Chapter 4
AVA
" M OMMY!"
I wake with a jolt to see Poppy bouncing at the bottom of my bed, her face lit up with excitement. My eyes drag open, swollen and tired, my body heavy.
She's got chocolate smeared across her mouth, her curls wild, her grin impossibly wide.
"Poppy, why have you got chocolate all over your mouth?" I ask, panic fluttering in my chest—visions of her raiding the kitchen while I lay comatose upstairs.
"Aunt Jane said I could have chocolate spread on toast," she states proudly, plopping onto her knees as I reach for her hands to steady her.
"Hello, love."
I glance up at my aunt's soft voice. She's standing in the doorway holding a steaming cup of coffee, her gaze gentle and sad. My throat tightens, tears prickling instantly as she crosses the room and sets the mug on the nightstand before pulling me into her arms.
"Are you sad, Mommy? Do you want chocolate spread on toast too?"
Poppy's little fingers curl into mine as I pull her close, breathing her in, fighting the desperate ache in my chest. I'd hoped last night was a nightmare. That I'd wake up to find none of it was real. But Aunt Jane's presence here tells me otherwise.
Her eyes meet mine as she strokes my hair. Then she turns to Poppy, smoothing her curls.
"Go see Uncle Scott in the kitchen, sweetheart. He's taking you to stay with him and Aunt Amanda for the weekend."
Poppy claps her hands, squealing with excitement before hopping off the bed and sprinting down the hall, calling for my cousin, Scott.
The fucking shame . The humiliation.
"How did you know?" I rasp, my lungs aching like I've been holding my breath for hours.
Aunt Jane presses the coffee into my hands. I sip it, flinching at the sweetness.
"You need the sugar. It's good for shock," she murmurs, then quietly adds, "It's all over the news."
Of course, it is—that’s the only reason Roman bothered to tell me.
The bastard.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I don't want to open them or face the world outside this room.
Aunt Jane squeezes my shoulder, her sigh heavy with sadness.
"I can't imagine how you feel, Ava. We're all here for you. We all...we all believed..." Her words trail off, lost somewhere between anger and heartbreak.
"That he'd changed," I finish flatly. "That he was a good husband. Me too."
We sit in silence until I hear a knock at the front door. Scott's voice rumbles downstairs, then another voice floats up.
"Where is she?"
Shannon. My best friend.
Moments later she's bursting into the room, her arms outstretched, gathering me against her. I bury my face into her curls, the familiar scent of her perfume cracking something inside me.
"I'm here, sweetheart. I've got you."
"I need to know everything , Shannon," I whisper.
She pulls back, cupping my face. "Then maybe you should hear it from him."
"I don't want to speak to him . I don't give a shit."
Her eyes glisten with tears as she glances at Aunt Jane. "He won't leave until you do. He's here. Scott's already laid into him."
My stomach twists. "Roman’s here ?"
Shannon grimaces. "Waiting in the kitchen."
" Fuck ."
I haul myself out of bed, forcing a shower, scrubbing at my skin like I can wash the marriage and deceit off me. By the time I trudge downstairs, Poppy is bouncing at the door with Scott.
"Hey, baby," I say as she runs into my arms, wrapping me tight.
"Scott said I can have chocolate spread every day!"
I glance up at Scott, grateful for him.
"Aunt Amanda's excited," he chuckles. "Come on, kiddo. Go say bye to Daddy."
The word Daddy is a slap—a harsh reminder that he exists, that he’s really here.
Poppy scurries toward the kitchen. I watch her go, bile rising as I imagine Roman crouching down, his arms open, that same cologne rubbing off on my baby.
Scott's hands settle on my shoulders. "Poppy can stay with us for as long as you need her to. I swear, Ava—I could kill?—"
"Ready!" Poppy sings, skipping back to us.
Scott swallows his words, smiling tightly as he takes her hand.
"Be a good girl, okay? I love you," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She beams at me before waving to Aunt Jane and Shannon. We stand together, watching them leave.
When I finally turn, Roman is leaning against the kitchen doorway, staring at me. His eyes are dark, hollow.
My heart leaps before I can stop it—the stupid, loyal thing. But then my husband has always had this effect on me.
I swallow hard and look at Aunt Jane and Shannon, both glaring daggers at him.
"If you want to go—" I start.
"I'll be right outside," Shannon cuts in. "Text me when he's gone."
Aunt Jane kisses my forehead. "Call me if you need me. Otherwise, I'll move in here." Her eyes flick to Roman, cold and unflinching. "You're stronger than you think, Ava."
When the door clicks closed, the silence settles, and it’s thick and fucking suffocating.
"Ava, I'm so fucking sorry," Roman says quietly.
I stiffen.
I can’t look at him.
"Why are you here, Roman?" My voice could cut ice. "To hurt me with the details? Huh?"
He flinches. "No?—"
"If you want to stay in this mansion of lies and deceit, I'll leave. You pick, because I don’t care."
His mouth opens, then shuts. He drops his gaze. He looks like he hasn't slept. For a flicker of a second, the concern tugs at me—a reflex I hate.
Old habits of being a good wife. Honouring my vows, the kind of shit that Roman must’ve slept through.
I push past him to the fridge, pouring cool orange juice into a glass, steadying my hands. When I turn, he's standing too close.
"I'm a fucking fool."
"Who was she?" I ask, circling the counter to put distance between us.
"Her name's Annie. Just someone I met while training."
Annie.
I grip the glass harder, rage crawling up my chest.
"I want facts. How many times? Where? When? Are you in love with her?"
He lifts his head, his eyes rimmed with red. "I'm only in love with you."
I laugh—a sound that's more of a bark. "I said facts . Not bullshit."
He hesitates, then glances toward the counter. My laptop sits open there, notifications flashing. "I’ve been seeing her for a few months," he admits.
Pain crushes my chest, stealing my air.
A few months?!
I grab the laptop, typing his name into Google. The articles load fast. Headlines scream across the screen.
“NFL Star Roman Muller Caught With 21-Year-Old Model."
"Exclusive: Inside the Affair That Rocked the League."
Photos: Roman exiting a hotel at 3 a.m., Annie beside him in a trench coat, her lipstick smudged. Roman's hand on her back. Another shot—his arm around her waist, laughing at dinner.
I slap my hand over my mouth.
"Ava, don't?—"
"She's twenty-one?" My voice trembles. "A fucking model ?"
He stares at the floor.
I slam the laptop shut so hard, imagining his dick between it, and the way he’d howl in agony. "Well," I spit, "I suggest you fuck off back to your model ; you’re a shallow piece of shit, Roman Muller. I'm done ."
"Let me explain!" he snaps, frustration bleeding through.
Explain?!
I shake my head. "No. If you don't leave, I will."
He steps forward.
I lift a hand. "If you touch me, I'll cut your dirty dick off," I say, calm and deadly.
He curses under his breath, then storms past me, snatching up his keys.
A slam. A rev of the engine.
A fucking model.