CHAPTER FOUR
Bryony
The Discovery
I sat on the edge of our bed, Henrik's old phone clutched in my trembling hands, and felt my entire world collapse.
Eight months.
He'd been cheating on me for eight months.
The messages scrolled endlessly on the screen, each one a fresh knife wound to my heart. Explicit photos. Casual cruelty. Plans for their next meeting. And worst of all, the way he talked about me—like I was nothing more than an inconvenience, an obstacle to be managed.
"She doesn't suspect a thing."
"She's so naive. It's almost sad."
"I'll tell her I'm working late again. She always believes me."
I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the phone against the wall and watch it shatter into a thousand pieces. I wanted to set fire to everything Henrik owned and watch it burn.
But instead, I just sat there, numb and hollow, as tears streamed down my face.
How had I been so blind?
All those late nights. All those excuses. All those times I'd felt something was wrong but convinced myself I was being paranoid, that I was the problem, that I needed to try harder to make him happy.
And all along, he'd been with her. Amelia. The woman whose name appeared over and over in these messages, whose photos filled his hidden gallery, who knew more about my husband's thoughts and feelings than I did.
"Does she know? Does your wife know you're here with me?"
"No. And she won't. She's too trusting."
Too trusting. Too naive. Too stupid to see what was right in front of me.
I stood up, my legs shaking, and looked around our bedroom.
Our marriage bed, where we'd made love—or where I'd thought we were making love, while he was probably thinking about her.
The dresser where he kept his clothes, mixed with mine like we were a real couple.
The photos on the wall of our wedding day, both of us smiling like we had a future.
It was all a lie.
Every moment, every promise, every "I love you" he'd ever said—lies.
I grabbed my purse and shoved the phone inside. Evidence. I'd need evidence for the divorce. Because that's what this was now. Not a marriage in crisis. Not something we could work through. This was the end.
I had to leave. Had to get out of this house, away from the suffocating weight of his betrayal. Had to go somewhere, anywhere, where I could breathe.
I drove toward the Riverside Bar with my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles were white. Henrik's old phone sat in the passenger seat, a damning piece of evidence that I couldn't stop looking at even though every glance made me feel sicker.
Eight months. He'd been cheating on me for eight months.
The messages played on a loop in my mind, each one more painful than the last. The explicit photos. The casual cruelty. The way he'd discussed me with his mistress like I was nothing more than an inconvenience.
"She doesn't suspect a thing."
But I did now. I suspected everything.
The sun was setting as I drove, casting long shadows across the road as I started driving.
I had been driving for a awhile, stopped at the bar, watched them leave in separate cars then drive to the pay by the hour motel, sat outside, thinking of how to confront him.
What I would do after that. When they left the motel, I thought I would go home but I didn’t I just drove.
I should have been paying more attention.
But I was too caught up in my anger, my hurt, my desperate need to confront Henrik and make him see what he'd done.
I wanted him to look me in the eye and admit it. I wanted him to feel even a fraction of the pain I was feeling. I wanted him to understand that he'd destroyed me, destroyed us, destroyed any chance we might have had at happiness.
And then I was going to leave him.
I was going to call Luca, swallow my pride, and ask my brother to come get me. I was going to go back to New York, back to the world I'd run from, and face whatever consequences came from my impulsive decision to marry Henrik.
I was going to see Deangelo again.
The thought made my heart clench. Deangelo, who'd always been kind to me, who'd looked at me like I was something precious.
Deangelo, who I'd been too afraid to let myself love because loving him meant accepting my brother's world, accepting the violence and danger that came with being part of the Carmine family.
I'd chosen safety instead. I'd chosen Henrik, with his normal job and his normal life and his promises of a future far away from mob bosses and arranged marriages.
And look where that had gotten me.
I'd been so stupid. So incredibly, unforgivably stupid.
I'd run from an arranged marriage—from a life I thought would trap me—and straight into the arms of a man who'd destroyed me in ways I never imagined possible. I'd chosen Henrik because he seemed safe, normal, far removed from the violence and danger of my brother's world.
But there were different kinds of danger. Different kinds of violence.
And Henrik had committed the worst kind—the kind that shattered you from the inside out.
He should be ashamed.
How could he do this to me?
How could he look me in the eye every day, kiss me goodbye every morning, come home to me every night, and be living this double life? How could he make me feel crazy for suspecting something was wrong? How could he gaslight me, manipulate me, make me doubt my own instincts?
"She's so naive. It's almost sad."
The words echoed in my mind, over and over, a cruel refrain.
I'd given up everything for him. My family. My home. My identity. I'd run away from Luca's arranged marriage because I was terrified—terrified of being trapped, terrified of losing control of my own life, terrified of...
Deangelo.
The name surfaced in my mind unbidden, and with it came a wave of emotion so intense it nearly made me swerve off the road.
I'd been terrified it was Deangelo. Terrified that Luca had arranged for me to marry him, and that I'd have to watch him go through with it out of obligation to my brother. Terrified that I'd have to see him look at me with duty instead of desire, with responsibility instead of love or worse it wasn’t him and then I would have to watch him move on and marry someone else. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t.
Because I'd loved him. I'd always loved him.
And I'd run away because I couldn't bear the thought of him being forced to marry me, couldn't bear to see him trapped the way I felt trapped.
My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. My breath came in short, sharp gasps. I felt like I was drowning, like the walls were closing in, like I couldn't get enough air.
I pulled over to the side of the road, my whole body shaking. I couldn't drive like this. Couldn't see through the tears. Couldn't breathe past the crushing weight in my chest.
I pulled out my phone with trembling hands and scrolled to Luca's number. !0:41 PM, was I really going to call him?
Yeah.
It was time. Time to stop running. Time to face what I'd done. Time to go home and accept whatever consequences came from my impulsive, stupid decision to marry Henrik.
Time to see Deangelo again and tell him the truth—that I'd run because I loved him too much to watch him marry me out of obligation or marry someone who wasn’t me.
My finger hovered over the call button.
And then I saw the headlights in my rearview mirror.
They were coming up fast. Too fast.
I looked up, my heart suddenly pounding for a different reason, and watched as the car behind me accelerated, swerving into the oncoming lane.
It was heading straight for me.
I jerked the wheel, trying to get out of the way, but I was too slow, too disoriented, too consumed by my emotional breakdown to react properly.
The car slammed into my side with a sickening crunch of metal and glass.
I felt the impact like a physical blow, felt my car spin out of control, felt the world tilt and blur around me.
I was screaming. Or maybe I wasn't. I couldn't tell anymore.
My car left the road, airborne for a moment that felt like an eternity.
I thought about Luca. About how I'd never get to apologize for running away.
I thought about Deangelo. About how I'd never get to tell him the truth.
I thought about Henrik. About how he'd destroyed me and didn't even care.
And then my car hit something—a tree, a ditch, I didn't know—and the world exploded into pain and darkness.
The last thing I remembered before the darkness was phone calling Luca. Him answering as it flew from my hand.
I didn't know that Henrik would arrive later, would see my broken body being loaded into an ambulance, would finally understand the consequences of his choices.
I didn't know that Luca would answer that call to silence, would hear the crash through the phone, would mobilize his entire organization to find out what happened to his sister.
I didn't know that Deangelo would drop everything when he heard, would race to the hospital with murder in his eyes and my name on his lips.
I didn't know that this accident—this deliberate, calculated attempt on my life—would set in motion a chain of events that would expose every lie, every secret, every dark truth that had been hiding in the shadows.
All I knew was darkness.
And pain.
So much pain.
When I woke up—if I woke up—nothing would ever be the same.