BAD WIFE

Chapter {5}

Let's return to the present.

"Hold on." Clarissa cut in sharply, disbelief laced through her voice. Her wide eyes bounced between the two. "Did you just say you were her husband?" she asked, stunned, her gaze snapping toward Nikolai.

"Yes," he answered smoothly, his voice low and unwavering. His hooded eyes never left Baylee's face. "Not surprising she's still hiding that little fact."

Baylee's breath caught. Her hands flew up as if physically pushing away the truth. "No. No-no-no. You need to go," she stammered, her voice on the verge of trembling.

Nathan rolled his eyes, exhaling as if the drama had finally reached its limit. Without a word, he brushed past Niko and Clarissa, barely sparing them a glance, and exited through the front door, shutting it behind him with quiet finality.

"It was a mistake," Baylee muttered, guilt seeping into every word as she turned to her sister, unable to meet her eyes.

"Was it?" Nikolai's voice was maddeningly calm—so still it only sharpened the tension. There was no fury, just certainty, a quiet power that demanded she look at him. "Was sneaking into my bed a mistake too?"

She snapped toward him, panicked. "Enough of this." Her hand caught his, and she yanked him through the door and onto the grand porch outside. It was wide and open, ringed with ornate golden railings and elegant seating, but she couldn't sit. Her body buzzed with panic as she paced back and forth like a caged storm.

"Oh my God. Oh my God." Her hands flew to her face. "I can't believe you just did that." She pressed her palm to her forehead like she was checking for a fever, as if trying to ground herself in some form of logic. "This is insane."

"You're an adult, Baylee," Nikolai said, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned lazily against the side of the house, utterly unfazed. "I don't think anyone's going to care as much as you do."

"I just—"

"Made a lot of hypocritical statements," he cut in without hesitation. "So I've heard."

She froze mid-step, then slowly turned to face him. Her voice cracked with heartbreak. "Why would you do this to me? Why would you even come here?"

His jaw tensed. "Tell me something—were you ever going to tell them? Or was your plan always to leave me without a word?"

Her head shook weakly. "None of this matters. We're divorced."

"It matters to me." His voice dropped lower, the weight behind it undeniable. "Tell me, was it always your plan to run? Is that why you kept your condo—like you never really moved in with me at all?"

Her voice rose, bitter and defensive. "Oh, the condo—you want to talk about the condo?" Her hands flew out. "That place wanted me around, okay? It was the only place I had when I was being left behind over and over again."

His expression sharpened. "Why? Did I leave you homeless?"

"It didn't feel right being in that apartment alone, okay? It was cold. Empty. Silent." Her voice cracked.

"That apartment?" he repeated. "You mean our home?"

"It didn't feel like a home to me!" she burst out, voice breaking. "You were barely ever there."

He let out a long, weary sigh, the kind that carried the weight of years. "I had to work."

Those words pierced her like a poisoned arrow. Her hands clamped over her ears, voice shaking. "Oh God. Please stop." Her father's voice echoed through that line—those same justifications, that same emptiness.