New York!
What if he was mugged, or worse, stabbed? Left for dead in the street?
Nausea rushes up my throat, but I take a deep breath, waiting until my husband answers the phone.
Except he doesn’t.
So, I call again.
Then I video call him, wondering if there’s something wrong with the audio call, because sometimes that happens, right?!
“Hello?”
Oh my fucking God.
I nearly scream when the image of my husband fills the screen, looking relatively uninjured and quite alive.
“Devon!” I say with a gasp, my shoulders slumping with relief. “Where are you?”
I scan his surroundings, trying to work out where he is. He’s in a bathroom, by the looks of it, but wait…what isthathanging on the wall behind him? Is that a fuckingbra?My eyes fall on a bottle of perfume next.
Wait a fucking minute.He’s in a woman’s room.
“Is thatperfume? And a bra?!”
Devon moves around to see what I’m seeing, and his phone shows a woman standing behind him in a silky robe, smirking at me, a woman I fuckingrecognize.
“Is that fucking Mila?!” My ears ring in protest, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t breathe around the fucking lump in my throat.
Devon reappears on the screen, but I can barely see him through my rage.
He’s with Mila Harris. It’s been at least eight years, but I’d recognize that bitch anywhere.
“Uh…yeah, it’s Mila. We bumped into each other last night,” Devon explains, his eyes wide.
No fucking shit, Devon.
“I can see that,” I snap. “What I want to know is why you’re in her fuckingbathroom, Devon!”
Thiscannotbe happening right now.
“Devon came over to walk with me to the conference!” Mila calls from behind my husband, and my blood boils.
She’s defending him to me. His wife? Hell no.
“Devon, what thefuck?”I demand, trying to remain calm, “She’s in her robe, andyoulook like you’ve just woken up. Oh my God.”
I hang up when the realization hits me.
My husband spent the night with Mila Harris.
Chapter Seven
DEVON
Shit, shit, fucking shit!
I’m in a living nightmare. This can’t be happening to me.
