“Whoa, whoa, whoa… are you implying that he may have been sleeping around on you?” I don’t answer, but he speaks up again. “Look, Colette,” he sighs into the phone. “I know Griffin is a bastard. I know you deserve someone better than him, but what I also know is that he would never cheat on you. He’d be a fool to do something like that—especially with the hold your family has on him. He owes you… for life. And I’m not just saying that. That’s basically what the contract says.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” I groan, plopping down on the arm of my recliner.

“But to answer your questions, no he doesn’t smell sweet. He’s dressed clean, like he’s been at work.”

“Yeah… only, I’m sure he hasn’t.” I look at my painting again, the lonely child above the abstract blue clouds.

The child reminds me of Bradley. I swallow hard, marching for my door and storming out to get to my bedroom.

“Just calm down,” he coos to me. “Take a few deep breaths. Griffin will be home soon. I’m sure.” He’s quiet for a moment. I hear some chattering in the background. He must be in the hallway. “I miss you, Colette. You owe me some explaining about the other morning.”

“What is there to explain?” I snap, but only because I’m not in the mood to talk about us. Something is up with Griffin, and whether he wants to help me or not, I’m going to find out.

“Well… the way you just ran out. Made me seem like I did something wrong.” His voice is hesitant now. That’s another one of his downfalls. He loses his backbone so quickly when I snap on him.

“I told you I had things to do. Look, keep an eye on Griffin, will you? Tell me if he seems… I don’t know… too chipper or something?”

“Yeah,” he responds dryly. “I’ll do that.” And then he hangs up, and normally it would bug me, but not this time.

This time I don’t care. I sit in the bedroom for a while, listening to the clock ticking on the east wall, the minutes rolling by.

I am wasting my time on this. I should just go back to my study and pretend nothing is happening. I should act like I don’t care what the hell is keeping Griffin away from home.

But who am I fooling?

I spring off the bed, power walking down the hallway and meeting at the large, polished mahogany door. The door that is the only thing keeping me out of Griffin’s office.

It’s normally locked because he hates when Arianna cleans and organizes things that he’ll need later but can’t find right away, but when I jiggle the handle, it’s not.

I look around, hearing Arianna downstairs vacuuming the living room. She’s busy, and Griffin is away. I’m sure he won’t be home for another few hours. Nothing is stopping me.

I sneak in, shutting the door behind me quietly and staring ahead at his large black desk. His Mac sits on top of the desk, unoccupied. Unused. He hasn’t used it in a while.

Tired of stalling, I walk towards the desk and wiggle the mouse, tapping the keyboard, and to my complete surprise, it’s not shut off. It’s unlocked. I slip into the chair behind the desk, clicking through his files first.

Maybe there is something big with work. Something holding him up, like a big deal or stock exchange. Hell, I don’t know how this stuff works.

Most of what I see is business stuff, shit that I don’t really care about. Like the annual fall banquet that I will be forced to attend.

I scroll through his website. Other than that deal he was talking about with Quarter or something, nothing is new. I continue scrolling, but it is then that a woman catches my eyes.

A beautiful brunette woman.

Gorgeous, really. Bold, blue eyes, slender body, beautiful legs and great fucking heels. It’s not that she bothers me, her looks I mean. I’ve always been the less attractive one of Beth and me.

It’s not that she’s so stunning I should feel intimidated. It’s the fact that she stands so closely to Griffin in the photo of him shaking hands with some men at the agreement meeting. It’s the caption that makes my insides freeze and stop beating.

The caption reads: CEO of Boyd Enterprises, Griffin Boyd, lands a great deal with Quarter Banking in San Diego, California.

I should be proud of him for this. He’s proud of his work, happy about something so big. But… I’m not. Because that woman is looking right at him, and standing shoulder to shoulder.

I’m certain that’s admiration in her eyes. There is nothing that mentions her. No name, but she looks important to his job. He never told me he was working with a woman… he never said anything about it. I’m sure I would remember such a thing.

That’s not the only thing taking me completely off guard—what’s making my heart double in speed. It’s the fact that he was in San Diego with her… during that rainy night when he couldn’t get home. He stayed, and he didn’t respond to my rant of a text message.

He was probably with her… celebrating. Drinking… and we all know drinking leads to anonymous actions.

My throat hurts when I swallow. I click through his website, hoping I don’t see her anymore and, luckily, I don’t.

I should stop, but I can’t.

Like a fool, I venture through his emails and when I come across the name Angelina Clark… my heart skids to a stop. Angelina… Angel. A coincidence, I think, that is until I read the emails from just last night.

Intimate emails.

Hotel name and room number type of emails.

Slowly, I back my face away from the screen, unable to blink, unable to speak. I knew he didn’t go to work, but I was hoping deep down that he hadn’t run off and done something stupid either.

“Ah, my sweet fucking angel.”

My sweet.

Fucking.

Angel.

He said those words to me… only, he wasn’t picturing me. It was her… it was all her. So this is why he’s been acting strange. This is why he’s stopped caring so much.

Those words haunt me, making my brain rattle, my pulse stutter. I lift a hand and cover my mouth, and the first thing that hits me is rage. I close out the tabs and the Internet, leaving it the way it was, and I have the urge to destroy his office, break everything in sight… but I don’t.

That will leave too much proof.

Instead, I storm back out, and I’m glad our living room is so big and that Arianna is still vacuuming because when I make it back into my study, the first thing I grab is the canvas. I slam it across my knee, tossing the remains at the nearest wall.

Heatedly, I snatch books off the shelf, throw paintbrushes at the window, snap the legs of my easel in half. By the time I’m done, my hands are bleeding, and my body is on fucking fire.

I pant unevenly, seething, blood dripping on the rug as I focus on the window ahead. I wish I could jump out right now, end it all. I wish that things were like before. I wish I didn’t give a fuck… but I do.

God, I hate my emotions.

Why does this keep happening?

Why can’t I just stop feeling?

Why can’t I just stay cold…?

My husband… my sweet, adoring, patient husband of seven years has cheated on me for the first time.

The first time, I know, because he’s never shown signs like this. He’s never lost interest in me so quickly, no matter how much I’ve turned him down, and even when he does he always tries again. I always give enough to keep him interested and entertained.

Griffin… my god, I’ve lost Griffin. My Griffin.

After all these years, he’s gone.

Off fucking another woman behind my back

A stunning woman named Angelina Clark.

And what’s worse is that I can’t tell anyone… I can’t because this… this will destroy my existence. This will end my life as I know it. This is fucking insane… but I know what to do.

Two can play at this game.

I will not lose Griffin to that bitch.

I will have to die first before that even comes close to happening.