Rebuilding Ruins (BOOK 1)

PROLOGUE Angel Rose applies another layer of lip gloss to her rosy lips, her eyes fixed on her face, while the sunrise bathes the bedroom walls in golden light. Memories of Carl's cruel words haunt her – "You're not the girl I fell for" – leaving her feeling lost and inadequate. The weight she's gained over the years seems to cling to her frame, a constant reminder of the toxic cycle she's trapped in. Their marriage was once a fairytale, but reality is taking its toll. The memories of Carl's secrets still linger, shattering her sense of self, leaving her consumed by betrayal, regret, and self-doubt. Angel can't help but wonder if it's her fault, if she's failing Carl by not giving him what he wants. The what-ifs and maybes swirl in her head, tormenting her. Angel finally gazes at her reflection, the flowing black gown hiding the body she’s been avoiding, feeling a mix of emotions. She's hesitant to be in the spotlight again, but she can't back out now. With a deep breath, she heads to the venue. As she glides into the grand ballroom, champagne glasses sparkle like diamonds under the chandelier's soft glow, the guests' jewelry glinting in the light, and the hum of conversation fills the air. The music swirls around her, a lush and romantic melody. The city's elite has gathered to toast Brandon and Karen, Angel's in-laws, on their milestone anniversary in style. Putting on a brave smile, she navigates the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with those who support her. Despite her doubts, she's determined to put on a good show for her in-laws, unaware that this night will be unforgettable. She's on a mission to find her husband, whom she hasn't laid eyes on in a week. The memory of their last encounter still stings - he'd gone back home to check on her progress on shedding those extra pounds, but when he realized she'd actually gained a few more, he'd tossed his black card at her without even a word. Just a look that made her feel like dirt. As she navigates the room, Angel's eyes lock onto familiar faces, some of whom offer sympathetic smiles, while others studiously avoid her gaze. The whispers start as soon as she walks by, and Angel's anxiety spikes, but she forces herself to keep moving, her heels clicking on the polished floor. "Angel, darling, you look lovely," says Rachel, a friend from book club, her voice a little too loud. "How are you holding up?" Angel's smile falters for a moment before she regains her composure. "I'm doing great, thanks for asking. Just happy to be here celebrating Brandon and Karen's special day." Angel's radar picks up on the whispered conversations, the pointed glances. She knows she's being sized up, judged, and found wanting. The scrutiny is suffocating, but she refuses to let it get to her. Not today. Not when she's determined to prove to herself and everyone else that she's more than Carl's wronged wife. Angel spots Phoebe across the room, her eyes gleaming with a triumphant light. The other woman's gaze meets hers, and for a moment, they just stare at each other. Angel's instincts scream at her to look away, but she refuses. Instead, she gives Phoebe a cool, polite smile, and turns back to her conversation with Rachel. "So, have you tried the canapés?" Angel asks, her voice light and carefree. "They look delicious." Rachel follows her gaze to Phoebe and raises an eyebrow. "No, not yet. But I think I'll join you in avoiding the mini quiches. They're supposed to be a disaster." Angel laughs, feeling a small sense of solidarity with Rachel. Maybe, just maybe, she'll get through this evening after all. Knowing it's inevitable, Angel excuses herself and approaches Carl and Phoebe, feeling a pang of insecurity, but they're so engrossed in each other's company that they don't even notice her arrival. She's forced to observe the intimate scene unfolding before her, Carl's beaming with pride, his arm wrapped possessively around Phoebe's waist. Phoebe, the epitome of elegance in a designer gown, gazes adoringly up at Carl, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of triumph and affection. Angel's heart sinks, but she forces a bright smile onto her face, determined not to let Carl see her crumble. "Carl, darling," she says, her voice sweet like honey. "How are you?" Seeing Angel, Carl's eyes flicker with unease for a moment before he regains his composure. "Angel. I-I'm good. R-remember Phoebe?" Phoebe's smile widens, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Angel Rose, lovely to see you. You look...well." Angel smiles, her eyes locked on the other woman's smug expression. The tension between them is palpable, and the air seems to vibrate with unspoken emotions. As the emcee welcomes everyone to the dinner, Angel's gaze drifts across the room, landing on Carl and Phoebe as they take their seats at a table two tables away from hers - the very table she'd been assigned to share with Carl. Phoebe's long, dark hair cascades down her back like a waterfall of night, and Angel's eyes can't help but notice the way it frames her heart-shaped face. They've seated them together, Angel realizes, her heart sinking. And of course, she's sitting right beside an elderly couple who look like they're hard of hearing and might not even notice the apocalypse, let alone the awkwardness radiating from Angel's direction. As Angel watches, Phoebe laugh at something Carl says, her eyes sparkling with amusement, and Angel's gaze lingers on her, a pang of insecurity twisting her stomach. Angel's inner monologue: "Why can't I be that elegant? And why is he laughing with her and not me?" Meanwhile, Phoebe's over here shining like a diamond, and Angel's just over there feeling like a hot mess. Angel's had enough of Carl parading his mistress Phoebe around. She didn't even know about her until that infamous lip-lock at the company gala two years back – a rude awakening, to say the least! Angel's supposed to be furious, but all she feels is a dull ache and a side of "been there, done that." Phoebe's got the baby and Angel's got... well, a whole lot of nothing. Guess that ship really did sail – straight into Phoebe's arms. The rest of the evening is a trainwreck on Angel's side, while Phoebe gets to ride the Carl-gravy train all the way to Bragging Rights City. When it’s her turn to perform, Angel steps onto the stage, takes the mic, and lets her voice soar as the room falls under her spell. The ugly duckling transforms into a radiant swan, her talent and poise silencing the whispers about her crumbling marriage. For one shining moment, she's the star, and Phoebe's just a footnote in the program. As Angel finishes her song, the room erupts into applause. She smiles sweetly, her eyes sparkling with gratitude. But in her head, she's thinking, "Mic drop, babe." A sly grin tugs at the corner of her lips as she takes a demure little bow, her head dipping down in a shy, endearing way. The mystery man approaches her with confident appreciation, a hint of a smile on his face. He helps her off the stage, his eyes still fixed on her with admiration. "Call me tomorrow," he says, handing her his number. "I'd love to book you for a charity event... and maybe dinner too?" As she glances at the business card, her smile widens, and she can't help but feel a spark of excitement. The card reads "Alexander Greene, Event Promoter" – a title that seems almost too formal for the charming smile he's been flashing her way. This is the escape she so desperately needed. Angel tucks the card into her clutch, feeling like she's floating on air. "Can I see you outside. NOW," Carl hisses in Angel's ear, his voice low and menacing, before striding towards the exit. Angel's eyes widen in confusion as she follows him. Outside, Carl spins around, his eyes blazing with anger. "What the hell was that?" he demands, jerking his thumb towards the building they'd just left. Angel looks at him, genuinely perplexed. "What are you talking about, Carl?" "Don't act clueless. Who was that guy you were talking to after your performance?" Carl's face twists with accusation. "Oh, he was telling me about this charity event he's hosting. He wants me to perform. Isn't that exciting?" Angel beams, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Carl's face twists in a mixture of anger and guilt. How can she still pretend like everything is fine between them? He knows she's aware of Phoebe, aware of the baby. The fact that she's acting like nothing's wrong only fuels his anger and resentment. Carl takes a step closer to her, his voice low and menacing. "Don't lie to me, Angel Rose. I know your fat ass is cheating on me." Angel's eyes well up with tears as she feels a sting from his words. "Carl, I wouldn't do that. I've been faithful to you," she protests, her voice shaking. Carl's insults still sting, and this isn't the first time he's called Angel fat. His fingers dig into her arm as he growls, "If I catch you cheating, you'll regret ever crossing me." "Please let go. You're hurting me," Angel whimpers, trying to pry his fingers loose. Just then, Phoebe appears, her eyes flashing with hostility. "What's going on here?" Carl releases Angel's arm, and she rubs the sore spot, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. "We w-were just talking," Carl explains, looking guilty. Phoebe's gaze narrows. "And your hands were on her because...?" Angel takes a step back, feeling overwhelmed. "I'd better go inside," she says, turning toward the entrance. Angel has no idea why Phoebe is suddenly playing the victim, drama-queen style, when she knows darn well she's the other woman. "Tell her right now, Carl, or it's over between us," Phoebe spits, her voice venomous. Angel's eyes widen in confusion as she looks at Phoebe, then at Carl. "What...what's going on?" she asks, her voice trembling. Phoebe's gaze locks onto Angel, her eyes flashing with anger. "Make a choice, Carl. Is it me, the mother of your son, or her?" she demands, her finger jabbing toward Angel. Carl hesitates, his eyes darting frantically between his wife and his mistress. "You've got him, Phoebe. He's been gone for weeks," Angel says, her eyes begging the other woman to take the hint. "Please don't do this." Phoebe's voice cuts in, cold and calculating. "Tell her or we're done." Carl's eyes lock onto Phoebe's, and for a moment, it seems like he's going to choose her. Then, he looks at Angel, and his expression softens. But it's too late for softness. "I want a divorce," he says, his voice a cold, harsh whisper. Air rushes out of Angel's lungs as if she's about to shatter into a million pieces. She can see the lingering love in Carl's eyes, and her heart clings to it, desperate for a lifeline. But what she doesn't understand is why he'd risk their love just to be with his mistress. "Carl, please don't do this," Angel begs, her fingers wrapping tightly around his free hand. "I'm sorry," he says, his eyes filled with a deep sadness. "We could make this work," Angel pleads, her voice trembling. "You heard the doctor – we could find a surrogate to carry our baby. In nine months, we'll be parents." Her grip on his hand tightens as Phoebe tries to pull him away. "What if we lose it again, like the others?" Carl's voice cracks with emotion. "Then we'll try again, until it happens," Angel responds, her words pouring out in a desperate rush. "I don't want to go through the loss again," Carl admits, his eyes welling up with tears. "I'm sorry." His heart is shattering, torn between the marriage he's been trying to hold on to and the life he's chosen with Phoebe. "Carl, please don't do this!" Angel's voice is a raw, anguished cry. Phoebe's grip on his arm tightens, and she drags him back into the building, leaving Angel in a heap of tears. AUTHOR'S NOTE: THINGS AREN'T LOOKING GOOD FOR ANGEL ROSE. IS IT THE END OR IS THERE HOPE FOR HER MARRIAGE? READ ON TO FIND OUT.