Chapter 35
\[Two Days To The Party\]
~CINDY’S POV~
“Girl, I’m dead serious, you gotta face Henry already,” Vicky snapped from behind the counter, her voice sharp as she leaned forward, hands planted on her hips.
“He’s hauntin’ this place like a damn ghost. Third time today, and don’t even get me started on the past few days.”
She rolled her eyes, tossing her ponytail as she spotted him through the café’s glass door, his slumped figure trudging toward Lily’s.
I yanked my baseball cap lower, adjusting my oversized sunglasses, and spun my chair so my back was to the entrance.
The bookshop was cozy, all warm wood tables and shelves stuffed with colorful spines, the air thick with coffee and that musty smell of old books.
A couple of customers flipped through novels nearby, and the espresso machine hissed in the background.
I grabbed my cappuccino, the foam tickling my lip as I took a quick sip.
“Not happening, babe,” I shot back, keeping my voice low.
“Henry’s all emotional manipulation and whining. Drains the life outta me. I’d rather sit here playing spy than hear one more word from that man’s mouth.”
Vicky made a gagging sound, throwing her head back like she was about to puke.
“Ugh, I’m over seein’ his mopey face every damn day. Sick of actin’ like I’m worried about your ‘mysterious disappearance.’ Just talk to him, tell him you’re done already!”
I set my cup down, fingers tracing the warm rim, and smirked.
“Done? Oh, I’m nowhere near done. This is just the start, Vic. Emotional warfare’s in full swing, and the financial takedown’s next. I wanna be front row when he crumbles.”
She let out a low whistle, one brow shooting up.
“Damn, girl. Hell hath no fury, huh? Alright, let’s see if I can shoo him off this time. He’s a pain in my ass.”
She straightened, brushing her hands on her apron as the doorbell chimed.
“He’s here,” she whispered, quick and sharp, before plastering on that fake-ass, supportive-bestie smile that always made me wanna gag.
“Hey, Henry,” she cooed, leaning over the counter, all soft and sweet like she was his damn therapist.
“Hi, Vicky,” Henry muttered, his voice heavy as he dropped into a chair right behind me.
I could see him from the corner of my eye through my sunglasses—slumped shoulders, dark circles under his eyes, like he was carrying the whole world’s misery.
It hit me with a twisted kind of joy.
Just a month ago, I was the one falling apart, and now?
Seeing the tables flip so fast felt so damn good.
Vicky leaned forward, elbows on the counter, her voice dripping with fake concern.
“God, Henry, you look rough.”
He gave a weak chuckle, rubbing his neck. “Yeah, you could say that. She’s been on my mind, Vicky. Not seeing her, not being able to tell her how I feel…it’s eating me up so bad. And knowing she’s with that bastard, doing God-knows-what? It’s killing me.”
“Aww,” Vicky purred, tilting her head, but I could practically hear the evil cackle she was holding back.
She was good at this, playing him like a fiddle.
“You don’t gotta torture yourself like this,” she said, voice all honey.
“Look, I know you’re all torn up over her, Henry, but you gotta toughen up if you’re gonna win her back. She’s your wife, man, that’s ride-or-die forever. You need to pull it together to steal her back from Damian’s sorry ass.”
I stifled a giggle, biting my lip, loving how Vicky played him like a fiddle.
“And speakin’ of Damian, don’t you waste one more second stressin’ over that fool. He’s just a fling, darlin’, a little plaything to get her through the itch, nothin’ more.”
“You think?” His voice perked up, hopeful, and I bit my lip to keep from snorting.
“For sure,” Vicky said, tossing her hair. “Guys like him? They don’t stick around. Coffee or tea?”
“Black coffee, iced,” he said, voice flat. “Need something to calm me down.”
“Oh, that’s where Monica comes in, huh?” Vicky giggled, pouring his drink, her eyes flicking my way with a sly grin.
This bitch is fishing for dirt.
I tilted my head just enough to catch her eye, flashing a quick wink through my glasses before turning back to my cappuccino, hiding my smirk behind the cup.
“Monica?” Henry scoffed, his voice sharp. “She’s not helping.”
Vicky raised a brow, sliding his coffee across the counter.
“What, she’s not making things better?”
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s on me about divorcing Cindy, but she doesn’t get it. I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Vicky pressed, leaning closer, her voice teasing but pointed.
He went quiet, the kind of silence that hangs heavy. Then he sighed, deep and broken.
“Before, I couldn’t, even though I desperately wanted to. But now, after everything that’s happened lately, I finally understand myself. “
I paused.
“It’s not that I didn’t love Cindy,” his voice cracked, and I felt my whole body tense, fist curling tight around my cup.
“I just didn’t love her enough to accept her flaws.”