On the massive wedding portrait across from the bed, right where his eyes were in the photo, a faint pinprick of light.
It hit me all at once. That was why he'd been so willing to "try" all those times.
Before I could react, Damian grabbed my wrist and pulled me down.
The thought of who might be watching on the other side of that tiny camera—
A wave of nausea slammed into me. I gagged, and everything came up, splattering across Damian's chest.
He recoiled instantly, face twisted in disgust, shoving me away as he leapt off the bed.
"Serena! If you're that repulsed by me, just say so. You don't have to be this revolting about it."
"From tonight on, you sleep in the guest room. No need to force yourself anymore."
Before—the old me—I would have swallowed my pride, coaxed him back, and submitted to the humiliation all over again. Anything to keep trying.
Not this time.
I stood. Looked at him with eyes drained of everything. Said one word—"Fine"—and walked toward the door.
Damian froze.
Then a teacup exploded against the floor behind me.
"Serena! I knew it—you never really loved me. It's only been four years and you're already disgusted with me. Aren't you?"