Chapter 4 THE FREEDOM OF LETTING GO

AVRIELLE'S POV

“Can you visit my parents’ grave before we go home?” I asked softly. “I want to say hi. It’s been years.”

I mumbled, breaking the silence in the car. Kayden nodded without a word.

We stopped at a roadside flower vendor and bought flowers, the scent of fresh lilies filling the car as he placed a bouquet in my lap. When we pulled up to the cemetery, the air was cool and smelled of damp earth.

He wheeled me through the quiet rows of headstones until we reached the spot where my world had ended four years ago.

I placed the flowers down, my fingers lingering on the cold stone.

I’m leaving in a few hours, I told them in the silence of my mind. It might be a long time before I see you again.

I looked up at Kayden, who stood a few feet back, his head bowed.

He fulfilled his promise, Mom. He took care of me. But it’s time I let him be happy.

“Goodbye,” I whispered aloud.

Kayden stepped forward, dropping his own flowers, and we left the ghosts behind.

By the time we reached the house, it was 8:10 pm.

Kayden wheeled me into our bedroom, his movements efficient, prepared to end the day. Just as he turned to leave, I reached out and caught his wrist.

“Help me bathe?”

He froze. His eyes searched mine, darkening with a sudden, heavy heat. “Are you sure? Avy... I might lose control.”

“It’s our day,” I whispered, my voice trembling only slightly. “Our twenty-four hours aren’t over yet.”

He didn’t argue.

He wheeled me into the bathroom, the air quickly turning thick with steam. He pulled off his shirt, his muscles rippling under the warm light, and gently lifted me into the tub. As he eased my dress down and unbuckled my bra, my breasts spilled free. I saw his throat bob as he swallowed hard.

It had been months. I’d convinced myself he wasn’t attracted to my broken body anymore—that he only saw the chair.

He grabbed the sponge, lathering it until it was a cloud of white. As he leaned over to wash my neck, his bare chest slammed against my face. I could smell the salt and skin and Kayden. I wanted to reach out, to map the abs I used to know by heart, but I stayed still.

Suddenly, his hand grazed my breast.

We both froze. The only sound was the steady drip of the faucet. His gaze was fixed on my lips, his breath coming in ragged hitches.

I started to turn away, the weight of the secret almost too much to bear, when I heard him hiss a low curse.

“You know what? Fuck ethics.”

Without warning, he hooked his arms under me and hauled me out of the tub. Water cascaded off my skin, splashing onto the tile as he carried me to the bed. He laid me down, and before I could even catch my breath, he claimed my lips. It wasn’t the gentle kiss of a protector; it was hungry, desperate, and raw.

His hands were everywhere—cupping my breasts, fumbling with my damp panties until he snapped them off. Then he went lower, eating me up, down there. He used his tongue with a ferocity that made my head sink into the pillows, a low moan vibrating in my throat.

I felt the familiar tension building, the release shattering through me like light.

He moved up, pinning my wrists above my head, his eyes burning with a hunger that was almost terrifying. He bit down on my earlobe, his voice a gravelly whisper. “I won’t be gentle.”

“I need you to sign something first, Kayden,” I gasped, my senses reeling.

“What?” he groaned, his face buried in the crook of my neck.

“I want to place my parents’ property in your possession. I can’t manage it. Can you?”

He pulled back, looking at me weirdly through his haze of lust. “Why now?”

“They’re withering away. Please.”

“Okay,” he muttered, his kisses already trailing back down my skin.

I reached into the nightstand drawer, pulling out the thick stack of papers I’d hidden there. We sat up, the air between us electric and strained.

“Must I sign this right now?” he asked, breathless.

“Right now.”

I pulled him into an angry, searing kiss, blocking his view of the document headers. As his lips worked against mine, his hand blindly followed my guidance, signing where I pointed. I flipped the pages quickly, my heart thundering as his signature scrawled across the lines.

“Done,” he panted, dropping the pen.

I snatched the documents and shoved them back into the drawer, then wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down. “Now. I want you to ruin me.”

A dark, knowing smile spread across his face.

“Brace yourself, mon trésor.”

His grip tightened,.as he pushed his dick into my already dripping wet entrance. I let out a long, broken moan, a single tear sliding down my cheek and disappearing into the pillow.

He thought he was signing a future for us.

He had no idea he’d just signed our divorce papers...he had just signed his way to Esterosa.

---

My grip tightened on the armrests of my wheelchair as I read the words on the goodbye letter, I'd written one last time. My vision blurred as warm droplets fell, staining the ink on the stationery. I quickly wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, refusing to let another tear fall for a ghost of a marriage.

I stuffed the letter into a crisp white envelope and placed it on the dining table.

Next to it sat the divorce papers, the ink of Kayden’s signature—the signature I’d tricked him into giving during our final moment of intimacy—glaring back at me. I’d used our last night on purpose. Not just to get what I needed, but because I wanted one memory of him that wasn’t filtered through guilt or duty.

Even if it was built on a lie, it was a night I’d never forget.

I had faked sleep for hours, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing until I was sure he was deep in the void of exhaustion. Then, I’d dragged myself out of bed, packed the final essentials into my suitcase, and written the words that would end us.

It wasn’t easy. I felt like I was dying inside, my heart being shredded with every inch I moved toward the door.

The cool morning air hit my face as I rolled out onto the porch.

Almost immediately, a tall figure emerged from the shadows of a sleek black car parked at the curb.

Cillian.

He rushed toward me, his face a mixture of relief and concern as he took the suitcase from my lap.

“Good morning, Elle,” he whispered, his voice low and steady.

I just gave him a stiff nod. I didn’t trust my voice; it was too fragile, too ready to break and wake the man sleeping upstairs.

He helped me into the passenger seat with practiced ease, folded my wheelchair, and slid it into the back.

As he started the engine, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

4:20 am.

Notification: Your flight departs in 10 minutes.

“I’m glad you finally agreed, Elle. You have no idea how happy I am,” Cillian said, glancing at me as we sped away from the only home I’d known for years.

I forced a faint smile and looked out the window.

Cillian

The boy who had once bullied me, the man who had stayed obsessed with me even after I’d chosen Kayden.

He had become an artist just because I’d once said I liked the idea. For years, he’d begged me to seek treatment for my legs, to stop martyring myself for Kayden’s guilt and I’d always refused.

Until a week ago.

A week ago, I’d called him. And in the span of seven days, he had arranged everything: the flight to Switzerland, the specialists who promised me a chance to walk again, and my enrollment in a design school to finish my degree.

We pulled up to the airport with minutes to spare. Cillian didn’t waste time, whisking me through the private terminal and onto the plane.

As the engines began to roar, I felt the vibration through the floorboards. I felt my heart turning into shreds as the pain became impossible to hide.

Cillian reached over, his hand clasping mine. It was shaking—not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of the moment. He was holding onto me as if he’d been waiting a lifetime for this.

I looked out the window as the ground began to fall away, the city lights shrinking into a sea of distant stars.

“Goodbye, Kayden,” I whispered against the glass.