Part 2My Marriage Had A Price Tag

I was just stepping out of the shower when Helena returned.

She was sitting on the sofa, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. The living room was thick with smoke; she’d clearly been there a while.

I froze, a towel halfway to my hair. The scene felt like a haunting echo of three years ago—the night before our first divorce. She had smoked one after another back then, her eyes cold and resolute, before handing me the papers in a cloud of grey haze.

I walked over, stiffly, and gently took the cigarette from her lips. "Stop. It’s bad for you."

Helena looked up, her eyes swimming with a complexity I couldn't decipher.

I forced myself to smile. "You don't have to worry. I didn't misunderstand anything about you and Parker. You said he’s a client, so he’s a client."

I continued, my voice a practiced melody of understanding. "You already had plans with him. It made sense for him to sit in the front. I was the interloper. I won't cause a scene, Helena. I won't bother him."

I was being the perfect husband. The kind of man who didn't ask questions.

Yet, Helena’s expression only grew more grim. Her jaw was set so tight it looked like it might shatter.

A spike of panic hit me. I spoke faster, desperate to appease her. "If you want to bring him over, I don't mind. Truly. If he finds me annoying, I can move out for a few days—"

"Enough!"

Helena lunged up, grabbing my wrist with a strength that made me wince. Her eyes were bloodshot.

"If you're so goddamn understanding," she hissed, "then why don't you just give up the title? Why don't you stop being my husband entirely?"

I gritted my teeth against the pain in my wrist, staring into her eyes. "If I do... will you stop paying for my mother’s medication?"

Helena’s eyes widened.

I didn't wait for her to answer. I pressed on, the words tumbling out with a desperate honesty. "If I give up my place in this house, will you keep funding her treatment? Helena, I’ll leave right now. I’ll sign whatever you want, as long as you keep her in that program. Please?"

Helena recoiled as if I’d slapped her. She let go of my hand so abruptly she nearly lost her balance. She stared at me, searching my face for a lie, for a joke, for anything other than the cold, hard truth.

I wasn't lying.

I would hand Parker Vance my wedding ring on a silver platter if it meant my mother lived another month.

Helena let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. "And you say you didn't misunderstand?"

She stepped closer again, taking my hand back, her thumb rubbing the red marks her grip had left on my skin. "Parker is a client, Adrian. I’m not lying."

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "Don't get jealous, baby. It’s exhausting. You know I don't have the patience to coddle you."

I looked down at her hand on mine. I wanted to tell her I wasn't jealous. I wanted to tell her that jealousy requires love, and I wasn't sure what I felt for her anymore.

But it was a pointless argument. I just nodded. "I know."