Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Stretched across the sectional in our living room, I stare at the rustic brick fireplace that usually brings me comfort. The artificial candles are off, and the room feels so small. I feel numb and hollow.
"Focus on your family," I whisper to myself, shuffling through the stack of bills. "Forget Caine. Forget everything."
But his words echo in my head: I’m in love with you, Jenna. And worse, the memory of his body against mine, the way he touched me—slowly and tenderly like I was something precious. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the images.
"Stop it," I scold myself. "You're married. You have Liam. You have commitments.”
I fire up my laptop and force myself to concentrate on the spreadsheet in front of me, adding up our monthly expenses. The numbers don't lie—we started with fifty thousand dollars, and now only thirty remains. My stomach drops.
"Reeves?" I call out, my voice sharper than intended.
He appears in the doorway, defensive before I've even spoken. "What?"
"There's twenty thousand missing. Where did it go?"
"Bills," he says, avoiding my gaze. "The hall, the house. Shit is expensive, babe."
"Not that expensive! That much? In three weeks?" I press. "Show me the receipts."
His face darkens. "You don't trust me now?"
"Julie saw you at the tracks. She told me all about it."
"That cunt of a sister of yours is full of shit. Yeah, maybe I was there. Why the fuck is that her business?"
My mouth drops. Julie isn't my favorite person in the world, but calling her a cunt? She's my freaking sister. How dare him.
"Don't speak about Julie that way."
The silence between us stretches taut, dangerous.
"You're spying on me?" he finally says, voice low.
"You promised you'd stop gambling."
"I'm trying to fix things!" he shouts. “You have no idea what it’s like to be me, to have to deal with this pressure I’m under.”
And before I can cover my ears, he's thrown the decorative vase from the side table. It shatters against the wall, shards scattering across our grey shag carpet. It was something I picked up at the thrift store, cheap and of no sentimental value, but still, I'm pissed.
The man needs to control his emotions. I'm speechless, afraid to speak up. I really don't want this scene to escalate.
He storms out, the front door slamming behind him with such force that the glass panes in our bay window rattle.
Through the window, I watch him stomp across our patchy front lawn to his pickup, kicking an empty flowerpot on his way.
He doesn't even look back as he peels out of the driveway, tires spitting gravel that pings against the side of our little yellow house.
The silence he leaves behind is deafening.
I sink onto the window seat, my fingers tracing the worn cushion where I used to spend peaceful afternoons reading and drawing before life got so complicated, before money problems and gambling and lies started eating away at everything we'd built together.
Conflicting emotions rage inside me, each one fighting for dominance until I feel physically ill.
The weight of everything—Reeves’s outburst, our financial troubles, my own guilt—sits like a stone in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I press my palm against my chest, trying to ease the pressure building there, but it's no use.
This isn't something I can contain anymore.
I need to purge these toxic thoughts before they poison me completely. I need someone who will listen without judgment, someone who might help me make sense of the mess my life has become. The silence of our little home presses in on me, emphasizing how utterly alone I feel in this moment.
My fingers trace the edge of the window seat cushion, worn thin in spots from years of use. I used to sit here and dream about our future, about the life Reeves and I would build. Now I'm sitting here wondering if that life is salvageable at all.
I grab my phone and pray to God that Liza is available. As the phone rings, I eagerly await her voice, and when she finally answers, a heavy weight is lifted.
Ten minutes later, we sit on my sectional, Oliver curled between us as I spill everything—the photo session, Caine's confession, the sex, Reeves’s gambling, our crumbling finances.
Liza listens attentively, her expression shifting between deep concern and utter shock as each revelation tumbles from my lips.
She doesn't interrupt once, just nods occasionally, her eyes widening—especially when I tell her what happened in Caine's office and the way my body responded to him despite my guilt.
When I finally fall silent, my throat raw and my eyes burning with unshed tears. She reaches across the worn cushion of my sectional and takes my trembling hands in hers. Her touch is warm and steady, an anchor in the storm I've created.
"I don't even know who I am anymore," I confess.
Liza squeezes my hand gently, her thumb tracing small circles on my palm in that soothing way she's had since I first met her a few years back—we'd clicked instantly—true soul mates. The silence between us isn't awkward; it's the quiet of someone carefully choosing their words.
"Jenna," she says gently, "I think it's time to take a really hard look at your life. Not just your marriage, but what you actually want. What kind of future are you building for yourself and Liam?”
I stare out at the yard through the window where my beautiful stained glass used to be, replaced now with a plain, clear pane, and wonder if anything in my life can ever be fixed.
I stare at my phone for a long time before dialling, my thumb hovering over his number. What am I doing?
I need to talk to him. I need to consider him as not only a lover, but a friend, and perhaps even more. Liza has been a great confidante, but I ache for him. I can't stop thinking about him.
When Caine answers, my words spill out before I can stop them.
"You've completely messed up my life," I blurt. "Everything was fine before you came along with your money and your... everything."
There's a pause, and I immediately regret my outburst.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "That's not fair. I made my own choices. I'm the one who said yes every step of the way."
"Jenna." His voice comes through the line like a warm blanket, slow and measured. I close my eyes, picturing him on the other end. "You're right to be upset."
I sink onto my bed, clutching the phone tighter. I hadn't expected him to agree with me.
"I've been thinking about us," he continues.
"About what I've done. The arrangement, the photos, everything that happened in my office.
" He pauses, and I hear him take a deep breath.
"I realize now that I put you in a precarious position.
I pursued you, knowing you were married, knowing you needed money. "
My throat tightens. I want to defend him, to say I wanted it too, but I let him continue.
"That wasn't fair of me. I saw something I wanted, and I used every advantage I had to get it. My money, my position... I essentially seduced you into a situation that's now causing you pain."
I press my palm against my forehead, emotions swirling. Part of me wants to absolve him, but another part knows he's right.
"You have a family," he says. "A life that existed long before I came along. And I..." His voice catches slightly. "I selfishly inserted myself into that without considering the consequences for you."
I watch Oliver intensely staring at a small spider on the wall—the kitten Caine gave us, another intrusion of his presence into our home.
"I didn't exactly fight you off," I point out.
"You shouldn't have had to. I should have respected your marriage from the beginning."
I close my eyes again. "What are we doing, Caine? What is this?"
"I don't know," he admits, his voice softer now. "I just know that I can't stop thinking about you. But I also know that I've complicated your life in ways that aren't fair."
The house is quiet around me. Liam is at school. Reeves is at the hall. I'm alone with Caine's voice and the weight of our choices.
"What happens now?" I ask.
"That's up to you," he says. "I won't pressure you anymore. No more proposals, no more money. If you want to walk away, I'll understand."
But that's the problem. I don't want to walk away. And I think he knows it.
"Can I come over?" I ask, the words tumbling from my lips before I can catch them.
They hang in the silence, surprising me with their boldness. My heart hammers against my ribs as I wait for his response, fingers nervously twisting the loose thread on my worn jeans.
The rational part of my brain screams that this is exactly what I shouldn't be doing, but something deeper, something I've been trying to suppress, has taken control.
I stare at Oliver, who's now batting playfully at his own reflection in the window, completely oblivious to the way my world is tilting on its axis with just those four simple words.
A part of me feels justified. If Reeves weren't such a total asshole these days, maybe I wouldn't be so tempted to run off to another man's place.
"Are you sure that's a wise idea, Jenna… you were just saying—"
"Reeves is being an asshole."
"Well, I… yes, if you want… you're certainly welcome here anytime." His voice is so gentle, it makes my chest ache. "Just to talk. No funny business."
I laugh, but it comes out brittle. "Well, that's guaranteed anyway. I'm on my period."
"Thank God for that," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "Glad to hear I didn't knock you up. One less complication."
"Don't worry, I'm on the pill. I'm not completely reckless."
“I know you aren’t,” he says. “I know you’re a good girl.”
I smile. I am a good girl. “You know I’ve only been with two men.”
“Really?!” he blurts, clearly surprised.
“I know… shocking, right?”
“Yes, and very honorable too.”
I laugh. “I know I’m a freak.”
“No… not at all. You’re something special... seriously.”
“Well, anyway… I’m coming over,” I announce, “just to talk.”
“That sounds perfect.”
Yes, it does.