Chapter 5
"Bella, make a wish," Wyatt said, stopping in front of the church and motioning for me to kneel before the statue of God.
I pressed my palms together and closed my eyes.
Wyatt stood behind me and whispered, "So, what are you wishing for? For us to have a baby, or for me to marry you sooner?"
I didn't say anything.
As we walked out of the church, he seemed to be in a much better mood, he even took my hand.
"So, what did you wish for?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
I looked out at the clouds drifting halfway up the mountain and said softly, "I prayed for God to bless Wyatt, to keep him safe year after year, and for everything to go smoothly for him."
He froze for a second, then chuckled. "You really are such a fool. God's got way bigger things to worry about than these harmless little wishes. You should ask for something real."
Something real?
Like wishing he'd be crazy in love with me? Or that he'd forget Stella forever?
I used to pray for that, for six whole years.
But God never listened.
It wasn't until later that I realized the real reason I prayed for his safety year after year; only when he was safe could I finally leave with a clear conscience, owing him nothing.
"Wyatt, you just don't understand," I said, pulling my hand away and walking ahead. "This is the best I can do for you."
He stood there, watching my back, a hint of darkness flickering in his eyes.
He was used to my obedience, but not my distance.
On the way back, we didn't say a single word to each other.
The air in the car was so heavy it was suffocating. He tried to speak a few times, but every time he saw my distant profile, he just swallowed his words.
He thought I was just giving him the silent treatment, waiting for him to make it up to me.
But what he didn't know was that I was way past needing his sweet talk.
When we got home, Wyatt went straight into his study.
I sat in the living room, watching a movie with my headphones blaring rock music, trying to drown out the emptiness inside me.
In the middle of the night, he suddenly walked out, holding a diamond ring in his hand.
No roses, no kneeling, not even an "I love you."
"Bella, let's get married," he said.
He said it like it was just routine, as if he was issuing a company directive.
I took off my headphones and stared at the ring, its sparkle under the light felt almost harsh to look at.
"Why bring up marriage all of a sudden?" I asked.
"Didn't you always want to make it official?" he said, taking my hand and trying to slide the ring onto my finger. "I've already sorted things out with Stella. From now on, she's just a business partner. This ring is a limited edition from Dior. It suits you perfectly."
Suit?
There it was again.
In his mind, because I was suitable, because I was sensible, because I'd stayed by his side for six years without ever causing trouble, I was the ideal wife.
Love? That was never the point.
"Yesterday was our sixth anniversary," I said, pulling my hand back before he could slip the ring on.
He paused, then frowned. "I know. Didn't I say I'd make it up to you?"
"Wyatt, sunlight that comes too late can't revive a dead flower," I said.
I looked into his eyes, and for the first time, I realized, there really was no place for me in them.
His eyes were filled with ambition, desire, and Stella, never Bella.
"Is the ring too small for you? Or is the wedding not grand enough?" His voice went cold. "Bella, don't be too demanding. Everything I could give you, I already have."
I let out a bitter laugh at myself.
All he had to offer was a marriage without love, and an empty title that meant nothing.
"I'm not getting married," I said.
His face darkened instantly, the same look he got right before he lost his temper in the boardroom.
"Say that again?" he demanded.
"I said, I'm not getting married," I repeated firmly.
I stood up and looked him straight in the eye. "Wyatt, I'm exhausted. I've already prayed for your safety; now the rest is up to you."
He stared at me like I'd just told the biggest joke in the world, then suddenly clamped down on my shoulders, his grip so tight it felt like he wanted to crush my bones.
"Bella, where did you get the guts to break up with me? You really think you're somebody without me?" he snapped.
"I'm nothing," I said, forcing a bitter smile through the pain. "I just want to be myself, for once."
Wyatt thought I was just sulking.
He ignored me for a whole week, didn't come home, didn't even call.
He was waiting for me to do what I always did: make his stomach medicine and go to his office, swallow my pride, and beg him to come home.
But instead of the apology he was waiting for, he got my resignation letter, totally out of the blue.