Page 41 of Angel

She loved punching my right shoulder whenever I said anything that ticked her off, most times when I was driving.

She figured I couldn’t just shift the car into park and walk away from her drama.

Even without her near me, I sometimes found myself leaning against the driver-side window out of habit.

Once, she took it to another level and pulled a pair of kitchen knives on me, in my own home.

I grabbed my phone to dial nine-one-one.

‘Call the cops, and I’ll make sure you spend the night in a cell,’ she hissed, eyes wild, high as a kite. ‘I’ll crack my head on the edge of the counter and tell them you beat me up.’

‘Honestly, jail sounds like a five-star hotel with guaranteed peace right now,’ I snarled at her, pressing call.

The police came, and thank fuck the female officer believed me, due to how high Eva was.

They took her away to calm down, and I ended up crashing at a hotel for two nights to clear my head.

Then she came crawling back, crying and begging for another chance, and like a sucker, I got back together with her.

Deep in my gut, I was well aware she was toxic as hell and that I was playing with fire.

When she hit thirty, she seemed to settle, burying the worst of her demons.

We got back together, and she established her roots in Nashville, blossoming into a couture stylist and online influencer.

I wasn’t a fan of her new career choice, but I never fought her on it.

I was just profoundly grateful she was my ride or die, my destined wife, the future mother of my kids.

Her brand took the city by storm, and she gained two million followers on Instagram and millions more on TikTok.

She hosted a fashion influencer podcast, Rose Without Thorns, where she shared fashion tips with her digital audience. She also founded an online clothing line, Rose & Bloom, which I helped bankroll.

I believed her challenges were over because she was building a business and a future with me.

Except that she fell apart.

Now I was in Capri, married to her sister and not dealing well with the pain, the burn, and the ashes of our flamed-out relationship.

Over the next few days in Capri, the fury of Evangeline’s betrayal had me in a chokehold.

I skipped meals, avoided Roxy, and remained holed up in my suite.

I buried my face in the pillows, roaring out my frustration until my throat was raw.

A few times, I tried burning off the negative energy by smashing out laps in the pool late at night, but my muscles were lead.

I tried reading, watching movies, and turning on music.

Nothing worked.

Within minutes, I was right back to brooding, picking at the scab of my ruined life while I strummed senseless sad chords on my guitar.

I hated how Evangeline’s betrayal this time was gutting me, as I fought the urge to down bottle after bottle of Jack.

In the past, whenever she ghosted me or relapsed, I always rebounded and took control of our lives again.

As brutal as each fall she took was, without fail, I bounced us back with savage possessiveness, utterly sold on our love.