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She turns to me. “Exactly,” she says sweetly. “And you’re so generous for making it happen.”

She turns away before I can respond, and heads toward the fitting room, but I don’t miss the way her shoulders stiffen. She’s holding it together, but I’m wearing her down.

Or so I think.

The moment she returns, dressed in her own clothes, she hands the sales assistant the last gown without a word and walks towards the till, I catch a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror as she passes—her face pale, her lips pressed into a thin line. She’s not okay.

By the time I join her she looks composed again, like nothing’s happened. But I see the strain in her eyes, the exhaustion she’s trying so hard to hide.

I hand the smiling assistant my card, my voice colder than ice. “Bag everything. Deliver it to my wife at the address associated with the credit card.”

“Of course, Sir,” she replies.

I slip my hand proprietarily on the small of Raven’s back and lead her out of the premises.

CHAPTER25

RAVEN

We walk through the gleaming halls of the mall and people turn to look at us. Mostly at Earl, but perhaps we seem like the perfect couple. If only they knew. My face aches from smiling.

Bag after bag, thousands upon thousands of dollars spent, and yet not a single thing we bought feels like mine. Every dress, every pair of shoes, every gilded piece of jewelry feels like a chain, tethering me to this nightmare. I already know I won’t wear most of it. In fact I want to return it all. One day, I swear I will. Maybe I’ll even give him back the money. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll use it to ensure my father’s treatment continues when Earl inevitably tires of this game, of me.

The thought makes my throat tighten. I blink hard, refusing to let the tears that sting my eyes escape. I’ve done so well today—holding it together, deflecting his barbs, standing tall. But the truth is, I’m breaking inside. The realization that his unprovoked hatred for me is real, sinks deeper with every step. And yet, the hurt I feel only fuels my resolve. He won’t see me falter. Not now. Not ever.

But as we near the exit, defiance flickers to life inside me like a flame, small but steady. I stop abruptly, forcing him to halt too. He looks down at me, his expression a mixture of suspicion and query.

“I’m hungry,” I say. “I want some pizza. Care to join me? Since you’ve been so generous today, I’ll buy.”

His eyes narrow, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to figure out my angle. For a moment, I think he’ll refuse, but then he nods curtly, and gestures for me to lead the way.

My heart pounds as I turn and head back toward Mario’s corner. The old memories bubble up unbidden—all of them heart-wrenchingly sweet and innocent. It was never about the food for us. It was about being together. All those small moments that felt like they belonged only to us. And now, I’m leading him back there, unsure if I’m trying to rekindle something or drive a dagger into the memory.

The scent of grilling cheese and baking dough hits me as we approach. I force myself to take a steadying breath. He walks beside me, his presence a storm cloud, dark and brooding, but I can feel his eyes on me, assessing, questioning.

I don’t look at him. Not yet.

We reach the counter, and I order a pepperoni cheese pizza with gherkins on the side. “Just like we used to,” I say lightly, offering him a small smile.

He pulls out his wallet, but I stop him. “I said I’ll buy. Don’t worry, I can handle it.”

The cashier rings me up, and I pay quickly, my hands trembling slightly as I swipe my card. Earl doesn’t say a word, but I can feel the tension radiating off him as I move towards ‘our’ table by the window, overlooking the bustling floor below. I take my seat and he follows, sitting across from me, his posture rigid.

The pizza arrives quickly, and I push a slice without gherkins onto his plate before taking one for myself. For a moment, we eat in silence. I glance at him, and his eyes are dark and unreadable. I love his eyes. It’s the first thing that I noticed about him. It’s like staring into a storm. The noise of the food court fades into the background. It’s just the two of us, locked in a battle of wills, each daring the other to break first.

“Do you remember?” I ask softly. “We used to come here all the time. Pizza, ice cream, sundaes, the works.”

“No,” he lies abruptly.

“Okay,” I say easily and carry on eating until the last bite of pizza on my plate is gone. Earl wipes his hands with the damp towel the food court provided and rises to his feet.

“Let’s go,” he says coldly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I have work to do.”

I see now that there is nothing I can do to bring the old Earl back. I follow him silently as we weave through the bustling food court.

The ride back to the house is even quieter than the ride away from it. I keep my gaze fixed on the view outside the window, watching the world blur past, trying to hold onto the faint flicker of hope that one day, one day I will prove to him that I am not what he thinks I am. But it’s hard.

When we arrive at Thornfield Hall, Earl steps out without a backward glance. I have a feeling the trip is not what he had expected it to be. Back in my room, I close the door and lean against it. All the purchases are like a monument to everything wrong between us, now I’m the owner of things I don’t need or want and what I want is moving further and further away from me.