Chapter 4

I didn' t argue with him. I knew it was pointless. He wouldn' t believe me until he saw my actions.

I just gave him a small, tired smile.

"I' m not planning anything, Liam."

I walked past him, heading back toward the registrar' s office. I could feel his eyes on my back, a heavy, questioning gaze.

"I' m going to submit this now," I said over my shoulder. I gave a polite nod. "I' ll see you at home. Brother."

The word hung in the air between us.

As I walked away, I saw him take a half-step, as if he was going to follow me. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face-confusion, maybe even a hint of panic. He wasn' t in control anymore, and it was clearly unsettling him.

But then Sarah let out a small cry.

"Liam, my ankle," she whimpered. "I think I twisted it when I stood up too fast."

Instantly, his attention snapped back to her. He knelt down, his expression full of concern. The concern he had never, not once, shown me in ten years of marriage.

I watched them for a moment. He, the concerned protector. She, the damsel in distress. It was a scene I had witnessed a thousand times in my past life, a scene that used to rip my heart to shreds.

Now, it just made me feel tired.

I turned and walked away without looking back, submitting my form and officially ending a part of my life I had built on a foundation of lies.

The drive back to the Miller-Hayes mansion was quiet. The house wasn' t just a house; it was a museum of my pain. Every room, every hallway held a memory of my unrequited love for Liam. The living room where I' d wait up for him, only for him to stumble in drunk and smelling of another woman' s perfume. The dining room where we' d eat in suffocating silence. The grand staircase I' d decorated for his birthday, only for him to not show up at all.

I was exhausted by the time I walked through the front door. I kicked off my shoes and sank onto the plush sofa, my body aching from the emotional marathon of the last twenty-four hours.

My ankle, which I' d twisted slightly while rushing out of the church, throbbed with a dull pain.

I was just closing my eyes when a shadow fell over me.

I looked up. It was Liam.

He stood there, looking down at me, his face unreadable. Without a word, he knelt in front of the sofa, his movements surprisingly gentle. He reached out and took my foot in his hands.

His touch was warm, his large hands carefully cradling my ankle. I flinched, a jolt of shock running through me.

"It' s swollen," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You should have told me."

His thumbs began to press into the sore spots, massaging the skin with an expert touch. It was a gesture of such familiar intimacy that it stole the breath from my lungs.

In our first year of marriage, I had sprained my ankle badly falling down the stairs. He had found me, and without a word, he carried me to the sofa and did this exact same thing. He had massaged my ankle every night for a week until it was healed.

It was one of the few tender moments we had ever shared. One of the small crumbs of affection he' d thrown my way that I had clung to, that had fueled my desperate hope for years. It was in those small, rare moments of gentleness that I had fallen deeper in love with the idea of him, confusing a brother' s duty for a husband' s love.

He was just a boy who had lost his parents, taken in by my father. He was my brother. I was the one who had twisted it into something more.

The memories, the feelings, the decade of longing-it all swirled inside me.

But the obsession was gone. The desperate need had vanished. All that remained was a hollow ache, the ghost of a love that had never truly been mine.

"Liam, stop," I whispered, my voice hoarse.

I tried to pull my foot away, but his grip tightened slightly, not painfully, but firmly.

"It' s helping, isn' t it?" he asked, not looking up from his task.

"It doesn' t matter," I said, finding my strength. "Please, let go."

I finally managed to pull my foot from his grasp. I tucked my legs up underneath me on the sofa, putting a safe distance between us.

I looked at him, really looked at him, and spoke the truth that had taken me a lifetime and a death to understand.

"The person who loved you is gone, Liam. The obsession is gone. It' s over."