After being reborn, I make up my mind to stop chasing after my husband and daughter

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

In our six years of marriage, we’d only dined out for family holidays. Most nights we ate at home, though often interrupted by his endless phone calls. I’d cooked elaborate meals that went untouched.

Now that we had private servants preparing perfectly balanced dinners every night, he suddenly wanted to take me out.

I’d endured years of loneliness, disappointment, and the quiet heartbreak of constant rejection. Now it was his turn to taste that bitterness.

“Can’t. My plate’s full. Ask someone else.” I kept my eyes on my work, feigning concentration.

Jared went completely still. The polite smile froze on his face. He’d anticipated delight, not this offhand rejection.

“The work will still be there after dinner,” he said, with uncharacteristic patience.

“I’m not hungry.” I glanced up with a bland smile. “Had dessert earlier.”

Some of the tension left his posture when he realized this was about schedules, not rejection.

“I’ll head back for Yvonne then. Don’t work too late.” With that, he left without another word, and I returned to my files,

Jared said he needed to call a board meeting to decide on the appointment, but I knew it was just a formality.

He ruled the company with absolute authority. His competence left no room for challenges.

Our personal relationship blurred professional lines, but I believed that Jared could silence critics effortlessly.

It was 11 p.m. when I got home, arms full of documents. Jared had already tucked Yvonne in and was lounging on the sofa in his pajamas, sipping coffee.

in, setting his coffee cup aside and crossing his

of some things,” I said flatly. I kicked off my shoes

beat before slowly

second I reached the bedroom, I grabbed

took my sweet time–thirty minutes–and when I finally stepped out, he

moment. But when he finally lay beside me

scent curling around me. The woman in the mirror looked different now -her eyes held no trace of their old

Jared called from the bed, impatience creeping into his voice. I’d

about sex. Was

outfits had been more deliberately feminine–silky blouses, curves accentuated. Men always noticed those things. He might not love me, but that didn’t mean

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clearly annoyed at the wait. The moment I

turned toward me under the

fingers burning against the

his wrist. “Too tired

arm tensed. “It’s been three

something like that,” I muttered, not

knew me inside out–my body and my desires. Normally, I’d be crawling out of my skin after three months without it, while he could

really,” I said. Truth was, I didn’t want him at all anymore.

In the past, one word

different. His fingers only tightened around me. Angry as he clearly was, none of his usual gentlemanly

at my ear, his teeth grazing my

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