She’s moving out. She’s leaving.

She is choosing the baby over me.

Panic overwhelms me. It’s like a knife in my guts.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish getting dressed.”

My scalp prickles as I edge toward the abyss. She’s leaving. I step back. “Is that what you want?” My voice is a shocked whisper.

Her wounded eyes are impossibly wide as she scrutinizes me. “I don’t know what I want anymore,” she says quietly, and turning back to the mirror she smooths some face cream over her cheeks.

“You don’t want me?” There’s no oxygen in the room.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” she says, as she opens and applies her mascara.

How can she be so cold?

“You’ve thought about leaving.” The abyss opens and yawns in front of me.

“When one’s husband prefers the company of his ex-mistress, it’s usually not a good sign.” Her disdain drips from every word and pushes me closer to the abyss. Pursing her lips, she dabs on some lip gloss oh-so-fucking casually while I’m poised on the edge of this awful precipice.

She reaches for her boots, strides to the bed, and sits down. I watch her, completely at a loss. She pulls them on and stands to face me, her hands on her hips, her expression aloof.

Fuck.

In her boots and lingerie, her hair wild, she’s a woman to tame.

A Dom’s wet dream.

My wet dream.

My only dream.

I want her. I want her to tell me that she loves me. The way I love her.

Seduce her, Grey.

It’s my only weapon.

“I know what you’re doing here,” I murmur, pitching my voice lower.

“Do you?” Her voice cracks. Is that a chink in her armor? Hope flares briefly in my gut.

She feels.

I can do this. I step forward, but she steps back and holds up her hands, palms toward me. “Don’t even think about it, Grey.” Her words are bullets aimed at my heart.

“You’re my wife,” I murmur.

“I’m the pregnant woman you abandoned yesterday, and if you touch me I will scream the place down.”

What the fuck? No!

“You’d scream?”

“Bloody murder.”

This is too much! Or—does she want to play? Maybe that’s it—that’s what she wants. “No one would hear you,” I murmur.

“Are you trying to frighten me?”

What? No. Never. I back away. “That wasn’t my intention.”

I’m in free-fall.

Tell her. Just come clean, Grey.

And tell her what—that Elena reached for me, her intention clear?

I don’t think so.

“I had a drink with someone I used to be close to. We cleared the air. I’m not going to see her again.” Believe me, please. Ana.

“You sought her out?”

“Not at first. I tried to see Flynn. But…I found myself at the salon.”

Ana’s eyes narrow, fury smoldering in their depths. “And you expect me to believe you’re not going to see her again?” She raises her voice. “What about the next time I step across some imaginary line? This is the same argument we have over and over again. Like we’re on some Ixion’s wheel. If I fuck up again, are you going to run back to her?”

It’s not like that! “I am not going to see her again. She finally understands how I feel.”

Elena saw me recoil. She knows I don’t want her.

“What does that mean?”

If I tell her Elena made a pass at me, Ana will go into meltdown.

Shit. Why the fuck did you go to see her, Grey?

I gaze at my furious, beautiful wife. What can I say?

“Why can you talk to her and not to me?” Ana whispers.

No. It’s not like that. You don’t understand. She was my only friend.

“I was mad at you. Like I am now.” The words come in a desperate rush.

“You don’t say,” Ana shouts. “Well, I am mad at you right now. Mad at you for being so cold and callous yesterday, when I needed you. Mad at you for saying I got knocked up deliberately when I didn’t. Mad at you for betraying me.”

I didn’t!

“I should have kept better track of my shots,” she continues, quieter. “But I didn’t do it on purpose. This pregnancy is a shock to me, too. It could be that the shot failed.”

You’re shocked! I’m shocked, too.

We’re not ready for a baby.

I’m not ready for a baby.

“You really fucked up yesterday,” she whispers. “I’ve had a lot to deal with over the last few weeks.”

I fucked up? What about you? Cornered again, I lash out. “You really fucked up three weeks ago. Or whenever you forgot your shot.”

“Well, God forbid I should be perfect like you.”

Touché, Anastasia. “This is quite a performance, Mrs. Grey.”

“Well, I’m glad that even knocked up I’m entertaining.”

Fuck this! “I need a shower,” I grit between my teeth.

“And I’ve provided enough of a floor show.”

“It’s a mighty fine floor show,” I whisper, stepping forward. One more try. She steps back. No dice.

“Don’t.”