His Poisoned Love, My Shattered Heart

Dale Atkins POV:

The email contained a video and several images. My fingers hovered over the video file, my heart pounding in my chest. I clicked play, holding my breath.

It was security footage. I recognized the bar instantly. My blood ran cold as I watched myself, drunk and disoriented, leaning against the couch. Then Jetta appeared, her face a mask of false concern, her body pressing against mine. And then, the kiss. I had convinced myself it was a harmless peck, a drunken mistake. But the camera, from a detached, objective angle, showed the devastating truth. It was a long, passionate kiss, a deep betrayal.

My gut clenched. A wave of nausea washed over me, leaving me cold and trembling. I saw Faith then, standing in the doorway, her face utterly devoid of emotion, her eyes like dead coals. I watched Jetta approach her, heard Jetta' s cruel, venomous words, her taunts echoing in the sterile silence of the video. The insults, the accusations, the sheer malice in Jetta's voice – each word was a dagger twisting in my heart.

I doubled over, gasping for air, the pain in my chest unbearable. The housekeeper, who had been standing silently nearby, recoiled, thinking she had angered me further. She quickly tried to distance herself from Jetta. "Jetta ordered us not to tell you, sir!" she cried, her voice trembling. "She brainwashed us! She told us she was going to be the new mistress! She made us report your every move!" The words tumbled out of her, a desperate confession. "When Faith came back, Jetta made our lives hell. She made us slap Faith! She even made us give Faith a special allergy medicine, a huge dose! It was supposed to be lethal, but Faith was lucky, she made it out alive." She finished, tears streaming down her face. "And then Jetta punished us for messing up!"

My hands clenched into fists, trembling with a primal fury. Faith, in the hospital, her face pale, her body covered in angry welts. And I, the blind idiot, defending Jetta, accusing Faith. The shame, the guilt, the self-loathing burned through me, a raging inferno. I felt like I was being slowly tortured, Faith's disappointed eyes now a thousand tiny blades piercing my soul.

With a roar of pure frustration, I swept everything off my desk. "Faith is my wife!" I screamed, my voice raw with anguish. "My only wife! Are you all blind?!"

The housekeeper, cowering, mumbled an apology. "But sir," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "every time you came home, you argued with Faith. And you always smiled when you saw Jetta."

Her words landed with the weight of a sledgehammer. I fell silent, my mind reeling. She was right. I had been a fool. "It's my fault," I choked out, my voice thick with tears. "I hurt her." My body trembled, my teeth grinding, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth.

Just then, a light tap at the door. Jetta's soft voice, once a seductive murmur, now sounded sickeningly fake. "Dale? Are you there? I have something important to tell you."

The housekeeper, her eyes wide with fear, whispered, "She's here to drug you, sir. She wants to make you think you spent the night with her, then use it to blackmail you."

I laughed, a cold, humorless sound. My knuckles cracked. I had been so utterly blind. So easily manipulated. "Let her in," I said, my voice dangerously calm.