Chapter 100 #18: He Cheated On Me
The elevator ride down from David’s office feels endless. My thighs are still slick beneath my dress, my lips swollen from taking him, my body humming with the orgasm he wrung out of me like it was nothing. I press my back against the mirrored wall and close my eyes, trying to breathe through the shame that’s clawing up my throat.
I let him touch me.
I let him bend me over his desk.
I begged for it.
And the second Maya’s name lit up his phone, the spell shattered like cheap glass.
I can still feel his fingers inside me, the way he curled them, the way he owned every sound I made. And I hate myself for how much I wanted it. I hate that even now, standing here alone in this metal box, my clit throbs at the memory.
“Stupid,” I mutter under my breath. “So incredibly stupid.”
The doors slide open on the lobby level. I force my legs to move, heels clicking across marble like I’m someone who has her shit together. I’m not. I’m a mess. A wet, furious, self-loathing mess.
Do you want to remember what it feels like, Doll?
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my forehead briefly against the cool metal wall.
No.
I absolutely do not.
I slide into the back of the waiting car and give the driver the address of a boutique hotel three blocks from home. I can’t go straight back to the penthouse smelling like David.
In the hotel bathroom I lock the door, turn the faucet to scalding, and stand under the spray until my skin turns pink. I scrub hard. Too hard. I want every trace of him gone. The soap smells like nothing. Safe and clinical.
I stare at my reflection in the fogged mirror. My eyes are bright, cheeks still flushed. I look like a woman who’s been thoroughly fucked. I look like a woman who wanted it.
I hate that woman.
He cheated on me.
All those years ago, when I was still grieving Lucian, when I was still trying to hold our marriage together with both hands, he was fucking Maya. He told me not to worry. He told me she was just a colleague. He told me I was the only one.
I believed him.
I was stupid.
And now he’s engaged to her, parading her on his arm at the gala. Kissing her for the cameras. And I still let him put his fingers inside me. I still moaned his name a bloody whore.
Never again.
I vow it to the mirror. Never again.
I’m done letting David Reid pull strings I thought I’d cut years ago.
I dry off, reapply my lipstick, and smooth my dress. I look almost normal. Almost like the woman Vincent married.
Almost.
Back in the car I text Vincent.
Lunch at Le Bernardin at 1? Just the three of us. I miss my family.
His reply comes fast.
I’d love that. Lucy will be thrilled. I’ll pick her up from school.
I lean my head against the window and close my eyes. This is what I need. A reminder of what I have. A reminder of why I chose this life.
The restaurant is busy but quiet in that expensive way. White tablecloths. Crystal. Waiters who move like they’ve been trained in ballet. Lucy is already bouncing in her seat when I arrive, wearing the little pink dress she picked out herself, hair in two neat braids.
“Mommy!” She launches herself at me the second I’m close enough.
I catch her, breathing in strawberry shampoo and sunshine. “Hey, baby girl. You look beautiful.”
Vincent stands, kisses my cheek. His lips are warm, familiar, and most of all... safe.
“You okay?” he asks quietly, eyes searching mine.
I nod. “Better now.”
We sit. Lucy chatters about school, about the new goldfish in the classroom tank, about how she’s going to draw him when we get home. Vincent watches her with that soft look he saves only for her. I watch him watching her, and something in my chest loosens.
After the main course, while Lucy is colouring on the children’s menu, I reach across the table and cover his hand with mine.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “About the other night.”
He turns his palm up, laces our fingers together. “We both said things we didn’t mean.”
“I meant some of them,” I admit. “But not the part where I made you feel like you’re not enough. You are. You’ve always been enough.”
His thumb strokes over my knuckles. “I got scared. I still am. Every time I see him near you–”
“I know.” I squeeze his hand. “I’m going to stay away from him. No more private meetings. No more direct calls. I’ll route everything through legal. I promise.”
Vincent studies me for a long moment. Then he nods. “Thank you.”
I lean across the table and kiss him gently. The kind of kiss that says I’m still here. I’m still yours.
Lucy looks up from her drawing. “Ewww... Are you guys kissing again?”
Vincent laughs. “All the time, sweetheart.”
She makes a face. “Gross.”
We finish lunch laughing. It’s just the kind of afternoon that reminds me why I chose this life. Why I stay.
After lunch we drive to Disneyland. It’s a spontaneous decision – Vincent suggested it, Lucy squealed, and I couldn’t say no. The park is crowded but magical in the way only Disney can be. Lucy rides every ride she’s tall enough for, claps for the parades, eats too much cotton candy. Vincent carries her on his shoulders when her legs get tired. I take photos.
By the time the sun sets, Lucy is asleep in the back seat, her sugar-crusted cheeks pressed against the window. Vincent’s hand rests on my thigh the whole drive home.
We pull into the garage, and the automatic lights come on.
That’s when we see the front door wide open.
The security panel beside it is dark. No blinking green light. No soft beep of the alarm.
Vincent’s hand tightens on the wheel. “Stay in the car.”
He’s out before I can argue, moving fast toward the entrance. I unbuckle Lucy, lift her sleeping body against my chest, feeling my heart slamming against my ribs.
Vincent disappears inside.
Seconds later he’s back. “Someone’s been here.”
I step out of the car, clutching Lucy tighter. “What?”
He takes her from me gently, cradles her against his shoulder. “The place is trashed. Everything. They went through drawers, closets, the safe. They broke the lock on my office door.”
I follow him inside.
The foyer is chaos. Paintings pulled off walls. Cushions slashed. Shards of glass from a broken vase crunch under my heels. The living room looks like a tornado hit it. Books thrown. Lamps overturned. Lucy’s toys scattered like casualties.
I stand in the middle of it, numb.
Vincent’s voice is low. “Whoever it is knew the alarm code. They disabled it without tripping anything.”
I look at him. “This wasn’t random.”
“No.” He adjusts Lucy in his arms, eyes scanning the destruction. “This was targeted.”
My stomach drops.
Someone was looking for something.
And they knew exactly where to look.