Chapter 33 33. The Cost of Betrayal
Jacob’s POV
Emilio met my gaze for a brief moment, then turned away. That single act felt more violating than anything else that had happened. The hurt struck clean and sharp, piercing straight through me and lodging deep in my chest. The pain did not linger, it hardened instantly into a cold, fierce determination. Emilio would be held accountable; this had far beyond revenge. It became a necessity to force him to face the wreckage he helped create.
As for Adrienne and me, It was finished, irrevocably so. The flawless version of her I had preserved in my mind was decayed at its core and letting it go felt like a brutal amputation. that left my heart in ruins but finally free.
After Emilio left, the room descended into a tomb-quiet silence, broken only by the sounds of Adrienne cleaning. The soft clatter of the empty tray, the gentle scrape of cups as she placed them in the dish bucket by the door. She was meticulously tidying up the evidence of their shared, forbidden intimacy.
She had no idea I was standing directly behind her, a statue of pure fury.
As she turned, her face was met by my clenched fist.
The impact was hard enough to send her stumbling back, losing her balance instantly. I was consumed with rage, I couldn’t speak. I kicked her as she struggled on the ground, her frantic pleas that it was a "mistake”, and her useless sobs made me angrier. She realized the truth the moment my fist hit her face. And she finally understood that I had seen everything.
"I am so sorry, Jacob."
"You fking whre." I slapped her again.
"Emilio, he forced me."
Her sobs echoed around us, desperate and hollow. She was on her knees before me, tears streamed down her cheeks in a waterfall of despair. My mind reeling: If I hadn't witnessed it with my own eyes, I might have believed her. But I saw her. She was the one who moved, who straddled him. He simply went along with it, but she initiated it.
I had watched her subtle glances, her calculated efforts to get his attention. The horrifying moments that my eyes witnessed could never look at her the same way again. She shamelessly climbed onto him, thinking I was unconscious. And now, her pathetic act was ridiculous, and her lack of honor finalized it.
I couldn't control my escalating anger. If I stayed in that room any longer, II would definitely kill her. I had to get out.
I left immediately and went to my neighbor, an older gentleman, to consume more alcohol. But no amount of alcohol could drown the calm the raging fire burning in my chest. The liquor only made my thoughts clearer. Adrienne had been planned this and purposely wanted me drunk. The calculated nature of her deception made it harder to accept.
I came back hours later to find her sleeping in my bed. She took a bath, good for her. My mind kept replaying the same record over and over, now, I must teach her a lesson, a lesson she couldn't forget. I stripped off my pants and climbed onto the bed directly on top of her. She startled awake and her hands pushed feebly against my chest, a panicked reaction I suspected to the sudden, overpowering stench of alcohol and sweat. But in my mind, she was rejecting me and it was an unforgivable act, deemed a harsh punishment. How dare she? After what she did, how dare she refuse me?
I grabbed her and hauled her toward me. Then, with a chilling, focused intent, I placed my hand around her neck and pressed. I wanted to silence her, to physically suffocate the air from her, to make her feel at least a fraction of the pain she had inflicted upon me.
I could tell she was screaming, desperate and scared, but the sound was only a silent, panicked rasp against the relentless pressure on her throat. She scratched blindly at my arm as I entered her, her sharp nails useless against my fury, but I was too high on the toxic mix of adrenaline and liquor to feel anything but a burning rage. I pressed even harder on her neck, completely ignoring the fear contorting her face. I was consumed with the need for retribution.
Then, suddenly her hands began caressing my face, a feeble attempt to soothe the fury she had created. She stopped fighting and opened her legs wider, a signal of surrender, of cooperating. The gesture finally broke through my rage, then I realized I was hurting her. I removed my hand from her neck. She fought to steady her breathing, her body now mechanically matching my movements.
I knew she was trying to placate me, but the constant image of her on Emilio's lap, offering him that same desperate, false pleasure, was irrevocably engraved in my mind. How shameless? Did she honestly believe our relationship could survive this level of deception? There was no pleasure for me now, nothing like we shared before. This was merely a volatile, satisfaction. Alcohol usually intensified my desires, but now my heart felt only a vast of aching pain. There was nothing in my there to feel. I was completely done with her.
I drove into her with a brutal, unforgiving force, as if I could shatter the memory of her from my own bones. The terror that finally dawned in her eyes, mingling with a deep resignation, was the only confirmation I needed that we were finished. Her body moved beneath mine, a desperate attempt to match my savage rhythm, a grotesque final act in the charade of our intimacy. Pity was a language I no longer spoke. My sole purpose was to make her feel the crushing weight of my agony, and she took it in silence. A penance for every lie she told.
Release brought no relief, only the hollow echo of what I'd just done. The emptiness remained, a cavernous void where my heart used to be. All that was left was a single, burning imperative: I needed her gone, scrubbed from my memory, from my life as if she had never existed.
"Get the fck out!" I screamed, the words raw and guttural.
"Are we not going to talk about what happened?" she whispered, clinging to the last shred of their past.
"GET OUT!"
"It's late... can I just leave in the morning?"
I turned to fully look at her, and I saw the truth of my own soul staring back at me from the moisture of her wide, frightened eyes. A stranger filled with a deathly emptiness. I was showing her a side of myself I never knew existed, and the realization terrified me. It made one thing crystal clear: I wanted absolutely nothing to do with her. I didn't care how late it was; I wanted her out of my sight.
She got up, her movements slow and heavy. She moved to the shelf, grabbed a candle, and lit it from the small lamp's flame. Without another word, without a backward glance, she walked out into the silent night.