I shoved against his chest, torn between wanting to believe him and knowing better. I’d heard it all. It didn’t matter anymore.
“Just say sorry to her,” he said, voice gentler now. “Pretend. For us.”
I let out a long sigh, drained from the emotional rollercoaster. “Alright.” The word came out bitter, like poison.
His face lit up, pleased—like he’d just won a warped prize.
“Perfect. I’ll make it up to you. Tonight, just the two of us.”
A reckless thought surged through me. I tilted my head, smirking.
“No need. I already have plans. I’m going on a date.”
It was a lie, but one meant to cut deep. I wanted him to feel the sting I’d felt.
His grin vanished. “You’re lying.”
I crossed my arms defiantly. “Not this time. I’ve moved on. I don’t need to pretend with anyone. Unlike you.”
He advanced, his face inches from mine, fury simmering just beneath the surface.
“You’re not allowed to date.”
A hollow, bitter laugh escaped me. “Oh really? So you’re free to marry, but I can’t even go on a date? That’s not just messed up, Marcus—that’s pathetic.”
His hands latched onto my arms, hard this time, no pretense of tenderness.
“You belong to me, Annette. You always have.”