My depression lingered, in spite of Graham’s extraordinary efforts to fix our marriage. He hadn’t laid a hand on me in weeks, but I sensed his growing anger. Anger at what? I had no idea. But it leaked through in clipped words and clenched fists when I asked one too many questions about simple things like his whereabouts.
We agreed my cancer treatment would be successful. I would go into remission and it would never return. Problem solved.
Evie never needed to know, and Ronin could let go of his guilt over keeping the secret.
As for our sex life … I wasn’t ready to revisit it. I wanted to trust Graham and forgive him, but I couldn’t. He’d made several attempts to come into my bedroom, acting sweet and seductive. It always ended with me clamming up, feeling repulsed by his touch. I didn’t say those words. Instead, I kept asking for a little more time.
He never forced himself on me, but I swear I saw it in his eyes … the monster teetering on the edge of control.
“Oh, hello Mrs. Porter.” Wendy, our maid glanced up from the floor where she worked to scrub black scuff marks. “I was told you were out of town.”
I smiled. “Change of plans.”
“Ah, well, it’s a rare day that I get to see you and Mr. Porter.”
“When did you see him?”
Graham left early every morning. Aside from our cook and his driver, the rest of the staff rarely saw him.
“He arrived about an hour ago. Went straight to his office. Said he wasn’t to be disturbed.”
“Oh. Okay.” I contemplated going upstairs. My basic instinct continued to be avoiding Graham. However, sometimes playing the offensive worked best. Tell him my meeting was rescheduled at the last minute. Avoid an unexpected visit to my room later with twenty questions. If he didn’t want to be disturbed, he’d most likely give me a quick, “Okay. Whatever.”
I grabbed for the gold lever knob to his office.
“Fuck yes … wider … take it all.” Graham’s husky voice bled through the door.
I froze before opening the door.
I knew that voice. I knew those words.
My stomach twisted. On the other side of the door my husband was cheating on me. I wasn’t sure what hurt the most—the betrayal or my lack of surprise. Confirmation of what I’d always suspected.
The tiny, barely audible voice in my head that represented what little bit of self-preservation I still possessed told me to go pack my bags and be a million miles down the road before he emerged from his office. Before they emerged from his office. The louder voice in my head convinced me to open the door, to be courageous enough to face reality so he couldn’t twist it, deny it.
I inched open the door, one, maybe two inches, my world ending as I held my breath. It wasn’t what I thought. In fact, I couldn’t make sense of the scene before me.
Graham leaned back in his desk chair, stroking himself—lips parted, gaze glued to the TV screen on the wall adjacent to his desk, above the fireplace.
He grunted the way he did as he approached an orgasm. Only, it wasn’t him in the chair. The sound came from the TV. My gaze shifted to the screen as he jerked off, oblivious to the cracked open door and my prying eyes.
The screen was fairly dark, except for the two people by the bed, dimly lit by a single nightstand light.
Her on her knees with her back to the camera. Graham with his dick in her mouth and his hand fisting her nearly white hair as he pumped into her. All I could think in that moment was, had I not known better, I could have thought it was Evelyn on her knees. The hair matched. The lithe figure. The way he looked at her.
“God … Evelyn … it’s always been you. Right, baby?”
No. NO!
She. Her. My friend nodded even as she gagged a little. Silent tears spilled down my cheeks, blurring the couple on the screen, blurring the live version of Graham, twisting his face as he ejaculated onto himself.
I didn’t try to close the cracked door. I just … ran. I ran past Wendy, up the stairs, and straight to my room where I locked my door and fell to my knees before I could make it to the chair or the bed.
The tears. I waited for more tears, but they didn’t form. I fell on my side and hugged my knees to my chest, staring unblinkingly at the wall. I wished Evie wouldn’t have found me in my car that day. I should have died. My life had meant nothing. I meant nothing to the people I allowed myself to believe loved me.
Ronin shouldn’t have saved me on that mountain.
Reaching toward my head, I clenched the wig in my hand and pulled it from my head. I wanted to have cancer.