When She Ended It With Divorce (Chiara and Titus) novel Chapter 33

Chapter 33

A soothing wave of relief swept over Titus as Chiara’s stubborn resistance finally softened. He welcomed the change, eager to meet her halfway this time. Making compromises wasn’t something he was accustomed to, but for his wife, he found himself willing to bend the rules. She was the one person he wanted to indulge, the one he was ready to spoil without hesitation.

Gently, his arms wrapped around her waist from behind, his touch tender and familiar. After three years of marriage, Titus knew every contour of her body, every shift in her mood, as intimately as he knew himself. He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear, and whispered, “I’ll be gentle.”

Chiara’s body tensed briefly, stiffening under his touch, but the rigidity soon gave way to a soft surrender. She had always been resilient against force, but tenderness rendered her completely defenseless. “How can you be so…” she began, her voice trailing off into a quiet laugh.

She already had a good guess about what he was trying to say. Their recent moments of closeness had shattered any illusion of the polished gentleman he pretended to be. Beneath the surface, he was a rogue, and she was utterly powerless to resist him.

“Would you just be quiet?” she shot back, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

Noticing the flush coloring her ears, Titus chuckled softly and nudged her hand away playfully. “What exactly did you think I was going to say?” he teased, a spark of amusement lighting up his eyes.

Chiara’s face grew even warmer. She turned away, giving him a gentle shove. “Let me go. I’m going to take a shower.”

His gaze darkened as it swept over her figure. “We could share,” he suggested, his voice dropping into a low, husky murmur.

“No,” she insisted, cheeks flushed, trying to keep her composure. “I’d rather shower alone.”

Titus narrowed his eyes in mock disapproval. “That seems a little selfish, don’t you think?”

She knew exactly what he was implying. “You’re the one who started this,” she replied, turning her face away. “You can deal with it yourself. Now let me go.”

For a moment, Titus hesitated, recalling how she had pulled away from him before. Part of him wanted to press forward, but another part knew it was better to step back. Seizing the moment of his indecision, Chiara slipped free from his embrace and retreated to the bathroom, locking the door with a firm click.

Outside, Titus’s expression darkened. He stood silently, staring at the closed door, his eyes burning with intensity that could have melted the wood.

Inside, Chiara turned on the shower, steam quickly fogging the mirror. Yet before the mist obscured her reflection, she caught sight of herself—a flushed, troubled woman she barely recognized. She gripped the towel tightly and bit her lip. Sometimes, she wished he would remain cold and distant. His rare moments of tenderness only unsettled her more.

When she finally stepped out, the house was quiet and empty.

“Dinner’s ready, Mrs. Goodman,” Lindsay called softly from the kitchen.

“On my way,” Chiara replied, her voice steady but distant.

A moment later, Chiara appeared in her pajamas just as Titus emerged from the guest room. He, too, had just showered; his hair was still damp, droplets clinging to the strands.

As Chiara turned toward the stairs, Titus reached out and took her hand. She instinctively tried to pull away, but he held on firmly. “Let me go,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I can walk by myself.”

His eyes drifted down to her slender legs before returning to her face. “I know you can,” he said, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

“Then don’t hold my hand. I’m not used to it.” She wanted things between them to remain exactly as they were, even though she knew their recent argument had shifted everything. Keeping this distance felt safer—it would make the eventual divorce easier to bear.

But the subtle changes in him—the new possessiveness, whatever it was—made her uneasy. She wanted no part of it.

Titus froze after she spoke. He turned away, his gaze dropping as he watched her retreat into her own thoughts, a distant, faraway look in her eyes.

Still, she had to admit, his hand felt warm and steady wrapped around hers.

“Then you’d better start getting used to it,” he said quietly, his voice firm.

Chiara’s eyes lifted to meet his. For a moment, they held each other’s gaze, but his expression revealed nothing.

“We should eat before the food gets cold,” he said, steering the conversation away from the tension between them.

When Chiara saw the four dishes laid out on the table, she hesitated, then glanced toward Lindsay.

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