OBSESSIVE LOVE: NIGHTS WITH MY HUSBAND'S BEST FRIEND

DIVIDED ATTENTION

Sienna

I got into my hotel suite, and in not less than an hour, my glam team arrived to get me ready for the fashion show.

A make-up artist on my face, a nail tech on my nails, and a hairstylist on my hair, all at once.

I was supposed to be thinking about what content to shoot for the Hermès PR instead, I was reminiscing about Roman. If I was being honest, I only thought about his c**k and not him. Then I remembered the picture of my husband holding hands with a woman more sexy than I was.

Maybe that was why Alex didn't find me attractive enough to f**k me like Roman did. I guess Alex loved women with very big and thick asses. But then why did he marry me? He would've married the big ass lady instead. Probably I was just perfect for his publicity. I was pretty, which drives him more credits because he bagged a woman with an insane face card.

All I ever did with Alex was listen, sign documents, and shut the f**k up. While we appeared to be the most beautiful and loving couple in LA. Every woman prayed for a husband like mine and every man had lust for a woman like me.

Blogs carried rumors of my husband in motels with strippers and hoes, which I knew weren't true because most of the time, my husband was on business trips. I was sure they published fake news just to get Alex and I to divorce.

And that was the bad side of being a public figure.

Such news of Alexander with another woman had never gotten so close to me, until the picture Sofia sent. I wouldn't still think it to be a rumor, or does my childhood best friend also want my husband and I separated?

I had gotten so engrossed in my thoughts I wasn't aware my make up was done.

There's a delivery for you Ma'am.” The hotel attendant handed me a gift box with “Your Love” boldly written as the sender.

I opened the box and saw a diamond ring sitting pretty on the box, beside it was a letter.

“Sorry I couldn't give you this before your flight. Wear it for the show.”

The letter and the diamond ring gave me a warm flush on my chest. I knew Alex had a soft spot for me, he just probably doesn’t know how to express his feelings for me. I guess this was his way to show me he still loved me.

Somehow, the gesture made me hate what I did with Roman, even though the thought of it made me wet.

I got dressed in a pink Aux Champs Remix ruffled tulip dress, paired with a Kelly 19 bag, and slid the diamond ring on my middle finger. I stepped out, and had a Lamborghini waiting outside of the hotel to drive me to the fashion show.

I got into the car and my phone screen lit up with a text message from Roman.

“You look absolutely gorgeous! And that's why you're mine now”

“What the— hell?” I muttered, taking a closer look at the sender.

I didn't need anybody telling me I looked gorgeous, my confidence wasn't built on compliments, but a compliment from Roman made my n*****s erect and sent heat waves down to my p***y.

But how did Roman who was miles away from Paris knew I looked gorgeous? Another text popped on my screen again:

“Hope you like the ring?”

I felt like sweat bullets were about to roll down my forehead even under the car's air conditioner. I put my phone faced down and my focus on the fashion show.

The car slowed as we turned onto the street. I knew we were close before I even saw the venue.

People stood behind barricades on both sides of the street, phones raised, cameras flashing, security guards trying to keep everyone behind the lines.

My stomach tightened.

This was it.

Paris Fashion Week.

I glanced down at myself, smoothing my dress over my thighs even though there wasn't a single wrinkle on it.

"How do I look?" I asked.

My stylist, sitting beside me, gave me an amused look.

"Like you don't need to ask that question."

I laughed softly, but my hands were still nervous.

The car rolled forward another few feet.

Then the flashes became blinding.

"That's your entrance," my assistant said from the front seat.

I looked through the tinted window.

Photographers were already calling out names.

"Sienna!"

"Sienna, over here!"

"Look this way!"

My heart began pounding.

I'd walked red carpets before. I'd attended premieres, award shows, and charity galas.

But Paris was different.

There was something about stepping out in Paris during Fashion Week that made everything feel bigger.

Every dress was judged, every step was photographed. Every expression could become tomorrow's headline.

The car finally stopped.

For a second, nobody moved.

I took one slow breath. A security guard opened the door.

The noise hit me immediately.

Camera shutters.

Voices.

My name.

I stepped out.

The moment my heel touched the pavement, the flashes exploded around me.

I lifted my chin and smiled.

"Right here, Sienna!"

I could hear people whispering.

"She's wearing Hermès."

"She's stunning."

"Look at her."

I smiled wider. Inside, my heart was racing. But nobody needed to know that.

I had learned a long time ago that confidence wasn't always something you felt. Sometimes, it was something you performed. I turned toward the entrance.

And that's when I saw him, standing several feet away from the crowd. He wasn't holding a camera. He wasn't calling my name. He wasn't even looking at the photographers.

He was looking directly at me.

Our eyes met.

For one strange second, the entire street seemed to disappear.

My smile faded slightly.

Why was he there?

And why did the way he was looking at me make me forget where I was?

"Sienna?"

My assistant's voice pulled me back.

I blinked.

"Coming."

I turned toward the entrance, forcing myself to look away.

But even as I walked inside, I couldn't stop myself from wondering.

Who the hell was that man?