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I delete the text, block the number, and consider changing mine. Too many women know it when they should’ve taken their NDAs seriously.
They don’t matter anymore.
In fact, they never did.
The only woman who does is apparently mad at me.
26
ASPEN
I’m a logical person.
In fact, I’ve felt older than my actual age since I was a child for this reason.
I don’t let emotions sway me, not even when I was a hormonal teenager with an unexpected pregnancy and unresolved feelings.
My main goal has always been to survive, escape the hole I was born into, and lead a life that’s entirely different from my parents’.
I chose to practice law so no one would be given the chance to walk all over me. So I could beat the statistics about runaways and prove we can be accomplished.
Our origins don’t dictate who we are, our actions do.
I wanted to rewrite my history, to start anew and bury my past.
Little did I know that it would catch up to me. Or that I’d find myself the most illogical person I’ve ever met.
It’s been a week since the day I saw another woman’s text to Kingsley.
A whole week of struggling with the gloomy emotions that have no business attacking me.
During that week, I’ve attempted to pull away, but Kingsley is a damn beast who doesn’t allow me any alone time.
In the midst of dirty sex, spanking me, marking my flesh with his barbaric bites, I’ve had no time to catch my breath.
I hate that I’ve gotten used to his rough hand during sex and how it becomes gentle yet firm when he washes my hair, worshipping every strand. Or the way he feeds me special recipes he’s found specifically to help with my withdrawals.
Or how he drags me to his home gym to work on my stamina, and always, without a doubt, ends up fucking me mid-workout because he’s an animal who never gets enough.
But what I hate the most is that my vision about this whole thing is starting to blur.
Which is why I needed to gather what’s left of my will, summon my logical side, and remind myself that what I saw that day was nothing.
That he didn’t actually sleep with her.
Though I wasn’t doing a great job at convincing myself of that fact, considering that I had to physically struggle with not checking his phone.
I caved two nights ago and typed in his password while he was sleeping. The only reason I even know his password is because he’s so open about typing it in front of me as if he trusts me or something.
Well, he shouldn’t have, because I totally broke that trust. However, there was no trace of the text I saw. Her name, Britney, was not in his contacts either.
To other people, that could’ve been a good sign, but it pushed my suspicious meter up a notch, and I felt so disgusted with myself for snooping in his stuff that I had nausea all night long.
I’m not this person. I don’t get jealous, I don’t allow anyone to make me feel small, let alone play me.
So why do I feel like crying from frustration?
Releasing a long breath, I try to push the thought of Kingsley out of my head and lift my hand to hit the doorbell of Gwen’s house.
