Love's Cruel Contract, His Endless Regret
My husband was going to kill me. Not with a bullet, but with a text message I was never meant to see.
It popped up on the family iPad: "Last night was insane. Can't stop thinking about that hotel room. You owe me round two... ASAP." My first thought was our sixteen-year-old son, Marco. But an anonymous online forum quickly pointed out the holes in my theory—the expensive hotel, the transactional tone, and an eggplant emoji, a code for performance enhancers used by men my husband's age.
The truth hit me when I found a condom in his laundry—the same brand I’d found in our son’s room months ago. It was never Marco. It was my husband of twenty years, Lorenzo.
The betrayal deepened when I overheard him talking to our son. They laughed about my "episodes" and mocked me for being boring. Marco even told his father, "You should just leave her and be with Katia." Katia—his history tutor.
Their conspiracy, hatched within the walls of my own home, destroyed the last of my love for them.
Now, I've gathered my proof, and his biggest career achievement—the Innovator of the Year award gala—is next week. It's the perfect stage. He thinks I'll be the supportive wife on his arm, but he's wrong. I'm not just leaving him; I'm going to burn his world to the ground in front of everyone.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 3
Alessa POV:
The smell of garlic and rosemary met me the moment I walked back into the house. Lorenzo was in the kitchen, a frilly apron of mine tied over his expensive suit, playing the part of the concerned, doting husband. The performance was flawless.
"Alessa, thank God," he said, rushing to my side. He fussed over me, pouring a glass of my favorite red and guiding me to a chair before setting down a plate of spicy arrabbiata—my comfort food. "How are you feeling?"
I took a sip of the wine, the rich liquid tasted like ash in my mouth. "Better now that you're here."
A few minutes later, he excused himself to go check on Marco. I gave him a thirty-second head start before following, my soft-soled shoes making no sound on the marble staircase. I stopped just outside Marco's partially open bedroom door, melting into the shadows that pooled in the hallway.
"Hey, champ. Homework all done?" Lorenzo's voice was casual, effortless. He mentioned his "meeting" had been cut short.
"Good 'meeting'?" Marco asked. The sneer in the boy's voice was unmistakable.
Lorenzo chuckled—a low, conspiratorial sound that made my stomach clench. "Your mother had one of her episodes. You know how she gets."
"Is she okay?" Marco asked, the question little more than a bored afterthought.
"She's fine," Lorenzo said, his tone dismissive. "Just needs a bit of attention. How's my favorite tutor?"
"Katia's cool," Marco said. "Way better than that old-fashioned Mrs. Albright you hired last year."
I could practically hear the smug pride in Lorenzo's voice. "She's something special, isn't she?"
"Mom might be onto something, though," Marco warned, his tone shifting. "She was asking me weird questions about girls the other day. I think she saw the texts on the iPad."
"Don't worry about it," Lorenzo reassured him. "I let her think they were for you. A woman like your mother"—his voice dripped with condescension—"would rather believe her son is in trouble than face the truth about her perfect marriage."
"She's so easy to read," Marco scoffed. The words struck me like a physical blow. "You should just leave her and be with Katia."
Lorenzo made a half-hearted defense. "Now, Marco. She's a good woman. A good mother. She keeps the house running." There was no love in his words, only a cold assessment of my utility.
Marco snorted. "Katia would be a way cooler person to have around."
A wave of dizziness washed over me. I stumbled back from the door, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a gasp. I made it to the master bathroom just in time, the wine and the bitter taste of betrayal burning my throat as I retched into the toilet.
Lorenzo found me there moments later, kneeling on the cold floor. He was at my side in an instant, all feigned concern as his hands reached for me.
"Don't," I rasped, flinching away from his touch. "Don't you touch me."
He froze, his hands hovering in the air. "Alessa? What is it? What did I do?"
"I need to be alone," I said, my voice eerily calm.
For the first time I could remember, he looked genuinely afraid. Control was slipping from his grasp.
"I'm sorry," he stammered. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry." He started rambling, his voice laced with desperation. "Don't forget the Developer's Guild Gala is next Friday. It's the most important night of my career. They're giving me the Innovator of the Year award. I need you there. We can even make a toast... to our twenty years."
I let a single, calculated tear trace a path down my cheek. I looked up at him, my eyes wide with carefully manufactured pain. "Of course, Lorenzo. I'll be there."
Pure, unadulterated relief washed over his face. "That's my girl."
He moved to hug me, to seal our supposed reconciliation. I held up a hand, stopping him cold.
"Just... give me a few minutes."
He nodded, all too eager to respect my "fragile" state. He backed away slowly, closing the door softly behind him.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror. The hurt, fragile woman in the reflection was gone. In her place was someone else, her eyes as hard, cold, and brilliant as diamonds.
The stage was set.