No Rest 15

Posted by adminj, ? Views, Released on September 7, 2025

My Billionaire Husband Wants an Open Marriage

Chapter 15

Sophia’s P.O.V

The door closed with a resounding bang, something that resembled a gunshot. I stood there–frozen–staring at that polished wooden frame like it had personally betrayed me. My breath hitched in my throat, my eyes wide, disbelieving, even though I had just witnessed it with my own two eyes. Tristan had taken her hand. Gabriella.

He’d looked right past me, right through me, as if I were nothing more than a ghost drifting through our home. And the way she smirked… that smirk has been branded onto the inside of my eyelids. That smug, self–satisfied curve of her lips like she knew she was winning. Like she knew he wouldn’t even look back.

Twelve years.

I’ve known that man for twelve years. I’ve loved him in all his flawed, complicated, breathtaking entirety. I knew the warmth of his laughter before he even spoke it, memorized the lines on his palm like they were my map home, and now–now he’s slipping through my fingers like sand and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. The same man who had promised to always protect me had just slapped me across the face.

Tristan had always hated the idea of violence, and now, he didn’t even flinch while slapping his own wife for his mistress.

That hand he once used to hold mine so tightly now clutched hers. And it wasn’t just a casual, meaningless grasp. No. It was tender. Reverent. Like he was choosing her. And maybe he was.

That thought gutted me.

Twelve years of knowing him, of loving him, of believing that no matter what happened, no matter how many arguments we had, how many bad days we went through, we would always find our way back to each other. And yet, as I stand here, staring at the very door he walked out of, I realize that maybe I was the only one holding on.

Maybe I was the only one still believing in something that had already started to fade. I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady the erratic beating of my heart, but the panic is settling in, cold and unrelenting. If Tristan has feelings for Gabriella–real, undeniable feelings–then where does that leave me?

I stayed standing there long after their car had pulled out of the driveway. My chest felt hollow, my skin prickled with goosebumps, and I swear 1 could still feel the echo of his absence rattling through the house. My knees trembled, but I didn’t allow myself to fall. Not yet. Not when the twins were still upstairs, oblivious to the fact that their world was shifting under their feet.

I walked to the kitchen like a ghost of myself, each step mechanical, like I had to force myself to exist. I pulled out the ingredients–chicken, garlic, fresh thyme. My hands moved automatically, chopping, sautéing, stirring, as if making dinner could hold the pieces of my heart together.

I tried not to think about how many times Tristan had come up behind me while I cooked, slipping his arms around my waist and pressing a kiss to my neck. I tried not to hear the echo of his voice laughing, teasing…loving.

God, I tried.

I blinked hard, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill. The chicken was done. The vegetables were steamed. The table was set. I looked at it and wondered how something so ordinary could hurt so much. Then I wiped my hands on a towel, cleared my throat to keep it from shaking, and called up the stairs.

“Kids! Dinner’s ready!”

My voice cracked, just a little.

They came down bouncing, giggling–completely untouched by the storm that had started brewing in our home. Sara asked if Daddy was joining us tonight, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. I told her he had gone away for the weekend. I didn’t say with whom. I didn’t say why. And I sure as hell didn’t say that I was terrified he might not come back the same… or come back at all.

As we sat and ate, I smiled. I nodded. I asked them about their day, about school, about the picture Tara drew in art class. And they talked. They laughed. And I laughed with them, even though every inch of me was unraveling.