Unholy Desire

Maeve

There was a time when I couldn't wait to write my husband's name after mine. Now, all I wanted was to erase it.

My fingers hovered over the divorce papers on my desk. I couldn't bring myself to touch the fountain pen lying right beside them.

Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.

Five years of building a life together, reduced to five cold words in bold font.

I leaned back, letting out a rough breath, and stared at the ceiling. Five birthdays. Five anniversaries. Five years of tracking ovulation cycles, checking calendars, and planning the nursery we would build.

Instead, I got a manila envelope.

A knock on the door tore through my thoughts

"Come in," I called out.

The door clicked open. My secretary stepped inside with a tablet hugged tightly to her chest. "Good afternoon, ma’am."

I forced a smile out. "Afternoon, Chloe. How did the meeting with the Petersons go?"

"They approved the final living room concepts," she said, tapping her screen. "They want the demolition crew to start next Monday."

"Good. Keep me updated on their timeline."

"And Mr. Larson called from the warehouse. The Carrara marble samples arrived this morning."

I grabbed my planner, my pen scratching the paper a little too hard as I jotted it down. "What about tomorrow's schedule?"

"All three consultations are confirmed."

"Perfect. Thanks, Chloe."

Work. It was the only thing that kept me from falling apart.

As the owner of a growing interior design firm, I spent my days turning empty, echoey spaces into warm, loving homes for strangers.

It was quite ironic, though, that I could fix anyone's home but my own.

As Chloe turned to leave, I flipped my planner closed. "Has Sena resumed work?"

Chloe stopped, and her shoulders stiffened. "No, ma'am."

My brows pulled together. "It's been over a week."

"Eight days, actually."

"Did she call the front desk?"

"No."

"A text? Anything?"

Chloe shook her head, looking down at her tablet. "Nothing, Ma'am"

"What about an email? A formal resignation?"

"No, ma'am. Just... radio silence."

Sena wasn't just an employee; she was my first hire right out of university. I’ve watched her transition from a terrified intern who dropped color swatches to a sharp, confident designer. Whenever a client got difficult or a contractor botched a measurement, I was always her very first phone call.

"I've tried her three times today," Chloe said softly, her eyes filled with genuine worry. "It goes straight to voicemail. The phone is completely switched off."

"I'll handle it, Chloe. Thank you."

"Of course. Your three o'clock client is waiting in the conference room."

"Give me one minute."

I grabbed my notepad and walked out to meet my client.

By five o'clock, a dull throb pulsed behind my eyes. I walked back into my empty office and pinched the bridge of my nose.

"I need coffee," I muttered to the empty room.

I reached for the desk intercom to ask Chloe, then stopped. No. I need fresh air.

I crossed the street toward the familiar green awning of my favorite café. Usually, the rich, earthy scent of roasted espresso grounds brought an instant wave of comfort. Today, I barely smelled it.

"One large caramel latte, please."

The girl behind the counter offered a bright smile. "Coming right up."

While I waited, I absentmindedly opened my bag. My fingers brushed on the thick, crisp edge of the divorce papers. I stopped, pulling the envelope open just an inch.

There it was. Wesley’s signature.

His handwriting was as neat as ever.

"Ma'am? Your latte?"

I blinked, snapping out of the daze. The girl held out a steaming paper cup.

"Oh. Right. Thank you."

I grabbed the cup, turned around on my heel, and plowed directly into a solid chest.

The paper cup was crushed between us. The lid popped, and a wave of hot milky coffee spilled all over his white shirt.

"Oh, my God!" I gasped. "I'm so sorry!"

I dropped my bag on a nearby table, frantically grabbed a handful of napkins from the counter dispenser, then lunged forward, dabbing wildly at the rapidly spreading brown stain on his chest.

"I wasn't looking...I am so, so sorry. I completely lost my focus."

"It's alright," a voice said.

It was deep, smooth, and shockingly calm.

"I...i completely ruined your shirt," I stammered, my hands shaking as I kept wiping.

"They're just clothes. It's fine"

I finally stopped wiping and looked up. The apology died in my throat.

He was... breathtaking. Dark hair framed a face that looked like it had been carved with impossible precision. He had warm hazel eyes, broad shoulders, and the had the kind of calm confidence that made him stand out even in the cafe.

I realized I was staring with my hand still resting inches from his chest. I quickly snapped it back, my cheeks flaring hotter. "I'm sorry," I whispered again.

He took the crumpled, coffee-soaked napkins from my trembling fingers, and his lips twitched into a small smile. "Trust me, I've survived much worse than a latte."

I gave a short, nervous laugh.

His hazel eyes narrowed slightly, searching my face. "Are you okay?"

The question threw me off guard. "What?"

"You look like you're carrying the weight of the entire world on your shoulders," he said softly.

I swallowed hard. "Just... a rough day."

"I figured." He said, giving an understanding nod. "I hope tomorrow is a little kinder to you."

The sincerity in his voice settled somewhere deep inside my chest. "Thank you."

He offered one last reassuring smile, stepped around me, and walked out the glass doors. Through the café window, I watched him slide into the backseat of a sleek, black SUV. The vehicle pulled away into the city traffic, disappearing from view.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty street.

Pull yourself together, Maeve.

I took a deep breath, accepted a replacement coffee, and walked back to the office to finish my day.

******************

The silence wasn't new. For the last six months, this house had been nothing but an expensive hotel where two polite strangers shared a roof, avoiding each other's eyes in the hallways.

I stepped out of my heels, the cold floor biting into the arches of my feet. I turned toward the staircase, desperate for a hot shower and a dark room.

"Maeve."

I froze. The voice came from the dining room.

Wesley sat alone at the head of the long table. A glass of whiskey sat beside his hand. His face was a mask of cold indifference.

"Have you signed the papers?"

There was no greeting, no acknowledgment that I had just walked through the door after a ten-hour workday. Just a demand.

A familiar tightness clamped down on my chest. "Is that really the first thing you have to say to me?"

He let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing his forehead. "I don't want to argue, Maeve."

"Neither do I."

"Then sign them. Let's just get this over with."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I walked into the dining room and stopped at the edge of the table. "Five years, Wesley. We gave each other five years." I shook my head, staring at him. "And all you care about is my signature?"

"Our marriage is over," he said flatly. His eyes met mine, entirely devoid of the warmth they used to hold.

I stared at the man I had loved since my twenties. The man I had promised to grow old with. "Is it because I couldn't get pregnant?"

Wesley looked down at his glass, swirling the ice. He didn't say a word.

The silence was deafening. "I will take that as a yes."

"My parents need an heir, Maeve. You know how the firm works."

"Our marriage isn't your parents' business!" My voice cracked. "What about what we wanted? What about the promises you made to me?"

He turned his head away, staring into the dark corner of the room.

I walked closer, tears finally spilling over my lashes, hot and fast. "I stood by you through everything, Wesley. When your father threatened to disown you, I stayed. When the firm almost went under, I worked double shifts to cover our mortgage."

"I know," he muttered, his jaw tight.

"I never once blamed you when the fertility treatments failed. I never made you feel like you were less of a man because we couldn't make it work."

"I know, Maeve."

"I never stopped loving you!"

Wesley’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He slammed the whiskey glass hard on the table. "It doesn't matter anymore!"

I laughed, a choked, sob-like sound. "No... you're right. It doesn't matter to you." I wiped a tear from my cheek, my eyes locked into his guilty expression. "It doesn't matter because you didn't wait for the divorce papers to start your family, did you?"

Wesley’s head snapped up, and his eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

I stepped right up to his chair, leaning down until he had no choice but to look at me. "You got her pregnant."

The color completely drained from his face. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

"Maeve—"

"Don't." I whipped my hand up, cutting him off before he could fabricate a lie. "Don't you dare lie to me now. What hurts the most isn't even the fact that you broke your vows." My voice broke into a rough whisper. "It's who you chose to break them with."

He swallowed hard, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "You don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying." A fresh tear cut a path down my face. "Out of every single woman in this entire city..."

I took a shaking breath.

"...it had to be Sena."

Wesley looked genuinely shocked and did not try to deny it.

He just stared at me, trapped in his own guilt.

And that silence told me everything I needed to know.