Shattered Dreams

Chapter 1

AVA

NOW

“ I don't like it."

I peer down at my daughter's huge green eyes, inherited from her father, now filled with defiance. She folds her arms to reinforce her point, chin jutting forward.

"Poppy—"

She shakes her head, refusing to let me finish. "It hurts ." A pout forms on her lips as I kneel to meet her gaze. She mirrors Roman so perfectly—I still can't believe she's five years old with the attitude of a teenager.

"Even Princess Amara of the Sun Palace brushes her teeth twice a day."

She gasps. "Even with all her royal tiger duties?"

I nod as I hold up the toothbrush for her inspection.

She frowns. "Can't Daddy do it?"

"Pop, you know Daddy won't be back until late." I sigh, wondering what excuse I can give this time. Hanging out with his buddies feels insufficient, but that's the truth.

"Can I wait until then?" Poppy asks with hope dancing in her eyes.

"No, but you can have a story if you let me brush your teeth now."

She nods with enthusiasm, finally opening her mouth.

My mind wanders to Roman, and I purse my lips. I should understand that he’s busy—he plays for the NFL, after all. But it cuts deep when his free time isn't spent here. With his family. I swallow against the lump forming in my throat, wondering what went wrong between us.

"What story would you like?" I ask as Poppy claps her hands with excitement.

I need to focus on her. I can contemplate my crumbling marriage later.

I follow her from her ensuite—yes, her ensuite—to her room, a bright constellation of blues, pinks, whites, and glittery unicorns. Her room embodies everything I dreamed of as a child—but my dad wasn't an NFL player. He was barely present.

Positive tonight, aren't we, Ava?

Poppy falls to her knees beside her giant bookcase, skimming her finger along the sparkly titles until she sighs with frustration.

"Mommy, I love all of them. I can't choose."

I laugh as I perch on the bed, watching her dark curls fall over her shoulder as she tilts her head to see the titles more clearly.

"Nope. I can’t choose," she repeats firmly.

Imagine only having to worry about what story to read.

"Fine, I'll choose one. Hop into bed."

Poppy grins as I select The Mermaid and the Sea King .

I settle into the chair beside her window as she crawls onto my lap.

She smells of childhood and ice cream, even after brushing her teeth.

Her scent still calms me, even when tension threatens to snap me in two.

I kiss her head and inhale her peach shampoo, pushing away the nagging thought that Roman is missing this.

He misses everything.

But he never used to , my memories remind me, conjuring images of happier times: us unable to keep our hands off each other, the joy of discovering Poppy's impending arrival, the way he would tell me I was his everything when others claimed he could never be tamed.

The man who told me I was his endgame. I remember him chasing me through sprinklers at 2 a.m., his championship ring catching the streetlights as he tackled me into the grass, soaking wet and laughing like children. We haven't laughed like that in years.

"Mommy, when can I see Uncle Kieron?" Poppy asks, interrupting my thoughts.

My heart lurches as I stare into her eyes. We both adore my best friend—though we haven't seen him in months. It hurts that my daughter asks about him every night before bed.

"I don't know, honey. I'll text him later. He's busy with his writing now."

Poppy's eyes grow wide. "Is he going to write me a book? He promised."

I grin, reminding myself to feed Kieron's ego to fulfil my little girl's wish.

"Can you text him now? Please ?"

"If I do, will you listen to the story?" I lean forward to retrieve my phone from my jeans pocket.

"Yes, yes, I promise!" Poppy extends her pinkie finger—her ultimate pledge. "Pinkie promise!"

I laugh as I glance at my screen, freezing when I see the missed calls from Roman.

Eleven missed calls.

I frown as I send him a text.

He replies instantly.

I'm on my way home. Will explain when I get there. Don't answer the door or the phone to any reporters until I'm there, OK?

Reporters?

I look up to see Poppy watching me expectantly.

" Well ?" Poppy asks, her arms crossed.

Impatient little madam.

A dread fills my gut, the kind that’s impossible to ignore. My fingers tremble as I text Kieron about Poppy wanting him to write her a story.

"I've texted him, princess. Now into bed." My voice wavers as I try to calm my racing heart, intuition screaming that something is wrong.

Very wrong.

What’s happened?

I place my phone on Poppy's windowsill and begin to read, my mouth forming words without comprehension, my mind consumed with the urgency in Roman's message.

Why can't I answer any calls?

Fuck!

I continue reading despite the sinking feeling, then glance up to see Poppy drifting off to sleep, her dreams full of tiaras, glass carriages, and happily ever after.

I smile, remembering her calling Roman and me her favourite royal couple.

As my eyes drift to my phone, I see it flashing incessantly.

This is bad.

I kiss Poppy's head, tucking the covers around her small frame. I watch her momentarily before reaching for my phone.

Missed calls: Unknown.

Reporters already? What did you do, Roman?

I bite my lip as I leave Poppy's room, my palm clammy as I close her door. The front door opens, and my heart leaps into my throat.

He's home. This is it.

I lean over the stair rail to see the dark hair and broad shoulders of my husband as he enters the foyer, eyes scanning for me.

"Ava?" His voice sounds strained, tense.

"I'm here! I've just put Poppy down," I whisper as I descend the stairs, heart in my throat.

Be strong. Everything will be fine. Probably NFL business.

But intuition tells me otherwise, and panic rises as I ask, "What's going on?"

His gaze drops instantly as he swallows, shoulders slumping.

God, it's bad.

He struggles to meet my eyes as he licks his lips, reaching for my hands. "Is Poppy?—"

"Asleep," I say, my voice strained. I pull my hands away. " Again . She wanted you to brush her teeth."

"Babe, I'm sorry. I...I need to talk to you. Can we go to the den?"

He avoids my eyes, and anxiety grips me. Nausea washes over me as I follow him to the den, where a canvas of infant Poppy watches over us. I sit on the edge of the white leather couch, remembering countless passionate moments before Poppy arrived.

Now we barely sit together.

"What's going on?" I push my hair back as he closes his eyes, his breath unsteady.

I try to prepare myself, but nothing prepares me for what follows.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Ava," he whispers, eyes glistening with sadness.

Oh no.

"What for? What have you done?" My lips move, but I barely feel it.

I know what he’s going to say, but I refuse to believe it.

Eight years together, six married.

Impossible.

"I've been having..." His voice catches as he curses, reaching for my hands while I stare in silence, my thoughts burning like wildfire.

No. No, no, no. Not this.

I'd imagined gambling debts, steroids, training fights, suspensions—a thousand scenarios. Not this.

I barely hear him through the sudden ringing in my ears, but I wait for him to finish the sentence that will forever alter our lives.

"I've been having an affair."