Chapter 5

I shoved his hand away, glaring at him with pure disgust.

"A standard dive lasts fifty minutes, Julian. I waited for two hours. Wasn't that enough?"

Dylan stepped inside right then, effortlessly inserting himself between Julian and me. He flashed Julian a sunny, challenging grin.

"Hey, Coach Julian, don't steal my clients. Didn't Miss Amber book you for tomorrow morning anyway?"

Julian’s face turned an ugly shade of red.

I gestured for Dylan to give us a minute, then silently packed my dry bag.

Julian stumbled over his words, trying to save face.

"She's just a student. She just booked a lot of private sessions, that's all."

"Cool," I said without looking at him.

If he had the guts to admit it, I might have respected him a little. But seeing him scramble like a cornered rat made him look pathetic.

My indifference set him off. He snapped, his voice rising in defensive anger.

"She’s practically a kid to me! Am I not allowed to do my job without you being paranoid? Fine, I won’t take any female clients from now on. Does that make you happy?!"

I scoffed, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

"Do whatever you want."

As I walked out of the shop, Dylan jogged after me. His hair was dripping wet, his puppy-dog eyes sparkling.

"Hey, Chloe! Can I get your SnapChat?"

I sighed, stopping in my tracks.

"I'm married. Julian is my husband."

Dylan didn't look surprised in the slightest. He just held his phone out, totally unfazed.

"Whoa, where’s your head at? I just meant for booking dives. You're great in the water."

His casual tone made me feel like I was overthinking things. But a woman always knows when a man’s interest isn't innocent.

Still, I couldn't be bothered to argue. I let him scan my code.

When I got home, I pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand. Buried beneath old files was a drafted divorce agreement. I picked up a pen and signed my name on the dotted line.

A woman's intuition is rarely wrong. The day I first felt Julian growing distant, I had printed that paper out.

Part of me had secretly hoped he would stumble upon it, freak out, and ask me what was wrong. I had imagined us breaking down, crying it out, and finding our way back to each other.

But he never opened that drawer. Our home had simply become a hotel where he slept. He stopped noticing the fresh flowers on the counter. He stopped talking to me.

People naturally crave sharing their lives. If a man isn't talking to you, it just means he's pouring his words out to someone else.

I couldn't lie to myself anymore.

I left the signed divorce papers on the kitchen island, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out the front door.