The Billionaire's Silent Wife (Ryan and Eve) novel Chapter 12

12 The Day She Let Go

The funeral ended too quickly.

+25 Points?

The priest’s voice still lingered in the damp air, low and reverent, while the last shovels of earth fell heavy over the polished coffin. Eve stood still, her hands clasped in front of her, a black scarf framing her face. Her posture was composed, every movement deliberate, though inside grief

twisted sharp as broken glass.

Her grandmother’s name was etched into the stone, a clean line of permanence. Eve’s eyes lingered there, but her face betrayed nothing. Not even when the final prayer was spoken.

Her father stood beside her, stiff and silent, his jaw clenched every time a guest asked where Ryan was. The whispers floated like smoke through the small crowd.

“Why didn’t her husband come?”

“Where is Ryan Ashbrook?”

Every word pressed deeper into her father’s pride, but Eve didn’t flinch. She let the questions hang in the air unanswered, her silence sharper than explanation.

The mourners trickled away. A few left flowers, a few squeezed her hand, murmuring polite condolences. Her father accepted none of it, his eyes cold, calculating who had shown up and who hadn’t, as if attendance mattered more than grief.

When the last of them had gone, Eve exhaled softly almost soundless. Something inside her loosened. Not wildly, not chaotically, but like a thread finally untied.

She had nothing left to lose now.

She turned from the grave, her scarf pulled tighter around her shoulders. She didn’t follow her

father back to the house. She didn’t offer excuses. Her steps carried her away in silence, down the

gravel path, her heels crunching softly against the ground.

No goodbyes. No explanations.

Just the quiet weight of finality pressing against her ribs.

The bus ride back toward the city blurred past in shades of gray. Trees bent in the breeze, storefronts flickered by, and the hum of traffic folded around her. She leaned her head against the window, her reflection pale and steady.

For once, she didn’t imagine what Ryan might say if he noticed her absence. He wouldn’t. He never

did.

By the time she stepped off at Westwood Avenue, the city was already sliding into evening. She walked slowly, her scarf pulled tighter against the chill. Her eyes caught on the small burger joint

|||

O

<

174

12 The Day She Let Go

across the street, Fernando’s.

Her breath stilled.

To her surprise, Ryan’s car was parked out front.

+25 Points

He stood on the curb, dressed down in jeans and a gray T-shirt, his hair unruly, his sleeves pushed

back. Two men flanked him, Tevin and Maxwell, faces she faintly remembered from old

photographs. Ryan laughed, throwing his head back, his grin boyish, unguarded.

The sight caught her like a blade to the ribs.

Not because of Fernando’s. Not because of his friends. But because he was happy.

Not polite, not distracted, truly happy.

She stepped instinctively back into the shadow of the bus stop awning, her black dress fluttering

softly around her ankles. He didn’t see her. He didn’t glance across the street. His laughter carried

in the evening air, light and free, like the boy she remembered before everything collapsed.

Her throat tightened.

It wasn’t longing that stung. It was clarity. The truth standing there under streetlights, laughing

over fries and soda.

He didn’t need her.

He had never needed her.

Her feet carried her away before she realized she was moving, her steps brisk, her breath shallow.

She turned a corner, further and further from Fernando’s, further from the sound of his laughter.

By the time she reached the estate, the house was dark, its windows black squares against the night. She slipped inside quietly, the click of the door swallowed by silence.

She hung her coat. Washed her hands. Tied her hair back.

Then she began to cook.

Not because he’d asked. Not because he would eat. Because it was the only ritual she had left.

The knife moved steady under her hand, slicing vegetables into precise pieces. The skillet hissed as she seared steak. Rice steamed on the stove. Her body worked in rhythm, automatic, each action a shield against the hollow in her chest.

When everything was plated, she set the meal on the table, covered neatly with foil. A glass of water stood beside it. She tucked the napkin into place, her hands steady.

It looked like a dinner waiting for two.

But there was only one chair.

|||

O

2/4

r

<12 The Day She Let Go

She left it there and walked to the study.

+25 Points

The desk lamp glowed faintly as she lowered herself into the chair. Her fingers shook as she pulled

out her phone, but her breath stayed even. She opened the browser, typed words she had never

dared whisper aloud.

Divorce attorney near me.

Her thumb hovered for a moment over the screen. Then she pressed the call button.

The ring buzzed in her ear. A calm voice answered,

“Yes, I’d like to set up a consultation,” Eve said, her voice low but steady. “Yes… as soon as

possible.”

She gave her name. Her contact. The details.

“Three years. No children. No joint assets beyond the prenup.”

Her hand tightened around the phone as the call ended. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy

this time. It was clear. Sharp. Almost clean.

The next week would mark three years since she had stood in the chapel, cold marble beneath her

heels, Ryan’s silence heavy beside her as she said vows neither of them meant.

Three years bound by resentment and duty.

Her gift to him would be freedom.

Not out of spite. Not out of defeat. But because it was the only honest thing left to give.

She would take nothing. Not his name. Not his money. Not the ashes of a marriage that had

burned them both.

Ryan could go back to Luan, to his laughter, to whatever joy he still carried outside these walls.

And she would rebuild herself from what remained,

Eve rose from the desk, her face calm, her breath steady. She turned off the light and walked down

the hall to the guest room.

The bed was cold. The walls bare. She lay down without waiting for footsteps upstairs, without glancing at the clock, without listening for the sound of the front door.

Ryan would come home late. He always did.

But she was finished waiting.

Her eyes closed slowly, her chest rising and falling in even rhythm.

This wasn’t running.

3/4