Page 108 of The Betrayal

As much as my ex-wife, Chantelle, was Satan dressed up in a pretty pant suit, she wasn't all bad. She was a good suitor, family had money, she was career driven but still wanted a family someday. We worked well together, until we didn't. She was good for me, and I mean that wholly. She was.

But I somehow turned her into a vindictive, conniving bitch. She turned on me quicker than a raging bull with its matador. It didn't matter what I did to suppress her and give her everything she could ever dream of, nothing was enough for her. I never knew what I had done to turn her into a cold-hearted bitch, but it must have been something, and then I realized it was being with me.

I offered to give her children; I never made her choose her career over motherhood. I offered to be a stay-at-home dad, a full-time nanny, whatever she wanted. But then it dawned on me, she didn't want any of that. She didn't care about my feelings and my wants for my life on this planet. She only cared about herself. She agreed to marry me out of a need more than a want. She desired nothing more than a ring on her finger and a man who came from a good name. Mills.

Bertie Mills—my father—was a successful businessman. Shrewd and cold when needed, but it got him as far as it did. It wasn't until Chantelle left that I realized he and her orchestrated it all. Even worse, they were having an affair. I found out, promised to keep it from Kaleb, but not my mom. Kaleb didn't need to know the one man he idolized more than me—jokes—was our father. My brother would have bent over backwards for him if it meant getting a 'I’m proud of you'. It never did come. Even on his death bed. I followed through with my promise, and still to this day my brother never knew what really happened.

And for Chantelle, me outing them to my mother, the love of my life before Arizona, was the worst thing I could do. I ruined her life, ruined her chances of being happy. She would have been comfortable with me, but clearly comfortable wasn't enough. It wasn't until I signed those divorce papers years later that I realized I was the poison in her veins. She tolerated me, stayed with me because I didn't really give her a choice. It was bad enough that she brought shame to my family once, I wasn't going to allow her to do it again. But once my mom died, her wish was for me to make her as insufferably happy as I could, well, I had no reason to protect her anymore. I turned cold and callous with her, made her life hell in the end I suppose. And when I finally served her with divorce papers, she took them like a woman starved.

She cleaned me out, mostly. I tucked money away every now and then, and the house I live in was my parents. Tarnished with Betrayal but filled with so much love.

And since her, well, there hasn't been anyone.

Until Arizona.

I've fought with myself over the last couple of days as to whether I should message her or not. I always choose the latter. She needs space, we need space. It's been hundred miles per hour since she moved in. That doesn't mean I didn't still love her with every fiber inside my body.

If this is what love feels like, then I have never once been in love.

This is painful. It's messy. It isn't easy. But it's addicting, beautiful and scary. Loving her knocks the air from my lungs, but breathing without her is unbearable. My heart is shredded and my chest aches at the hollowness that now fills it. My heart began to heal, the crevices that were settled in so deep were slowly closing again and the weeds that buried beneath the surface we're now blossoming into flowers.

It was her.

My blossom.

Ugh, fuck, I missed her.

The house was too quiet without her.

Didn't like it.

Not one bit.

Hated it. Hate wasn't a strong enough word.

Loathed it.

Kicking my feet up onto the sofa, I lay and stare at the ceiling.

I needed to get to work. Couldn’t mope all day unfortunately.

After another ten minutes of staring at the boring as fuck white ceiling, I rolled myself up and off the sofa and sluggishly made my way to the car.

Over today already.

The drive is short to the office; always is. Mostly. All three cars are here. Not sure why I was hoping Titus wasn't going to be here.

Pulling into my spot, I inhale deeply then cut my engine. I hadn't seen Titus in a while. I have avoided him at every chance I have had. I can't keep lying to him. But, for her, I have to.

I mean, I can't tell him we're having twins because I'm not sure if they're mine.

Fuck’s sake man.

Rubbing my thumb on the underside of my gold wedding band, my heart aches.

Miss her.

Stupid amounts.