What would make him believe.
A cold, sick realization settles deep in my bones.
Paul didn’t just want me.
He wanted to destroy us. Me and Benji. Our marriage. Our love.
And he succeeded—the motherfucker.
Tears blur my vision, hot and furious as they spill over.
My hands curl into fists, nails biting into my palms as something sharp and angry rises beneath the hurt.
“How could you?” I choke out, though he’s not here to hear it.
How could you twist me into something I’m not?
How could you take the one person I love and turn him against me?
And the worst part?
Benji believed it.
Of course he did.
Why wouldn’t he?
It looks real.
It sounds real.
It feels real enough to shatter everything we built.
And just like that—the man who was supposed to know me better than anyone else in this world—didn’t know me at all.
I called him.
Sure, I did.
Over and over again.
Left messages. Sent texts. Emails.
Begging him to listen.
To let me explain.
Nothing.
Silence.
Cold. Final. Absolute.
My husband—the man I loved more than anything—didn’t even give me the chance to defend myself.
And then, somehow, things got worse.
Paul was gone.
