Chapter One
Sophie
I used to believe in love, but love doesn't leave lipstick stains on shirts or lies on your anniversary.
I'd been doubting this for months now, but every time, I convinced myself I was overthinking. Andrew wouldn't cheat. He was my husband—the man who'd kissed my hand at the altar, who'd whispered vows about forever, and made me feel like the luckiest woman alive.
But then there were the small things, piling up like stones in my chest. The late nights at work. The lipstick stains on his shirts that he dismissed with a chuckle. The secretary he took to company events instead of me, claiming the dates were "strictly professional." I ignored it all, desperate to believe that our marriage wasn't going towards it's death.
On the day of our third anniversary, I tried to push the doubt aside again. He texted me, saying he'd be working late. "We'll celebrate this weekend, I promise," he wrote, as if that would fill the ache in my chest. But I couldn't let it go this time. I needed to see him. To prove my fears wrong.
So, I hailed a cab and told the driver to take me to his office.
When I got there, I stepped out, adjusted my coat and took deep breaths before walking in, clutching my purse like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
The lobby buzzed with activity, even at this hour, it was seven in the evening. I scanned the space until my eyes landed on him.
My heart skipped a beat before it sank.
Andrew stepped out of the elevator, his arm casually slung around her waist. Rose. His secretary.
Her laughter floated through the air like a slap to my face, and the way he leaned into her, whispering something that made her giggle, her hand brushing his chest as if he belonged to her... I felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me.
My pulse quickened, and I followed them, staying just far enough behind that they wouldn't notice me.
He led her out to his car, holding the door open like a gentleman. For me, the last time he did that was on our wedding day.
The cab I'd taken earlier was still idling by the curb, and I climbed in, my body trembling as I told the driver to follow his car.
My hands shook as I gripped my phone, contemplating calling him, but what would I say? The truth was right in front of me.
"Rough night?" the driver asked, his tone casual, unaware of the storm inside me.
I didn't answer.
The ride to the hotel felt endless, my mind replaying every moment of the past year. The nights he'd come home late, reeking of women perfume. The way he brushed me off when I tried to kiss him or initiate anything intimate, muttering that he was too tired. The icy distance that had crept into our marriage without me even realizing it.
By the time we reached the hotel, I felt hollow. Empty.
I watched from a distance as they walked into the lobby together, their hands brushing, their smiles wide. I followed them inside, my legs heavy, my heart screaming at me to turn back. But I couldn't. Not until I knew.
At the bar, they were the perfect picture of intimacy, one which had been missing in our marriage for over a year. She leaned into him, her fingers grazing his arm as she laughed at something he said. And he… Andrew smiled at her in a way I hadn't seen in years.
I stood there, frozen, until they left the bar and headed down a hallway. He lifted her in his hands as they passed the threshold and my eyes stung with tears. Andrew said he couldn't lift me, he called me heavy, yet he was here with a woman who obviously weighs more than me in his arms like it was nothing. I'd lost bunch of weigh after that, thinking it'd spice up our relationship, but nothing changed. He still didn't touch me.
My feet moved on their own, carrying me after them. They stopped at a room, and he kicked open the door, kissing her into the room. They were too engrossed in that to close the door all the way. I crept closer, peeking through the gap, and what I saw shattered me down to my soul.
Andrew pressed her against the bed, his lips devouring hers with a hunger I hadn't felt in so long. He kissed her with passion and vigor, his hands moving all over her body like he was trying to memorize every part of her. When Andrew kisses me, he does it so fast that I almost wouldn't feel it, but I didn't think much of it. I consoled myself with the lie that he was busy and was working for the family, but all these while, he was screwing his Secretary. He had been cheating on me. He confirmed my fears.
Damn me for believing a man like him, and changing myself for him.
What have I not done for him? I even had to leave my well-paying job because he believed it was the best, and wanted me to live stress-free and take care of our kids when we have one. A year later, he claimed I was being idle and needed to get something to do. Now, I had to deal with my ill-mannered, rude, Casanova CEO. We call him Mr. Weekly Warm Up, as he comes to the company with different women every week, and wouldn't mind fucking them even in my presence. I've had a tough time working with him as his secretary, but I couldn't leave because I didn't want to be called idle by my beloved husband.
How could I have let him deceive me and take over my life this way? I no longer lived for myself, but him, I did everything he wanted, but what did I get in return? Betrayal, deceit, lies!
I'd been so stupid. So blind. Too much in love, too trusting to see the truth when it had been staring at me right in the face.
Andrew's hands moved over her body with reverence, as if she were something precious.
I wanted to scream. To burst into the room and demand answers. But my legs wouldn't move, they were numb and heavy. I stood there, trembling, as he dropped to his knees, spreading her legs. He set her legs on his shoulder and pulled off her lace panties.
My husband sniffed Rose's panties before dipping it into his pocket, a sharp chuckle escaping his lips, his face glowing under the dim lights. He was having fun, I'd swear anywhere, even with my life that something like this wouldn't be fun to Andrew, but it was all lies. Things I didn't know about him were more than things I know.
Did I even know this man at all?
And then he did it.
The act he'd called disgusting, unhygienic, unmanly. The one he'd refused to do for me, the one I'd craved, wanted and even begged for.
He kissed her there, his head moving between her thighs as she moaned, her hands tangling in his hair. Tears blurred my vision, but I couldn't look away.
The slurpy sound of the movement of his mouth between her thighs sent my whole body shaking with a mixture of pain, anger and need. How could Andrew made me feel less of myself, made me feel like I was wrong with everything, like I was the problem when the problem was that he couldn't keep his balls in his pants.
He hadn't touched me in over a year. Not once. Yet here he was, worshiping her body like it was his salvation, eating her out like he had been starved.
When she cried out, shuddering beneath him, he rose and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He leaned over and kissed her, his voice low and tender. "You're so sweet. I can't believe I made you cum with that. I could do this to you all night."
Her laughter was soft and her voice slutty as I expected. "I'm nothing compared to you. You're amazing, Drew."
Drew. I thought I was the only one who called him that. But nothing was mine alone, nothing had ever been mine alone. My husband wasn't even mine alone.
"No," he murmured. "You're everything I need. Not like the ugly bitch waiting for me at home."
My stomach twisted. My leg wobbled. He was talking about me. I was the ugly bitch waiting for him at home. I'd been doing that since the last three years.
"She doesn't even try," he continued, his voice laced with disgust. "Tasteless and boring outfits, terrible in bed—I can't believe I've put up with her this long. But soon, I'll be done with her, and we can finally be together." He kissed her again. "Just you and me."
My eyes spun as his words hit me, my heart throbbing, his words felt like a double edged sword, piercing into my heart.
I turned and stumbled back down the hallway, tears streaming down my face. Ugly bitch? Terrible in bed? Boring outfits? He was the one who spoke down on my usual dresses and claimed a married woman shouldn't dress like that, so I changed my style. Now, my style is boring and I'm terrible in bed? Andrew has made a total fool out of me.
A waiter passed by with a tray of drinks, and desperate to put an end to the pain stabbing at my chest, I grabbed a glass and drained it in one gulp. The alcohol hit me fast, the burn spreading through my chest.
"Hey, that wasn't for you! It contains an aphrodisiac drug!" the waiter snapped. "Whatever you get after this, deal with it." He grunted and stormed away.
The world began to tilt almost immediately as the alcohol rushed to my head. My limbs felt heavy, my vision blurred, and my body... My body burned.
I stumbled through the lobby, my thoughts swirling. Was it the alcohol? The aphro… whatever he called it? Or was it the sight of Andrew with her, his hands on her, his mouth on her, his tongue between her legs?
Heat pooled in my stomach, a dull ache that made me press my thighs together as I forced my wobbly legs to move. Goosebumps grew all over my body as I stumbled around, my hands moving through the wall to guard my steps. My legs shook not just from the alcohol but from the burning sensation that pulsed through my veins, it was an unusual sense of longing, the intense urge I had learnt to bury for over a year when Andrew stopped touching me. It felt like my whole body was going to explode if that doesn't happen now. I wanted someone… anyone.
And then I crashed into someone.
Strong hands steadied me, and I looked up, blinking through the haze.
It was him. Grayson Steele. My boss. The Casanova CEO.