The Billionaire's Silent Wife (Ryan and Eve) novel Chapter 13

13 A Goodbye Dressed in Lace

A week later. The house was quiet. Too quiet for what tonight meant.

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Eve moved through the rooms with calm precision, each step purposeful. The wardrobe stood. open, its shelves half-emptied, dresses folded neatly into her suitcase. She worked without hesitation, her fingers smoothing fabric flat before setting it aside. No tears. No faltering. Only the rhythm of letting go.

The divorce papers were ready, stacked in a manila envelope she had double-checked three times. Her rings, weading and engagement, lay on the nightstand upstairs, cold gold circles that never truly belonged to her. A letter rested on top, her handwriting steady though her hand had trembled

as she wrote.

It said what her voice had never managed: that she loved him, that she forgave him, and that she was setting them both free.

Tomorrow would mark three years since their wedding. An anniversary in name only. He would forget, as he always did. She had no illusions. Still, she wanted her goodbye to carry dignity.

So she dressed.

Not in mourning black this time, but in lace. Soft cream, delicate against her skin, a dress that whispered of the woman she might have been in another life. Her hair brushed smooth, her makeup simple, her perfume faint, jasmine and cedar, the only scent she’d ever claimed as her

own.

Downstairs, the dining table glowed with candlelight. She had cooked his favorites, braised short ribs, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted asparagus. Hours of work simmered in silence, the kitchen filled with warmth that would never reach him. A flourless chocolate cake sat in the center, dusted

lightly with cocoa.

It wasn’t romance. It was remembrance.

A farewell dressed as an anniversary dinner.

She placed two plates on the table, set the wine glasses, poured water. Then she sat, her spine straight, her hands folded lightly in her lap. The candles flickered, their flames bending with the

draft from the hall. She listened to the clock tick.

Nine o’clock.

Ten.

Midnight.

The food cooled, the candles melted down into soft pools of wax. She didn’t move. Didn’t let

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herself crumble. When the last wick guttered out, she stood and blew out the smoke, watching it

curl and vanish.

She carried each dish back into the kitchen, packed them carefully into containers, washed the plates. By the time she finished, the house smelled faintly of lemon soap instead of roasted meat.

The anniversary dinner that never was disappeared without fuss.

Eve wiped the counter dry and returned to her room.

She lay down in silence, her dress still on, her body too tense to change. Her eyes closed, but sleep

didn’t come. S.. was hovering somewhere between exhaustion and vigilance when the front door

slammed.

Her breath caught.

Heavy footsteps staggered through the hall, uneven, unsteady. The sharp tang of whiskey carried

through the air even before he appeared.

Ryan.

His blazer was gone. His shirt untucked, his tie loose around his neck. His shoes scuffed as he

leaned against the wall, dragging himself into the living room. His eyes found her in the doorway,

and they didn’t soften.

“What are you doing up?” His voice was rough, slurred.

“I heard you come in,” she said quietly. “You’ve been drinking.”

He scoffed, moving past her toward the couch. “What do you care?”

She stood still, watching him collapse into the cushions. His head tipped back, his hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt. His movements were clumsy, his face set in something harsher than

usual.

“Ryan…”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Save it. I’ve had a long day.”

She didn’t know yet about the confrontation with her father, how he had stormed into Ryan’s office, loud and red-faced, demanding money that no longer came. She didn’t know the humiliation Ryan had endured in front of his executives because of her father. She only knew he looked heavier tonight, his edges sharp with bitterness.

His eyes snapped to hers suddenly, dark and dangerous. “Where were you?”

“Home,” she answered softly.

“With your father?”

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She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since I returned.”

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Something in his gaze shifted. Not softer, but startled, like he hadn’t expected the answer. He

looked away, jaw tight.

Eve took a step back. Enough. She was ready to leave this conversation as she had so many

before.

But his hand shot out, fast and unsteady, gripping her wrist.

“Don’t walk away from me.”

“Ryan, you’re drunk. You should sleep,”

“No.” His grip tightened, pulling her toward him, fording her down onto his lap. His eyes burned into

hers, his voice raw. “You don’t get to walk away.”

Her breath caught as she steadied herself against his chest. His body was hot with liquor, tense

with something darker.

“What happened today?” she asked softly.

His jaw clenched. “Your father. That bastard came to my office. Caused a scene. I told him the checks stopped. That’s it. He’s wasted enough.”

Her lips parted. “I didn’t know.”

He laughed bitterly, the sound scraping against the silence. “Of course not. You just hide behind him. Like you’ve done since day one.”

“That’s not fair,” she whispered.

“You think I don’t see it? The dinners. The waiting. Manipulating me. Because of you, he has leverage. Over me. Over my father. You’re the one in my head, Eve. You’ve been there since the beginning, and I hate it.”

Her chest tightened. His eyes locked onto hers, fierce and unrelenting.

“I hate that I want you,” he said through clenched teeth. “I hate that no matter what I do, I can’t

stop.”

Before she could reply, his mouth crashed onto hers. Hot. Bruising. Desperate.

She didn’t resist. Not tonight. This was her goodbye.

Her robe slipped off her shoulders as his hands roamed, rough and insistent. He stood abruptly,

carrying her to the long couch and pressing her down. His touch was raw, needy, tangled with

resentment he couldn’t name.

She met him anyway. With gasps, with trembling hands, with the ache of everything they had never

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said.

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He pulled from her lips to her throat, his voice ragged. “You think anyone else could ever touch you the way I do? No one could satisfy you. Not like me

She moaned against his shoulder, knowing he was right and hating it all the same.

He filled her and fucked her with fierce urgency, every movement fast, unrelenting. Their bodies collided, the rhythm brutal, his hands gripping her wrists above her head. She gave him everything, not because he asked but because she wanted to leave with nothing left unoffered.

She sobbed his name as pleasure broke over her, sharp and consuming. He followed moments later, burying himself deep, groaning into her neck.

For the first time, he didn’t move away.

He pulled her against him, his chest heaving, his arms wrapped tight around her waist. His breath slowed. His grip loosened. And then, unbelievably, he fell asleep.

Right there. On the couch. Still inside her.

Eve lay still, her cheek pressed against his chest. She listened to his heartbeat, steady and unguarded. Her body ached, her throat raw, her sou splintered into pieces too small to gather.

She didn’t cry.

The letter upstairs said everything she couldn’t.

This was goodbye.

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