Healed by the Alpha

Cheating. The breech of trust through infidelity, whether emotional or s****l. Lance was never the kind of guy I thought would have a heart hard enough or a tilted enough conscience to be able to do anything more than casually look at another woman. However, the one night I get off work only an hour late instead of two, I find him doing more than just looking- a lot more. I can only stare at Lance tangled up in our three-hundred-dollar bed sheets with a tan-legged, red-lipped beauty queen. Someone that looks like me, but more beautiful. Neither of them have noticed me yet, standing in the doorway of the only bedroom in the small, Manhattan apartment. Hurt pierces my heart and hot rage burns my cheeks as I watch them for a moment, their bodies rustling the sheets. The woman’s giggles slap me, driving the nail home, and I finally regain myself enough to move. I spring away from the doorway and rush the bed with a clenched jaw. My hands close around whatever part of the sheets I get to first, and rip them away from the bed. I throw them as far from the two as I can get it. A startled scream comes from the woman as she tries to cover herself with her hands, but to no avail. The look in Lance’s eyes goes from anger at whoever had interrupted their fun, to dreadful guilt as soon as he sees who did it. “Ella.” My names come out of his mouth in a near breathless whisper. “It’s Christmas Eve, Lance,” I say, the words sounding bored, but a small waver gives me away. “Is this what you’ve got me for Christmas?” “Ella.” “My boyfriend in my bed in my apartment tangled up with a woman who isn’t me?” The vice around my heart grows tighter with each word as I say them. “What did I do to deserve such a treat?” Lance blinks. His gaze moves to the woman in the bed beside him and back to me before he swallows thickly. “Nothing. You didn’t do anything.” I purse my lips and nod. I don’t bother sparing a glance at the other woman, who’s been smart enough to stay quiet. My gaze travels around the room, then, noting the pictures of Lance and I that had been on the shelf by the window had been put away. The laundry hamper- specifically mine- had been tucked away, probably in the closet. My make-up on the desk is nowhere to be seen. My heart finally gives in to the pressure of the vice, and shatters. Now a burning glare, my gaze finds its way back to Lance. “You planned this. You knew I was going to be late coming home. You hid my things to keep her from seeing a woman lived here with you. Shared this bed with you.” My voice cracks on the last sentence as tears finally claw at my eyes, fighting their way out. I stay quiet for a few seconds, trying to keep my composure from slipping more. The burn of his betrayal hurts, blackening my heart the more I turn it over in my head, how he planned this. How he used my notorious late coming home against me. “How long?” I dread asking the question, and if I’m honest, I don’t want to know the answer. But I ask it anyway. Lance stays quiet and looks down at his lap before a heavy sigh escapes him. “A month, at least.” Another nod follows his answer. “Well…” I trail off as words finally fail me. Five years down the drain with who I thought was my person. What else am I to say? I caught him in the act of tearing apart the bond and trust that we had built by sleeping with another woman. Something I never thought he’d have the gall to do, aside from the fact that he always seemed to be head over heels in love with me. Though, that’s what good cheaters are able to do. They put on a show and hide it so flawlessly that no one has any inkling of what they’re up to. Without saying another word, I grab a duffle bag off the top shelf in the closet and start shoving Lance’s clothes inside, paying no mind to the wrinkles that’ll appear in them later. I turn and grab the clothes tossed carelessly to the floor, the set of heels and dress, and toss them to the woman still staring at me wide-eyed. “Get dressed. Both of you, and then you can get the hell out of my apartment.” A thought quickly crosses my mind. “And, Lance, you can leave your key on the counter. Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.” No longer able to look at the man and woman making me want to shatter every breakable thing in this apartment, I turn and head into the tiny bathroom. The door shuts hard behind me. I place my hands on the cool surface of the metal sink bowl, my green eyes meeting my own in the mirror. Tears threaten to fall and the still-burning rage boils hot under my skin. The combination of both flushes my cheeks a deep red. But then, embarrassment works its way in. Embarrassment that Lance was able to do this under my nose for at least a month and I was none the wiser. A long sigh flows from my lips, my warm breath fogging the mirror momentarily. It taunts me and begs the question: What do you do now, Ella? Do I stay at home and wallow in my heartbreak for a man who may not spare a single tear over me? Or do I call Josie and head to Club 7th? Club 7th is my favorite nightclub, one I go to in times of fun-needed nights. It also happens to be one of the most notorious in the city. The kind of nightclub you go to on a whim and end up running into an A-list celebrity, like movie star Kade Callahan. Against the protest of my heart, my mouth quirks into a small smile at the thought of his dark, tousled hair and grey eyes. Brief memories of Kade’s hands winding their way down my sides, brushing over the curve of my hips, his breath stirring the hair around my ear. In all the hustle at work and monotony of home life, I’d nearly forgotten about the thrill of that night. How long ago was it now? Did Lance somehow find out about my drunken night with Kade Callahan a month- Immediately, I freeze and my gaze once again finds my own reflected back at me. My stomach tightens. f**k. Lance didn’t cheat on me. I cheated on him.