Delicate Hearts (Hibiscus Hearts #5)

Chapter 1

It’s been a long day, and when my last client cancels, I breathe a sigh of relief. I can leave early and head home to the quietness of my house, where I can put my feet up and relax. I’ve been on my feet all day. That’s kind of how working as a masseuse is—standing, standing and more standing.

But don’t get me wrong. I love my job, and getting to help people is something I’ve always wanted to do. I take pride in knowing I can ease people’s pain or cramped muscles. Even if my husband, Sean, thinks my job is more of a hobby than a career.

Not everyone can be a world-famous rock star, touring constantly and making tons of money off albums, merchandise and everything else you can think of. Basically, his name alone brings in thousands of dollars a day.

That’s Sean.

Rock ‘n’ Roll money.

It’s the kind of money people dream about, and while I’d love to say he worked incredibly hard for it, that really isn’t the case. He was discovered almost immediately in a local bar in New York by a producer who signed him and the band to a deal that would rival any future deals for newcomers.

Again, the kind of money I’ve never even been able to imagine, but here I am.

I’ve gotten used to it, though, and I’ll admit, not having to think about how to pay bills or a mortgage has been nice.

Our luxury condo in New York, on the Upper East Side, was paid for in cash, but before that, I lived in a little studio that wasn’t much bigger than a postage stamp.

Actually, our closet is bigger than that place.

Thinking about it now, I can’t even believe I lived there.

How my life has changed.

I smile as I climb into the car, remembering that Sean and I are only a week away from our five-year wedding anniversary.

No one thought we’d last this long, including several of my friends, who have since disappeared from my life, claiming they can’t stand Sean. All I have left is my younger sister, Isla, and even she’s growing tired of Sean, spending less time with me than she used to.

He can be a little abrasive, and some may say arrogant, but he has a reason to be.

He has a face that people recognize instantly and a career that’s even more recognizable.

Every album the band has released has gone platinum.

Not to mention that Sean negotiated an amazing deal with several music streaming services, making it so we’re set for life, and there’s something incredibly soothing about that.

After Isla and I lost our parents in a car accident, I’ve been grappling with wanting to start a family, needing to replace what was lost. Sean and I talk about it, but he keeps putting it off. Telling me that touring with the band makes it nearly impossible to start a family.

I roll my eyes, letting out a sigh, my thoughts a random mess, something that I attribute to my job. Silence is common, and being alone with my thoughts is even more common.

I remind myself to call Isla and set up a date for brunch.

Despite her sourness toward Sean, I still make the effort to see her weekly.

Even if most of the time is spent telling me what a dick Sean is, but she doesn’t get it.

He’s stability, and that’s why when he proposed, I would have been a fool to say no.

Isla has always been more independent than I am, never relying on a guy to support her, but that’s where we’re different. Not that I rely on Sean to support me, I do have a job, but I guess I’ve just always needed someone to lean on.

Speaking of, I smile at the thought of coming home to him.

The smell of his cologne, the way he lounges on the couch with his feet crossed at the ankles, watching recordings of his tours, analyzing what he could do differently or how he could make himself look better.

Dinner will be waiting in the fridge for me when I get there, prepared by the personal chef he hires.

It’s easy.

About fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into the underground parking garage and taking the elevator up to our penthouse condo that overlooks the towering high-rises of the city, the clouds mingling with it all. And all I can think is that I’m damn lucky.

Sean and I ran into each other in a park one day not far from where my old apartment was.

I was out taking photographs of the changing leaves, and he mistook me for a paparazzi.

He lost his shit, yelling at me, snatching my camera and telling me to delete the pictures.

The whole interaction was crazy because I honestly had no idea who he was, but when the dust cleared, there was something charming about him— something that I’d never seen in guys I dated.

It almost felt like he asked me out because I had no idea who he was. Like he was testing me, waiting for me to call my friends, tell the media that I was going on a date with Sean English, but I didn’t. I never did, and here we are five years later.

Things took off pretty quickly from there, and even though I was only twenty-three, I didn’t think twice when he asked me to marry him only a year into dating. At twenty-four, we were walking down the aisle in a lavish ceremony that put some of the wealthiest celebrities to shame.

A girl’s dream wedding, if I do say so myself.

Despite the paparazzi helicopters flying overhead and having to have several people removed for trying to climb the fences to get that one shot.

But as the elevator door opens, I hear it, pausing only momentarily as the blood in my veins turns ice cold.

I stop again, listening, waiting for what I initially heard: the sound of voices, but not just any voices—my husband’s voice mingling with the moans of a female voice.

It’s heard well beyond the oversized front door, filling the hallway, and snaking itself into my ears. My heart stops beating for a split second.

But it can’t be.

Closing my eyes, I push my key into the lock, letting the door glide open with a laborious shove, hoping I’m just losing my mind. The sounds can’t be coming from my house. Not from my husband.

“Sean?” I call out, my words escaping on a shaky breath, but there’s no response.

My legs feel weak, my hands shaking as I make my way down the long hallway. The silence of the house is nearly deafening now, and worry stabs me in the chest.

The sounds were initially startling, but the silence is even worse. I stop to listen, to see if I hear anything more.

Closing my eyes, I wait. The house is only filled with its usual sounds: the heat running, the hum of the vents blowing, and I almost laugh at how completely ridiculous it was that I thought my husband was here with another woman.

I call out his name again, and this time, someone echoes my call. What seemed to be a dream, something fabricated in my mind, becomes all too real.

“Sean, fuck!” the voice yells, high-pitched and desperate. I take the stairs two at a time, knowing that what I’m about to walk in on will confirm my worst fears. What I’ve long heard rumors about, even if I tried to ignore them.

Before I even reach the bedroom, before I even see it with my own eyes, I hear the sound of flesh slapping. Each grunt and groan is louder and unmistakable.

I don’t even have to open the door to the bedroom—the bedroom I share with my husband—because it’s already open, and the scene unfolding in front of me makes my stomach churn. Bile rises up in my throat, and I will myself not to puke right here in front of this mess.

Grabbing the door frame, I hold myself up, afraid I might collapse as my knees go weak, my head a hazy, foggy disaster. I feel like I’m floating, and for a moment, I wonder if this is a dream—a nightmare, actually.

But it isn’t. This is my fucking reality right now.

My gasp is so loud that the woman who is currently under my husband hears it. Peering over Sean’s shoulder, she makes eye contact with me. Crystal blue eyes stare back at me, a stark contrast to my deep brown ones.

She pales instantly, her legs wrapped around him, falling to the sides, but he keeps pounding into her, unaware.

It feels like I stand here forever, watching this unfold in front of me.

Sean’s naked back is marred with jagged red lines, undoubtedly from her neon pink stiletto nails that seem more fitting for a stripper than the typical groupie Sean would go for.

But I guess I have no idea what his type is. It’s certainly not his own wife.

Groupies are everywhere when your husband is a rock star, but I always pushed those thoughts to the side, tried to ignore them because he chose me. He married me, not them, but it’s obvious that’s who this woman is.

The woman and my eyes are locked, and as much as I want to look away, I can’t. It’s like a trainwreck. You hear that saying a lot, but now it holds a totally different meaning for me.

This is a trainwreck, and it’s my life.

She slaps him on the back, wiggling from under him, but again, that idiot doesn’t realize what’s happening, and disgustingly, he growls out, “You want it rough, baby? Wanna play like you’re trying to get away from me?”

My face screws up into a nauseated scowl, and for a split second, I think I might vomit. Right here in the doorway of our bedroom, on the luxury white carpet that I used to say felt like rabbit fur under my feet. Now it feels like it’s on fire.

And then she shrieks out, the world catching up to her. Her scream vibrates my chest and bounces off the walls of the room.

“You told me she was working late!”

That’s what she says, and it plays over and over again in my head.

Sean whips around but doesn’t pull himself from inside her body. His dick is firmly rooted inside her vagina as his eyes go wide, taking me in.

“Qu…” he stutters, not even able to get my entire name out of his mouth. To be honest, I’m shocked he even remembers my name with how far he’s wedged inside this woman.

“What the fuck?” I scream, and while I have a million other things I’d love to say, this is all I’m able to get out, stupid and clichéd.

My emotions get the better of me, and the tears spill like rivers.

I hate that I’m crying in front of him, in front of her.

Letting them see me this way makes me sick.

“Quinn, baby,” Sean now croons, and if I felt like I was going to puke before, it has nothing on this. “It was a mistake. An accident.”

“An accident?” the blue-eyed groupie hisses. “So was it an accident the last twenty times we did this?” There’s an insulted tinge to her words, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Twenty times?

I don’t think Sean and I have done it twenty times in the last year, and certainly not to the extent I saw just now. She was moaning like a porn star, mouth open, hips moving, blonde hair splayed around her like a fucking halo. But she’s no angel.

If I’m being honest, I’ve never even had an orgasm with him, not a single one, and that thought hits me as the memory of him thrusting into her invades my brain again.

“Quinn, baby, let me explain,” he coos, and all it makes me want to do is punch him in the throat. I hate the sound of his voice and the way he says my name.

But more than all of that, I hate that the naysayers were right. Sean is a dick, and a liar and a cheater. And I married him.

I have a million questions, and as much as I want to ask them, there will be no point to it. Getting answers won’t solve anything, and it will probably just be lie after lie anyway.

The damage is done, and while I might have been clueless as fuck, I’m not a doormat, and I will not take back a cheater.

This is over.

So fucking over.

I leave the doorway, scrambling away, and back to where I dropped my purse on the table near the front door. I need to get out of here, away from him, from her, from all of this.

“Quinn, wait,” Sean calls, and I hate the way my name sounds on his lips, and I whip around to look at him.

There’s a towel wrapped around his waist, his chest is still red from what he was just doing, and there’s not a damn thing he can say that will convince me to stay.

“Baby,” he croons, and I wrinkle up my nose, shaking my head vehemently. “Don’t be like this. You know it was just a one-time thing, a mistake. I’ve been under so much stress, and this was—”

“I don’t want your excuses. She can have you, or my guess would be that it’s just not as exciting now that I know. All the sneaking around must have been so fucking fun. Such a turn-on wondering if you’ll get caught.”

Every word is laced with venom, a painful sting on my tongue, but it needs to be said. I need to get it all out because this will be the last time I speak to him. Not just that, it will be the last time I see him.

“It wasn’t like that,” Sean tries, and I let out a humorless laugh.

“I don’t care what it was like. It’s over.

This,” I pause, motioning between us, the tears still spilling, but my hurt is now replaced with rage, “will never happen again. And you will stay the hell away from me because if you don’t, I’m going to the media.

” My face is stoic now, and I feel so fucking powerful.

Looking down at my finger where my massive five-carat diamond sits, the nausea still bubbling at the surface, I slide it from my finger and whip it at his head as I walk out the door.