Because it was my house. Not Chelsea’s. I had designed it my goddamn self. I made sure she would never be allowed to enjoy the fruits of my hard-earned labor.
Chelsea, finally realizing she couldn’t beguile me with her hands and mouth, switched the script. Tears filled her eyes as she hastily pulled her dress down over her head. She looked up at me through her thick, very fake lashes. She was a damn good actress; I’d give her that. Anyone else would have thought her heart was broken.
But I knew that was impossible. The bitch didn’t have a heart.
“I just want to make this right, Adam. I love you. You love me. We’ve built a life together. How can you throw all that away as if it means nothing?”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Her audaciousness was hysterical. I gripped her arm, careful not to hurt her—I didn’t abuse women; I wasn’t a monster—and walked her out of my bedroom, down the long, winding staircase, and to the front door. She sniffed dramatically the entire way, wiping tears from her eyes as if they meant something.
I reached down and picked up the high heels she had kicked off when she arrived, handed them to her, and opened the front door, maneuvering her out onto the porch.
“Aren’t you going to say something, Adam?” she demanded angrily when I wouldn’t respond.
I looked my soon to be ex-wife in the eye and thanked God that I had woken up. There was nothing genuine about her. Not her tears. Not her words. Not even her body. Everything was molded and shaped to seduce and machinate. Why had it taken me so long to see it?
Meg warned me. They all had. Why hadn’t I listened?
Suddenly I was so very tired. I couldn’t summon the energy to even be angry. “Goodbye, Chelsea,” I said and shut the door in her face before she could say anything else.
Chapter 2
Adam
I watched Chelsea from the window.
She stood there for a moment fuming, her shoes cradled to her chest. I noticed my elderly and very nosy neighbor, Mrs. Hamilton, standing in her front yard. She must have witnessed the whole thing. My throwing Chelsea out of my house would be all over the neighborhood by lunchtime.
Chelsea flicked her hair back and squared her shoulders before stomping down the driveway to her tiny red convertible parked behind my more modest black Mercedes. Our cars could be a symbol of our entire marriage. Hers flashy and showy, meant to get attention, and mine designed for safety and reliability. How did I ever think we could be compatible in the long term?
And even though she had been the one to shit all over her marriage, I still felt guilty. Because I wasn’t a completely heartless bastard. I didn’t like playing the part of the asshole. Screwing a woman and then showing her the door wasn’t my style. Even if she completely deserved it.
I saw Mrs. Hamilton call out a greeting to Chelsea, who staunchly ignored her in her haste to leave as quickly and dramatically as possible. She squealed her tires as she peeled down the quiet residential street.
I rubbed my forehead, feeling the stirrings of a headache that only Chelsea could cause. I checked my phone, groaning at the time. I quickly ran back upstairs and got dressed, grabbing my briefcase and keys as I ran out the door.
“Good morning, Adam,” Mrs. Hamilton called out as I rushed to my car.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hamilton,” I greeted her with a smile and wave.
“How are things?” she asked, her rheumy brown eyes darting in the direction Chelsea had just gone.
I gave her my most dazzling smile, the one that had gotten me my fair share of perks over the years. I ran a hand through my hair, making a mental note to get it cut. Lena complained that with my hair hanging shaggily in my face, I looked like a kid who had just graduated high school rather than the successful criminal defense attorney that I was.
“Things are great. How about you? Did you call Kyle to have him come around and clear up that brush in your backyard?”
Mrs. Hamilton waved away my comment. “I can’t have you spending your hard-earned money on my rotten tree. I’ll just wait and see if my Daniel can come over some time and cut it up for me.”Mrs. Hamilton’s son Daniel was a good-for-nothing piece of shit, and she and I both knew he barely visited or called, even now that her husband had passed away. The only time she heard from him was when he needed money. Given that he had a substantial gambling problem, I was only surprised she didn’t see him more often. I felt sorry for her, even if my sympathy would have chaffed her. I had taken it upon myself to look after her now that she lived alone.