Bonds

My body felt like it was encased in ice. Every muscle screamed to move, to react, but I was rooted to the spot. My ears throbbed, a relentless drumbeat against the backdrop of the muffled sounds emanating from the room. A strangled gasp escaped my lips, barely audible even to myself.

“Amaya?”

The voice, sharp and sudden, ripped through my paralysis. I whipped my head around, heart leaping into my throat as my gaze collided with Ivan’s. He stood a few feet away, surprise etched clear on his face. His presence, unexpected and real, threw me into further disarray.

My gaze darted back to the door, the source of the sounds that had sent my world into a spin of chaos. Back to him. My throat felt like sandpaper, the words I wanted to say lodged there, refusing to form

“What are you doing here?” His voice broke the suffocating silence, a question hanging heavy in the air.

The sounds from the room seemed to amplify, a contrast to the unnatural quiet between us. A heat that had nothing to do with the hotel’s temperature rose to my cheeks, burning under his gaze. Shame pressed down on me, a suffocating weight.

“1, uh,” I stammered, “I thought you were…” The words wouldn’t come, the image in my head too raw, too shocking to articulate.

He frowned, confusion deepening the lines etched on his forehead. Then, a flicker of understanding dawned in his eyes. “Oh,” he breathed, the single word holding a universe of unspoken meaning

The dam inside me burst. Words tumbled out in a torrent, a jumbled mess of emotions and fractured explanations. “Natalia and I called a bunch of hotels,” I blurted, the need to justify my presence fueling my frantic babbling. “She’s really good at knowing her way around the city, so she figured you’d pick one of the fancy ones because, well, you are rich. And then the receptionist told me you were in room 202 after I practically begged for an hour, and I came here and…” I trailed off, my voice catching in my throat. “I thought you were the one in there.”

Silence fell again, heavier this time, thick with unspoken questions and a tension that crackled between us. He stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“I’m in room 201,” he finally said, his voice low. “She must have gotten the room number wrong.” He let out a long sigh. Then, as if remembering something crucial, he added, “We are still married, Amaya. I would never do that to you.”

His words, a declaration of loyalty meant to reassure, landed with a thud in the pit of my stomach. Shame morphed into a different kind of burning sensation, a prickling mix of anger and confusion.

I stared down at my feet, the plush carpet blurring into an indistinct mass. Another sigh, heavier this time, escaped his lips.

a weariness that mirrored my own. “Let’s go into my room and talk.” He didn’t

a statue caught in the headlights of my own turmoil then with a defeated sigh, I picked up my pace and followed him, my head hanging low, the weight of the situation pressing down on

the room and he closed the door before turning towards me, his gaze a mixture of exhaustion and something I couldn’t

Mon, 24

Chapter 109.

filled the sudden silence, each sound echoing in the cavernous space of my guilt. He poured himself a generous amount of amber liquid, swirling it around the glass before

one?” he asked,

me, He sank down onto the plush bed, the springs groaning under his weight. My heart ached as I watched him, the weariness etched on his face. He didn’t speak, didn’t look my way. He just kept drinking, each swallow a silent testament to the pain I’d inflicted. Shame gnawed at me,

that spread

feet felt rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the weight of my actions and the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. But a primal urge,

As I neared the bed,

didn’t react, didn’t flinch. It was as if he were a statue, a shell of the man I knew, his emotions

from him then set it down on the nightstand with

silence.

called by an invisible force, I did something completely unexpected, I wrapped my arms

away. He didn’t react at all. He just sat there, a statue held hostage by his own pain. The silence stretched on, each passing second fueling the realization of

for understanding. Slowly, the tension seemed to seep out of

thick with regret. “I… I just want to I keep hurting

to move on.

to build a life

cracked, frustration lacing my words. “I’m so tired of it,

in a loose

whispered, his voice low and rough. “And I’m tired

“I