“You’re smothering her.” Isadora’s voice hardened. “You asked me to be your wife so I could help you with her. But when I try, you push me away. You dismiss my suggestions. You treat my involvement as interference rather than partnership.”
Edmund rose from his chair. “She is mine, not yours.”
The words emerged harsher than intended. Possessive. Designed to wound.
Isadora’s face went pale. But she didn’t retreat.
“Then what am I?” Her voice dropped. Dangerous quiet. “What am I to you, Edmund?”
He should have seen the trap and recognized the question for what it was—a final chance to be honest. To admit what he felt before fear destroyed everything.
But Edmund was too angry. Too terrified. Too consumed by the need to push away before she could hurt him.
“You are my wife in name. Nothing more.”
“Your wife in name.” She repeated the words slowly. Testing their weight. “Yet you kiss me as if I am something more. You look at me like—” Her voice cracked. “Do you even know what you want?”
For a long, brutal moment, Edmund stood frozen.
The truth clawed at his throat. You are my wife. I love you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
The words burned. Desperate to escape. To finally give voice to feelings he’d been denying since the gallery. Since before the gallery. Since she’d first touched his scar without flinching.
But fear stopped him cold.
Fear that admitting he loved her meant betraying James’s memory. Fear that if he allowed himself to care this deeply, her inevitable loss would destroy what little remained of him. Fear that he wasn’t capable of the tenderness she deserved—that he would wound her with every touch, hurt her with every word, prove himself unworthy of the love she offered.
Better to push her away now. Before she realized how broken he was. Before his damage infected her.
“You are nothing more than convenience,” he forced out.
The lie tasted like poison. Like betrayal. Like every cowardly thing he’d ever done wrapped in four words designed to wound.
Isadora’s breath caught. Audible. As though he’d struck her physically rather than with mere words.
Her eyes filled with tears she refused to shed. But Edmund watched them gather anyway. Watched devastation replace anger. Watched something fundamental break in her expression.
“I see.” Barely above whisper. “Nothing more than convenience.”
She turned toward the door. Back straight. Head high. Every inch the duchess despite the tears threatening to spill.
“Isadora—” He didn’t recognize his own voice.
She stopped. Didn’t turn around.
“Then I will not trouble you with my presence any longer.”
The words hung in the air between them. Final. Irrevocable.
Edmund should have gone after her. He should have taken back the lie. He should have fallen to his knees and beggedforgiveness for cruelty he hadn’t meant but couldn’t seem to stop inflicting.
But his body wouldn’t obey. Could only stand there while the most important thing in his life walked away.
The door closed behind her. Soft click that sounded like condemnation.
Edmund remained frozen. Staring at empty space where she’d stood. Replaying four words over and over.
Nothing more than convenience.
