Page 5 of The Replay

His voice turns more and more despondent with each sentence. His eyes grow colder. The line of his lips takes on a tense slant.

He stares at me like he doesn't recognize me. It's okay. I don't think he does.

"I didn't know someone sent you an email," I say. "It wasn't me."

No. What I did was find the only picture of Dom and me that I had secretly saved, and burned it. I was so sad. I made it into a whole ritual. I don't believe in magic, but as the photo turned to ash and flew up the chimney, I said goodbye to him and my naiveté all at once.

If I hadn't, I would have never gone through with a marriage both Henry and my family counted on. An opportunity for the Sinclair family to carve space in prejudiced, powerful spaces, and Henry to save his family's traditional manor.

I was the third daughter of a rich man to marry into his family in a hundred years, and infuse cash into their coffers. I thought it was fair, when I'd get access to philanthropic opportunities I could only dream of before.

Dom stares me down. "And now you're divorced."

His words hurt. They spear my chest. Not because of my failed marriage, but because I hear the judgment in his voice. The assumptions.

The worst part of all is that I agree with him.

When I married Henry, I wondered if it would last. We had shared goals, after all. Over time, a general mutual enjoyment could bloom into affection. Maybeeven love, my mom promised. That's how it was for her and Dad. Only to have Henry ask for a divorce.

I didn't see it coming. We were fine. So accommodated to each other. So fucking affable and comfortable.

Why did I ever think that was enough? Henry didn't. He thought we got what we wanted out of our arrangement and it was time to go in different directions.

I hold back my tears. "You know nothing, Dominic."

I should have ended it with Henry. If it wouldn't last, I wish I had been the one to end it. That way I'd know I at least had one win.

"I don't think you do, either," Dom says. "So maybe we just let each other be? No need to disrupt each other's lives now."

I gasp. "You came to the party. You came into this kitchen! If anyone is disrupting anything, that's you."

"Then let me be the one to walk out."

Without any more words or gestures, he turns and goes through the door. I follow him.

"At least I'm trying to figure my shit out!" I hiss-yell to his back.

"All the best," he replies without looking at me. "You have my regards."

He marches out of the condo. The door slams behind him.

I stare at the closed white rectangle, dumbfounded, mind buzzing. Blood rushes in my veins all over again. Words jumble, unsaid, tight in my throat.

"Fuck," I mutter, breathing hard.

I clench my jaw and turn around.

Fuck, I repeat in my mind.

The small group of guests stare at me. Eighteen faces with wide-open eyes, drinks in their hands. Music fills the room, but no one speaks, and the soft ballad clashes with the general vibe.

Did they hear us arguing? Ugh.

I first lock eyes with Cora. She gauges the situation in one second, then shifts to assess the mood in the room. She takes action like the child of a diplomatic family that she is.

"Nothing to worry about, right, Mariana?" She offers canapés to the people around her. "Just a little surprising. I'm sure everything is under control."

She spurs me into action with a quick stare.