally sharp features. He reeks of alcohol and guilt.
Definitely guilt.
“What are you—” he begins, voice low and rough. His eyes flick down to the white wraps on my hands. Something shifts in his expression—recognition, then alarm. “What are you doing?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I reach behind me to the console table by the wall, where I left what I’ve been avoiding for years. With a flick of my wrist, I send it flying toward him. A pair of heavyweight boxing gloves sails across the room and thumps into his chest.
Xavier reflexively catches them before they can hit the floor. He fumbles for a moment, then clutches the gloves against his chest, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Quick game.”
He glances down at the gloves in his hands, then back at me, makingno move to put them on.
I tilt my head, cracking my neck. “Just a quick round,” I add, my tone almost pleasant. “Humor me.”
“You… haven’t boxed in years. Your doctors said—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” My voice drops to a deadly chill. I arch a brow and nod at the gloves in his hands. “Put them on.”
His eyes search mine, perhaps hoping for a crack, a hint of mercy. He won’t find one. I feel nothing but cold, hard clarity. The time for talking was before he decided to shatter our marriage with lies.
He sighs, lifting one hand in a placating gesture. “Amor, let’s just talk. Please.”
A red haze creeps into my vision at the soft way he saysamor—as if he has any right to call me love right now. As if nothing’s happened. The fraying thread of my control snaps.
“Talk?” I let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you. Do you know how many times I gave you the chance to tell me the truth? How many times I swallowed that feeling in my gut because I wanted to believe you?
“You had plenty of chances to talk, Xavier. Plenty of chances to tell me the damn truth. Every time I asked what was wrong. Every time you came home late and wouldn’t look me in the eye. Every time you let me apologize for things that were never my fault.”
I take a slow step closer, my gaze never leaving his. “You didn’t talk then. You lied. You let me question my own sanity while you protected that lie like it was worth more than I was—all while playing the perfect husband.” My voice drops, colder now. “So forgive me if I’m not interested in a nice, honest conversation now. You lost that privilege the second you decided a lie was worth more than me.”
I nod toward the gloves in his hands.
“Now here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to put those on… and you’re going to stop hiding behind words you didn’t have the courage to say when they mattered.”
My gaze hardens.
“Act like the damn man I thought you were, Navarro.”
He blanches at the name. We both know I never use it unless I mean to remind him exactly who he is to me now—no one.
