"What exactly are you trying to tell me?" I muster, my voice strained as I fight to hold back the tears threatening to betray me.
Hudson's piercing, icy blue eyes narrow, his jaw clenched in a tight expression of irritation. "You're not grasping the situation, Aza," he retorts, his voice loaded with condescension. "Caroline is back in town. Coco is back."
His words hit me like a freight train, knocking the wind out of me and leaving me gasping for air.
"How do you know?" I ask though I am sure I already know the answer. "How do you know she is back in town? Did you see her?"
Hudson strides across the expanse of our penthouse kitchen to where I am sitting. His movements are tense as he stands behind me, peering out onto the terrace. The night sky is illuminated with the brilliant glow of the city lights.
After a moment of silence, he whirls back to face me, a smirk drawing up the corners of his lips.
"Yes. I saw her last night," he admits, his voice flat and cold. His absence from our penthouse had become a norm, his late nights a predictable pattern that I had grown accustomed to, so last night's deviation from routine hadn't set off any alarms until now.
Caroline "Coco" Ashley, the woman Hudson had once yearned for, the one he'd incessantly held up as the standard against which I could never measure, the one he'd wanted to wed but had been rejected by—she was back. And I, I was merely her substitute for all the last ten years.
Drawing in a shaky breath, I struggle to maintain my composure. "You saw her? In public? Do you realize what this could mean if the press caught wind of it?"
I've long known I could never rival Coco with her affluence, allure, and effortless charm. Yet, I also know that Hudson couldn't afford a scandal. It would be a media frenzy if the papers got a whiff of the married Hudson Whitmore gallivanting about with the infamous Coco Ashley.
Hudson looms over me, his towering frame casting a shadow over mine. His eyes blaze with emotions as he meets my gaze.
"How stupid do you think I am?" he answers sharply.
"I am the one you married, the one that said yes," I counter, my voice trembling with a combination of fury and anguish. "You made vows to me, Hudson. Promised to love and honor me, for better or for worse."
Hudson's expression hardens, his features twisted with contempt. "Those vows were a mistake," he declares. "You knew the situation. You knew who I was."
"So, what? Coco reappears, and suddenly, you're running back to her? What makes you think she won't reject you again?" I push, unsure of what to say or how to put my emotions into the right words.
But instead of escalating, Hudson's glare relaxes, and he steps away, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. "I never loved you, Aza. You were a convenient diversion—a way to pass the time. You were my backup plan."
My eyes search his for any sign of the man I fell in love with, who swept me off my feet. But that man is gone.
"You fulfilled the part that I needed. You served your purpose, Aza. And now we are finished," he states impassively as he pours himself a scotch.
Hudson's words land like a blow to the gut, the pain as real as any physical injury. I've sacrificed everything for this man—my career, my dreams, my dignity—and in return, he's treated me as nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game of love and power.
I watch him swirl the two ice cubes in his crystal tumbler, our crystal tumbler, a wedding gift from my cousin, and ask, "What purpose was that exactly Hudson? What purpose did I fulfill?"
With an unimaginable casualness that I almost cannot bear, Hudson settles onto the chair at the eating nook with me, reaching for his tablet as if the matter is settled. But a fire ignites within me, burning away the remnants of my former complacency.
From the moment I met Hudson, I was in love. Ten years ago, he had been charming and captivating, seemingly as much in love with me as I was with him. He swept me off my feet, whisking me away on romantic getaways and showering me with affection.
I first heard the name Coco Ashley whispered when we started dating, but I was too in love to pay attention. The whispers got louder when our engagement was reported in the New York Times, and I finally mustered the nerve to question him.
"So, who is the Coco Ashely I keep hearing about," I asked, laying naked in his arms.
Hudson brushed a whisp of hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. He smiled and laughed a soothing chuckle. "We dated. I asked her to marry me. She said no. End of story."
But it wasn't the end of the story. The ghost of Coco Ashley loomed larger and larger, her presence a constant reminder of my inadequacy. Hudson would compare the clothes I bought to what Coco would wear, the food I would order, and my friends- all could never compare to Coco.
I don't know the exact moment when I realized that she was Hudson's great love, not me, but it was not long after that night. For ten years, I've been second best, but I refuse to play the role of backup any longer.
With every fiber of my being, I promise silently to fight back—to unleash the full force of my fury upon Hudson Whitmore and anyone else who dares to underestimate me.
I may have been knocked down, but I'll be damned if I don't rise from the ashes, stronger and more determined than ever before.
"I won't be your backup plan anymore, Hudson," I vow, my voice a whisper that echoes with newfound will.