Not then, and not even now that I knew the truth.
But they’d violated my trust.My heart wasn’t just breaking—it was fucking shattered, and each beat ground the stupid organ into dust a little more.
Kane and Ryder might love me, but they sure as hell didn’t respect me.They never had.Not that it mattered at this point.Their wedding announcements were all I needed to know they weren’t ever coming home to me again.
And if they tried, they wouldn’t find me waiting like the faithful dog they’d trained me to be.Yipping and wagging her tail, eager and begging for any scrap of affection they would indulgently shower on me.
Our work schedules being aligned wasn’t kismet.They’d manipulated every last detail.They’d steered me into positions that made me think they loved me, that everything had a reason, and that reason was our love.Even the guilt that had lingered in the back of my mind from not choosing one man over the other was something they had used to their advantage.
All those days they couldn’t be with me, because of work or any other bullshit excuses they collaborated on to feed me, weren’t due to business obligations.It was spent with their families—their motherfucking fiancées.Playing happy couples in public, looking adoringly at the gorgeous women on their arms.Flashing their smuggest smiles for the cameras.
I knew all of that now.One overheard conversation on my way home from work, someone talking about the Bianchi sisters on the bus in a voice a little too loud to be considered sober.Something about the sisters having a double wedding and how extravagant the dresses were reportedly going to be.Societal nonsense about people I would never meet.I’d tuned them out until I heard a name that caught my attention.
Kane Brennan.
Snorting a laugh, I’d shaken my head, convinced the gossiping woman was reading too much fake news.
Only…
I couldn’t help wondering, wanting to prove that the woman on the bus was too drunk to understand what she was even talking about.There was no connection.Kane’s name said in the same sentence as a Bianchi sister?It would have been hilarious if my stomach had been in knots.
No, I must have missed something while ignoring the obnoxious woman.They were probably talking about someone else, notmyKane Brennan.I shoved the thought aside, ignoring the nausea and the itch at the back of my mind that whispered with doubt.
How many other Kane Brennans were there in this city?Probably a handful at least.Hundreds, if not thousands, in the world itself.It wasn’t my Kane.It couldn’t be.
But my nausea wouldn’t settle, my mind wouldn’t stop wondering.I knew if I didn’t at least look, I’d be a distracted mess at work, which meant lives would be on the line.
So, I did a name search—a little guilty for breaking my promise to never search either of my men online—expecting to find a dozen other men pop up on my screen.Men with different middle names, birthdates, and residency appeared.Below the first few social media links for some of them were pictures.
One was ofmyKane.
With Raffaella Bianchi.
It took everything inside me not to puke then and there on that bus, all over the drunk woman who had inadvertently upended my world.With shaking fingers, I’d clicked the first picture and was redirected to an article.And another.That article had a great picture waiting for me at the bottom.
Kane stood beside Raffaella, who was beside her sister, the two women beaming at the camera, showing off their glittering, almost identical rings.With Ryder right beside Amadea, his hand at her waist.
While the article itself was newer, the date under the photo indicated it was several years old.
From there, it was impossible not to continue searching.
And goddamn them, I’d gotten plenty of intel with just a few swipes of my fingers on my phone screen.Photos of date nights, some separate with just Ryder and Amadea, or just Kane and Raffaella.Others with the four of them.Out to dinner on Friday nights.Almost every fucking Friday.Upper-class events nearly every Saturday.Galas, charity fundraisers, where everyone wore suits and dresses worth ten thousand dollars at a minimum.
Photos of Ryder with his arm around Amadea’s waist, or Kane leaning in close to Raffaella, brushing a sweet kiss over her forehead or cheek before guiding her through a crowd.Always with those damn smiles on their faces, the ones I thought were mine alone.
Another lie.
One site after another had taken me down a never-ending rabbit hole, dating back to mere days after Ryder had aged out of the group home.I tracked the dates on each article I discovered, lining them up to the Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays that my guys were never available.
“I’m sorry, little star.We have to work this weekend,” Ryder would tell me with his blue eyes full of regret and longing.They were always so busy on the weekends, they couldn’t spend the night with me.
And I was the fool who believed him without a moment of hesitation, zero doubt that he and Kane were staying faithful.
Those Sundays that were just Ryder and me, Kane was normally out with his parents and Raffaella.All those Mondays that Ryder was supposedly taking meetings, giving me one-on-one time with Kane, he would be at some country club thing with Amadea and her father.
Tuesdays were reserved for the three of us.No matter what, they were snuggled in bed with me before midnight.
But those Wednesday nights they would cancel on me, they were both withthem—their fiancées.Planning their motherfucking wedding.
