Shattered Promises (The Shattered Hearts #3)

Chapter 1

LILA

I’ve been fucking your husband. Thought you should know. Cami.

Cami.

The name of a pretty girl with no stretch marks or perimenopausal symptoms. I stared at the text message glaring back at me from my phone, and I read it for the millionth time, wondering if I’d notice more than just her name this time.

I’ve been—

I sucked in a sharp breath and felt the sting of tears burn against my closed eyelids. Then I slowly opened them, praying this was some kind of prank, that the text message would disappear—that this didn’t really happen.

—fucking your husband.

A hiccup surprised me, half caught between a sob and an inhale.

My husband, Victor. Even his name brought warmth to my heart, images of his chocolate brown eyes and soft, dark curls grazing his forehead as he grinned at me.

My phone burst with sound, and I almost dropped it. I wish I had, then I wouldn’t have had to see what she sent next.

Cami.

It was Victor, shirtless and lying on pink satin sheets.

He gazed up at the camera, looking more playful than I’d seen him in years.

A tanned hand lay on his chest, with bright pink nails filed into dagger-like tips.

Tanned thighs sat on either side of Victor, and I saw his tattooed hands gripping them, denting the perfect skin.

Then came the video.

I’ve never felt pain like it. Ever.

I watched in high definition as my husband railed a petite brunette from behind, her pathetic noises making my stomach churn. But it was his noises that broke me.

His words.

“Fucking take it. Take it all.”

“God, you’re so fucking tight.”

“Look at how good your pussy takes me.”

My Victor. My husband. He’d said those exact words to me so many times, and hearing them, so familiar but spoken to some other woman, was enough to make bile rise in my throat and empty onto the solid wood floor beneath my feet.

I hadn’t even eaten today. I hadn’t had time, and I’d just grabbed my phone for five minutes…

I was still on my hands and knees, retching, when I heard the front door open. There was the familiar sound of keys being tossed onto the counter by the door, probably beside my own set, then I heard my husband muttering to himself as he stomped the rain from his boots.

“Fucking assholes can’t even park right.”

Ah, yes. The neighbours whom my husband detested. The Morani’s. They parked over our driveway just enough that we could make it onto the drive, but far enough that my husband’s beloved Ford Ranger barely made it. He loved that car more than me, of that I was now certain.

“Baby?” Victor called out, kicking off his boots. “Where you at?”

Hell, I thought. I’m in hell.

And you can’t save me, because you put me there.

“Lila?” He was worried. I normally greeted him at the door with smiles and tales of my day. But I couldn’t get off the floor.

He jogged up the cream-carpeted stairs, and then I saw his feet in the purple socks I’d bought him for Christmas. His jeans fell into my eyeline next, but he moved so quickly to crouch in front of me that the only thing I really focused on were those fucking chocolate brown eyes.

Cheating chocolate brown eyes.

“Lila? Fuck, are you sick?” He stared at me, then down at the puddle of bile between us. “Baby! Are you okay?”

He moved towards me, and I froze, snapping my head to stare at him like a cornered, wild animal. He blinked, then his eyebrows knitted together with confusion.

“Lila, what’s going on, baby?” His eyes searched mine, and I laughed, wiping the spittle on the back of my hand.

“Who’s Cami, Vic?” I rasped, my entire body trembling as I observed his reaction. The color drained from his olive skin, leaving him looking somewhat grey.

Even at forty-six, he was stunning. Flecks of grey hid in his dark curls, his skin still supple and smooth.

No wrinkles in sight. He was covered in tattoos, and because he worked in construction daily, he had a great body.

His wedding ring glinted as he moved—had he worn that when they were fucking?

“What—”

I didn’t have the energy for any bullshit, so I threw my phone at him.

Literally, it bounced off his knuckle, the one with the ‘L’ tattooed for my name. I flinched, about to apologize, but then curled my lip into a snarl.

“See for yourself.”

Victor stared at me, then down at my phone, his tongue wetting his lips.

Does he have any idea what I know?

His thumb swiped the screen.

Then his entire body deflated, his shoulders slumping beneath the white t-shirt I’d pressed for him only yesterday. He exhaled heavily, closing his eyes as I heard the video playing.

“Fuck.”

Well, at least that was better than denial. Denial, I couldn’t take right now.

I couldn’t trust myself to speak, so I just sat there, with spittle dripping from my hand, staring at my husband, the man I’d loved for over twenty years.

“Baby, I’m so—”

“Sorry?” I whispered, the word scraping through my raw throat and past my dry lips. “That’s okay, honey, you must’ve fallen into her tight pussy that takes your dick so well.”

Victor bowed his head. As he fucking should.

“I want you to leave.” I was surprised to hear the words leave my mouth so calmly. I didn’t plan to say them, and I certainly didn’t think they’d come out like that. I wanted to claw his fucking eyes out. “Maybe go back to Cami.” I spat her name out, and for that, I was proud.

Victor snapped his head up, his eyes searching mine.

“You don’t mean that, baby. I mean…” He held his hands up, as if admitting defeat. “I majorly fucked up. I’m so fucking sorry.” Tears slid down his cheeks, and for a second, I almost reached for him. Because that’s instinct—it's what I always did, comforted my husband.

But not now. Not ever again.

There was a ringing in my ears, and it almost muted his begging and pleading for me to listen to him, to let him explain. Why would I do that? What explanation would possibly be okay right now?

Sorry, baby, I just couldn’t help myself. I fell into her pussy, and it felt so good I stayed there.

No.

“No, Victor,” I whispered. “This isn’t a mistake. You knew what you were doing. Now get out.”

His throat bobbed. “Please—”

Why was he still trying to talk to me? What did he think he could possibly say that would make this right?

“If you don’t,” I hissed, barely holding it together, “I’ll leave.”

Victor swallowed, tears running down his cheeks. He looked like he was going to say something, but with one look from me, he nodded, rising slowly to his feet. He towered over me, hovering like I was going to change my mind.

“I love you so fucking much,” Victor choked out, but I scoffed, remembering the image of him and her. Yet, of course, he loved me! How could I question that?!

“It doesn’t matter when she takes you so well, does it?” I spat, rising to my feet. I walked into the bathroom on shaky legs, refusing to look back at him.

“Lila, baby—”

“Get the fuck out, Victor. I never want to see you again.”

I didn’t. He could walk out of here and be hit by a truck, and I wouldn’t blink an eyelid. Nothing would ever be the same again now. Everything had changed, and I was supposed to snap to it and listen to his fucking apologies and reasoning?

Hell fucking no.

My husband had cheated on me and ruined my life.