1
“Who is Terrace Wallace to you?” Xavier asked Lisa, and she could tell he was burning with rage. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, the Ferrari surging forward as they sped dangerously close to the cliff’s edge.
Lisa clutched her seatbelt to her chest. “Xavier, don’t get us killed,” she begged. “Slow down.”
“Answer me!”
She flinched at the rawness in his voice. He was past anger; this was something darker. Three years had passed since Lisa married into the billionaire Saxton family. Xavier had chosen her against every warning and every ounce of his family’s counsel. And Lisa had been foolish enough to believe it was love.
“Xavier, I can explain,” she said carefully. “Just… calm down.”
“Go on,” he snapped. “Explain. And don’t tell me what to do.”
She swallowed. “Terrace is just a friend I met at the party. There’s no history. Nothing happened. Nothing.”
“You think I didn’t see you?” he shot back. “Giggling across the ballroom?” He laughed harshly. “I took you to that business party as my escort, not to flirt with other men.” His hand darted out, gripping the slit of her gown and tearing it further up her thigh. “And this dress, burn it when we get home.”
“Burn it?” Lisa echoed. The absurdity made her breath hitch.
Xavier turned to her, his gaze sharp enough to cut. “Did I stutter?”
“No,” she said quietly, avoiding his eyes. “Absolutely not.”
Why couldn’t she run away from this life? Aside from her family’s business collapse, and the Saxtons being the only thing keeping them afloat, Lisa hated herself for the truth. She loved Xavier. Senselessly. Desperately.
He had rescued her from her oppressive family: a wicked stepmother, a jealous sister, an abusive brother, and a father who never looked at her twice. She thought she’d be safe with Xavier.
She was wrong. As always.
Xavier was a chronic cheater.
She’d found women’s lingerie in his car, hair ties in his pockets, and even now she could see the faint stain of red lipstick on the collar of his shirt. The first time was when he picked her up from the mall. His car smelled like another woman. Then she’d found a hair tie while fastening her seatbelt.
He’d snatched it from her hand and tossed it out the window.
“It’s nothing,” he’d said.
Lisa hadn’t believed him, but she’d been too afraid to ask.
The first time she confronted him was when she found a woman’s red thong in his pocket while folding laundry.
“Xavier,” she’d said, stepping into his study where he was buried in work. He carried his business everywhere, even into their bedroom.
“Yes?” He hadn’t looked up.
“What is this?” Lisa held up the thong.
“You’ll have to speak more clearly,” he replied coldly, “or next time write a formal letter of visitation to my secretary.”
“Well, you don’t need a formal letter when you climb into our bed while sleeping with other women, do you?” she’d snapped, tears spilling free.
That was the first time he looked at her that day. The expression on his face was unfamiliar.
He walked toward her slowly, deliberately. Lisa stepped back. He snatched the thong from her hand.
“This does not matter,” he said. “Don’t think too much about it.”
Then he tossed it into the fireplace.
That was Xavier’s reassurance. It wasn’t enough, but Lisa clung to it anyway. Her heart wanted to believe the lie he built.
After that, she never found another woman’s belongings, no matter how hard she searched. But she noticed the lipstick stains on his shirts, the scent of strawberry beneath his cologne. He thought he hid it well. Lisa simply became silent.
But sitting in this car, being interrogated for speaking to another man? The hypocrisy was unbearable. How dare he accuse her of infidelity?
“Good,” Xavier muttered.
His phone rang. He answered angrily, then slammed on the brakes. The seatbelt dug into Lisa’s chest.
“Get out.”
“What?”
He turned to her. “Do I need to repeat myself?”
“No, but this is the middle of nowhere. I can’t get a cab here.”
“I’ll send someone. I’m not stupid,” he retorted.
She unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbed her purse, and stepped out of the car.
“Close the door,” he ordered without looking at her.
She slammed it shut. He drove off.
“Ugh, that son of a gun,” Lisa muttered, kicking the air after the car. “Am I supposed to wait here now?” She raked her fingers through her hair.
The house was over an hour away. Dark clouds gathered ominously overhead. “Damn you, Saxton.”
She started walking, but the heels dug painfully into her feet. She took them off, then tore away the fishtail of her ruined gown. Xavier hated it anyway.
The road beneath her feet felt warm, grounding. She wished she could walk forever, anywhere but home. Though their house was separate from the rest of the Saxtons’, it was still only a stone’s throw away. His family was vile; they mocked her background, her modesty, and her inability to produce an heir.
Which, incidentally, was all Xavier’s idea.
He didn’t want children with her. Every morning, he left an emergency pill on her bedside table. At first, he watched her swallow it. Later, he simply dropped it and left. She took it like an obedient dog on a leash.
“Beep, beep.”
A horn sounded behind her. A black Maserati pulled alongside. The tinted window rolled down.
“Terrace?”
“Lisa?” he smiled. “I wasn’t sure it was you. What’s a damsel doing all this walking for? Hop in.”
Her stomach tightened.
Oh no.
She could smell trouble.
