Payson
The waterfrom the showerhead sprays down on me as I lean my head against the cold tile. My heart is broken. Shattered into what feels like a million little pieces. How could Kraig do this to me? Most importantly, how did I not see him for what he is? The rumors weren’t just rumors. I wanted so hard to believe that they were all lies. That what he told me was the truth. Was he even a lawyer? Or was that some fake cover up to make me believe that his “business trips” were actually real?
The images of them are stuck in my mind, playing on a steady loop that won’t shut off. At first, I only saw movement where there shouldn’t have been. Then his voice. Speaking in that low, familiar tone. My stomach twisted, the contents threatening to come back as I stood there and watched. Instead of forcing myself to turn around and run. Then I saw her. Not just anyone.Vivian. I wish I could erase the way he looked at her. Like I never mattered at all. Disposable, temporary.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. It’s implanted there.
It’s haunting me.
I grab the loofah I brought in the shower with me, suds it up, and scrub away at my skin. I feel disgusting. Nasty. There is no telling how many women he’s slept with since me. It’s probably why he never wanted to do anything apart from the handful of times. I try to recall if we ever not used a condom. As far as I remember we always did, because he didn’t want to risk anything happening, like kids. Come to think of it, he never made me finish like he made sure she did. When he used to ask me if I did, I always said yes, but the truth is he never could make me see stars. Not like how it’s described in the movies or those spicy romance novels I love to read.
A knock sounds on the door, and I look up from my brightly red skin, which is now sore to the touch. Ashton’s face pops in from behind the door as she eases her way inside.
“Are you okay?” she asks, ever so softly. I shrug my shoulders. How do I explain to my best friend, who has the perfect husband, that I am falling apart inside, but on the other hand I am thankful and a bit relieved?
“I’m fine,” I answer, turning off the water and grabbing a towel, wrapping it around my body and stepping out of the shower. “Is it weird to say I’m sort of relieved?”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “No, of course not. I would be worried if you weren’t.”
“Does that mean I didn’t love him? Not in the way I should have since we were engaged,” I ask.
“Pay, you loved the idea of being engaged. You loved the freedom he represented. But can you ask yourself when the last time you were happy was? I mean truly happy. Not worrying about where he was, or why he didn’t answer. When was the last time you went out and had fun just for you?”
“The party a few weeks ago,” I say.
She gives me that look I have seen many times. The yeah sure whatever you tell yourself to sleep better at night, look. But she’s right. That wasn’t for me, it was a business event. Even though my little blue friend had to help me later that evening, from being all too worked up from the intensity of his stare on me all night. My knees threaten to buckle as I try not to think about it. About him. But my brain doesn’t let me forget the sinful way I pictured his face as I found my release. All he was doing was watching me from across the room, and he had my body reacting in a way I never felt before.
“You’re right,” I tell her, running the brush through my wet locks. “I wasn’t in love with him. I was in love with who I thought I was with him.”
“I always am. Now get dressed. I need to go find the one I call my husband and you need to get you a couple drinks and play a few rounds. Trust me, you won’t be worried about that sleezy snake after a few drinks.”
I smile slightly at her then finish getting ready to head downstairs.
CHAPTER 18
Ledgar
My office is tucked justabove the casino, where you can look out the slanted windows to my right and see everything that is happening. The floor hums the way it always does. Lights flashing, people scattering from table to table. The sound of money being lost to the machines. Strangers clapping and cheering in small, fleeting moments at the winners.
I stop hearing any of it the moment she steps onto the floor. She walks with confidence alongside her friend, but you can tell something is broken in her. The elegance she portrayed the last time I saw her is gone. She stands near the blackjack table awkwardly. Like she doesn’t belong here, when she helped design it. Most come here greedy and desperate, chasing the high of winning. She isn’t. She just stands there, looking lost. My jaw tightens the longer I watch her through the glass of the window one hand braced against the frame above my head. It’s the same look she had in the elevator, but worse somehow. Like what she witnessed has settled in. Though from what I can seeon the outside she looks…a bit dangerous. Her style has an edge to it that screams don’t touch me.
I’ve watched people break before me more times than I can count. But watching her break, it hits different. Because I knew the truth. I knew what she would find when she opened that door. And I let her open it anyway. I never wanted to see her break. At least not in the way it happened. I lean against the wall slightly, letting out a slow breath. My eyes follow her every movement below me as they make their way to the slot machines. Her fingers brush over the edge of one of the slot machines, like she’s searching for something to focus on. Like a reminder that this isn’t a dream. That she is still standing and breathing and looking fucking breathtaking. My gaze roams for a second, then finds her again. And that’s all I can take. I press a button on my desk for payout.
“Row three, slot 9,” I say, my voice even. “Adjust the payout for ten million.” There’s a pause on the other end.
“...sir?” I don’t repeat myself.
“Adjust it.”
Another moment passes, then a, “Yes, sir.”
I watch as her friend guides her, carefully, not pushing, just nudging her like it’s something my forbidden ace wanted to do all along, to the exact machine I adjusted the payout for. It’s a hot one. And unusual that it’s empty. She hesitates before sitting on the stool, glancing at her friend like she’s unsure. Like she is trying to tell her she changed her mind and is going back to the room. But she won’t. Not right now. Not when she needs something, anything, to take her mind away from it. Her hand wraps around the lever. Then, she pulls it. The alarm sounds, the sound louder than any other machine around her. Lights flash franticly over her. People turn to look. Some even start to applaud and cheer, while others try to make their way over to her. I smirk as her eyes widen, confusion and disbelief writtenon her face as her friend next to her tries to comfort her. But she doesn’t need comfort, she needs space. Space to breathe without strangers hovering. She looks up to big glass windows, as if sensing someone up here had something to do with it, though she’d be right. I’m not worried about her seeing me. It’s one-way glass. I can see everything, but no one can see in.
And for the first time since she left my penthouse, she smiles. It’s small, barely noticeable, but I see it. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like she knows who is responsible. Not yet. I can manipulate the outcome again in a second if I choose to. But I won’t. Because for a brief second, the look on her face, knowing I was able to break into the weight of her betrayal; that’s worth more than anything. “She’s the winner tonight.”
And just like that, the decision is made. The words leave my lips before I have a chance to talk myself out of it. “Have her escorted to my office,” I add, turning back to my desk. “Tell them it’s protocol.”
“What about her friend?”
