I turned to go inside, but he misread my coldness for wounded anger. His hand shot out, pulling me into his arms. The Black Opium flooded my senses, thick and sweet, triggering a violent sneezing fit. Still, he refused to release me, holding on as though guilt alone could bridge the distance between us.
"Are you unwell?" His voice dropped to something resembling tenderness. "I'm sorry. I know I've neglected you lately. Once things settle down, we'll take new photographs together. We'll make up for everything we've lost—double it, even."
Once, those words might have softened me. But since that night in the emergency ward—when I'd realized he'd forgotten my severe allergies for the sake of another woman—I could no longer pretend. I wanted nothing more than to sever every thread that still bound me to him.
He finally loosened his grip, and I pulled away firmly. "No apologies necessary. But if you truly wish to make amends, perhaps you could arrange a proper birthday celebration for me."