Something in his tone makes my blood turn cold. What could be worse than sixty thousand dollars of debt we can't afford? "I don't want to hear it."
"Jenna—"
"Whatever it is, I don't want to know."
But he's already leaning forward, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. "For the last two years, he's been having an affair with a bartender at the horse track. Her name is Melissa. She's thirty-two."
The world tilts sideways. The warm coffee shop suddenly feels suffocating, the cheerful chatter of other customers becoming a distant buzz. Melissa. The name echoes in my head like a curse.
"You're lying."
"Jenna—"
"You're making this up." I shoot to my feet, my chair scraping against the floor. "You're trying to manipulate me, drive me away from him so you can have me all to yourself."
"Why would I lie about something like this?"
"Because you're obsessed with me. Because you can't stand that I'm married, that I have a life that doesn't revolve around you." The words pour out of me, venomous and desperate. "You hired some sleazy private investigator to dig up dirt on my husband because you can't..." My words trail off, lost in confusion and shock.
His face goes pale. "That's not…”
The weight of my own words crashes down on me like a physical blow, and I suddenly see myself as if from outside—a frantic woman hurling accusations at someone who's only ever shown her kindness.
The shock of this revelation about Reeves has hit me so hard that I've completely lost control, lashing out wildly at the one person who's been nothing but gentle and caring toward me.
My chest tightens with shame as I look at Caine's stricken face, at the hurt I've just inflicted on this amazing, sweet man who only wants what's best for me. He didn't deserve that verbal assault. He didn't deserve to have his motives questioned so cruelly when all he's done is try to protect me from a truth that's clearly been eating him alive.
The coffee shop seems to spin around me as the full impact of what he's told me begins to sink in. Melissa. Thirty-two. Two years. The numbers arrange themselves in my mind like pieces of a horrible puzzle. My hands are shaking now, and I have to grip the edge of the table to steady myself.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I shouldn't take my anger out on you."
"It's fine… I know it's devastating news."
The pieces of my marriage suddenly rearrange themselves into a horrifying new picture, each memory taking on a sickening clarity that makes my stomach lurch.
All those "work trips" Reeves claimed he had to take—the sudden overnight runs to Boston, the weekend conferences that seemed to pop up out of nowhere, the way he'd come home exhausted and distant, smelling like unfamiliar soap and making excuses about networking events that ran late.
I remember how he'd shower immediately when he got home, how he'd be extra attentive afterward, bringing me flowers or my favorite coffee, as if he was trying to wash away his guilt with small gestures of affection. The phone calls he'd take outside, claiming they were from suppliers. The way he'd guard his phone like it contained state secrets, always keeping it face down on the table.
How could I have been so incredibly stupid and naive? How could I have swallowed every lie, every convenient excuse, every deflection? I prided myself on being observant, on reading people well from my years behind the bar, yet I couldn't see what was happening right under my own roof.
The signs were all there, glaring at me like neon warnings I was too trusting—too foolish—to notice.
And he has the absolute nerve to call me a whore? The hypocrisy burns through me like acid, making my hands clench into fists.
He's been living a double life for two years, while I've been struggling to keep our family together, workingmyself to exhaustion trying to save our failing business and care for our son. While I've been drowning in guilt over stolen moments with Caine, Reeves has been building an entire secret relationship with much more history than mine.
I slump into my chair. “I’m sorry, Caine, but this is a lot to take in."
He takes my hand in his. "I know… I'm sorry. And if you need to talk about it, I'm here."
The only person I want to talk to about this is Liza. I feel so stupid, and she's the only one who can make me feel better right now.
"I should go."
I grab my purse and walk toward the door, my vision blurring with unshed tears. Behind me, I hear him call my name, and I turn.
The expression on his face nearly stops me in my tracks. His eyes are filled with sorrow… sorrow for me. The sight of Caine Hall—this powerful, self-assured man who moves through the world with such quiet confidence—reduced to this state of helpless devastation makes something twist painfully inside me.
