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Instead of dropping my hand like I normally would in the face of her rejection, I scowl at her. My chest is rising and falling too rapidly. I increase the pressure on her nipple, but it’s negligible; just enough to make her wince without pulling away.
“You let him touch you. You let him do a helluva lot more than touch you.”
Her eyes go wide, and I have to give her credit because she smooths her expression in the next instant.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, stumbling out of my grasp.
“Don’t play stupid.” I cross my arms, otherwise, I might wrap my hands around her slender neck. “Tell me you didn’t think you could fuck another guy in our bed and get away with it.”
“How can you even think that of me?” Her tone is indignant, and if I hadn’t seen the evidence for myself, I might fall for her lie, because she’s that good of an actress.
“You sure as hell haven’t been fucking me, so who’s the lucky asshole, Monica?”
“No one!”
I withdraw my phone and enter the code to unlock it. Bringing up the photo of her with some unknown guy—because that fucker’s face is in complete shadow—I thrust it into her line of sight. “Pictures don’t lie.”
With a tilt of her chin, she stares down at the photo. “That’s you and me, Cash.” Now she’s glaring at me. “And I don’t appreciate you taking photos of us having sex. It’s tacky.”
“You haven’t let me touch you in months, so don’t even try it.” I stalk forward, hating how she doesn’t back down. “Do you want a divorce? Is that it?” I cringe to think of the fallout. Not only will it break my heart, but the dissolution of our marriage won’t be a private matter. Instead, it’ll be messy and in the public eye, bringing bad publicity to the merged companies of our families.
“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “A divorce is out of the question anyway.”
Her casual dismissal sucker punches me. She’s standing before me, a stoic shadow of herself, telling me she doesn’t want to end this. But it’s not because she loves me—her tone implies that much.
“The guy you’re fucking. Do you love him?” My question hangs between us, going unanswered as I study this woman who’s become a stranger. She should be begging for forgiveness. Instead, her mouth forms a stubborn line that’s all too familiar.
I grit my teeth. “You’re not going to deny it?”
“I’m not dignifying it with an explanation.” She gestures at the phone I’m grasping in my hand—just as I’m grasping at the last thread of our marriage. “You can believe whatever you want, but you said it yourself. Pictures don’t lie.”
I grab her by the nape, and the wine glass slips from her fingers. The jolting sound of shattering glass is a precursor to the beginning of the end. It twists in my gut with a freshly sharpened blade.
“Why are you doing this to us?” I bring my face dangerously close to hers. “God knows I love you, Monica. But if you’re gonna screw around on me, I’m done.”
She yanks free of my hold. “Things aren’t that simple.”
“No, they’re very simple. We’re either in this together one-hundred percent, or we’re not.” Family expectations and mergers be damned, because I can’t go on playing these mind games with her anymore.
“If you think I’ll let you walk away without a fight, you’re wrong.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Take it however you like, Cash. But I know how much this company means to you and your family.” She folds her arms over her chest. “You’re stuck in this marriage as much as I am. We both knew it going in.”
“The only difference is I loved you!” I launch my cell at the wall of glass, watching it ricochet before dropping to the floor with a thud. The window remains untainted by my rage, but the phone is another story. It’s lying on the marble, bruised and beaten. Undoubtedly broken.
Thick silence stretches between us. I clench my fists, my chest heaving while she stands poised in front of me.
As if she didn’t just smash my heart into tiny shards.
“I’m tired,” she says, sidestepping the puddle of wine and broken glass at our feet. She climbs the stairs, and I watch her go, my mouth agape. Her indifference is confusing. It’s fucking killing me, and I don’t know what else to do but cling to the rope on which she’s got me dangling.
