Chapter 47
VICTOR
She’d been gone for four hours and twenty-six minutes. I’d paced a hole into the fucking floor and tracked her location from her laptop like a psycho.
Who the fuck was this guy? I’d never seen him before, but he seemed familiar.
I couldn’t work it out.
Emilio’s. He’d taken her to our restaurant. I couldn’t believe it—he was British, for a start, and he’d flown here. Assuming he didn’t know the area, what were the chances he’d pick that restaurant?
It beggared belief.
That fucking suave cunt, pretending he was a gentleman while checking out her ass when she walked past him.
Don’t fall for it, baby.
A part of me died on the sidewalk, watching her leave me. I’d never felt anything like it, and now I felt like I was grieving.
Like she was dead, not in a Greek restaurant.
Greek restaurant…
It hit me, where I’d seen him before.
Her Instagram.
My stomach lurched as I grabbed my phone, shakily pulling up her profile.
There he was.
The suave cunt.
I scrolled down, scanning the comments until I saw him.
Graham007.
I snorted. Dick.
I clicked on his profile, my heart pounding. His profile photo was of him on a yacht—of course—surrounded by beautiful women.
Urgh. Lila, what are you doing?
He declared himself a CEO of some plastics company—I didn’t pay much attention—and a lover of rare antiques.
I cursed and scrolled down, my eyes drinking in the gallery.
Women everywhere. Beautiful women draped on furniture and drinking champagne. Images of him at a golf course, and then a mansion with yet again, more champagne.
Exactly the sort of man Lila and I would’ve scoffed at a few months ago.
Now he had my wife on a date.
I tossed my phone and stared at the blank TV.
I’d wait up. She had to come home eventually.