The Cost Of Your Stolen SapphireChapter 2

"What did you just say?"

Maddy finally let go of the wooden spoon and walked toward me. She stabbed a finger toward my face, her voice rising in disbelief.

"Nate Cross, you better take that back right now. Are you seriously doing this?"

I looked her dead in the eye, enunciating every syllable. "I am saying it one more time. We. Are. Over. Get out of my house."

Maddy’s pupils dilated. Her mouth fell open. Her fists clenched so hard her knuckles turned white. "You have got to be kidding me! You’re throwing away three years over a misunderstanding?"

Tyler stepped forward then, looking like a kicked puppy. "Maddy, please... it’s my fault. I’ve ruined everything for you. I’m so sorry."

He turned to me, his voice trembling. "Nate, I’ll give the jewelry back. I’ll figure out my family’s debt somehow. If we starve, we starve. It’s better than breaking you guys up."

He actually squeezed out a tear. Maddy crumbled instantly, pulling him into a protective embrace.

"Stop it, Tyler. You’re not doing anything. You’re keeping those pieces."

She whipped her head back to me, her eyes burning with pure venom. "Nate, I am so sick of your ego! Tyler has already forgiven you for the way you treated him today, and this is how you act? Do you have even an ounce of compassion in your soul?"

He forgave me?

I let out a short, hysterical laugh. He stole thirty million dollars of my property, and I was the one who needed his forgiveness.

"He stole from me, Maddy. He—"

The slap caught me across the cheek, the crack echoing in the hallway. It was hard enough to make my ears ring.

She looked at me with such loathing it felt physical. "You’re a pathetic, heartless bastard," she hissed. "You don’t deserve to be my husband."

Before I could even react, she grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut in my face. In my own home.

I stood in the hallway of the building, my cheek stinging. If I hadn’t stepped back, the door would have broken my nose. I knew she was standing on the other side, waiting. Waiting for me to knock. Waiting for me to apologize and beg for her to open it.

That was our pattern. No matter who was at fault, I was always the one on my knees. I had chased her for three years before she said yes. I had spent every waking hour trying to be the man she wanted—giving her the world, buying her the best clothes, funding her dreams, sacrificing my own peace to keep her happy.

I thought it was love. She treated it like a cage. She saw my devotion as a "shackle" on her freedom.

"Fine," I whispered to the closed door. "If my love is a cage, consider yourself paroled."

I turned and walked away.

Behind me, I heard the lock click. The door cracked open. She was giving me my "chance" to crawl back. Usually, I would have turned around with a gift and a thousand apologies, desperate for her mercy.

This time, I didn't even look back. I kept walking until I hit the street.