HER REVENGE

Chapter 9

Barry – POV

“Should I say, you messed up? Or how am I going to place it, you really did mess up, Camile!”

I shouted, my hand on the glass tightened, my eyes heavy with anger that had reddened my eyes.

I was seated on the stool at the bar section in our house, my heart raced with anticipation as I glared at the liquor in my glass. The liquid shimmered under the pendant light like it held all the wrong choices I had made.

“Camile, have you been listening?” I turned to her.

She was sitting on the arm of the couch, her legs crossed lazily, mindlessly scrolling through her phone like we weren’t in the middle of a goddamn storm.

I sighed heavily, dropping down from the stool sluggishly. The thought of how I met my ex-wife with another man wouldn’t leave my head. It played on a loop, over and over. Her laugh. Her eyes sparkling. The way she leaned into him like he was the gravity pulling her in.

She even had the nerve to kiss him—in public. Around people. Like I never existed.

Like the years we shared were nothing.

I tipped the glass to my lips again, the burn offering a temporary sting to replace the hollow ache in my chest. I started walking toward Camile, the glass hanging loosely in my fingers. My lips twitched into something that was supposed to be a laugh but came out bitter instead.

She raised her gaze slowly, like she could feel the heat of my stare.

“Don’t start pissing me off, Barry,” she snapped. “Alina has fuckin’ moved on, can’t you see it?”

Her voice rose like a fire alarm, sharp and jarring. “You fuckin’ married me. And now you want to stand here comparing your shiny ex-wife to me like I’m some rebound trash?”

She stood abruptly, her phone flinging off her lap and landing with a soft thud on the couch. Her chest was heaving, fists clenched so tight her knuckles turned white.

I dropped my face in shame.

She was right.

Alina had moved on.

And I had made my decision.

I married Camile.

But the ghosts of the past didn’t care about vows.

She took two slow steps toward me, like a panther circling prey. There was no fear in her eyes—only rage. Controlled. Focused.

“Let me make something fuckin’ clear, Barry,” she said through gritted teeth, standing barely a breath away from me now. “I am your wife now. Not her. So if you want to sulk and cry about your lost princess, pack your s**t and go cry at her fuckin’ doorstep.”

Her voice shook, not from weakness but from holding back the kind of tears that only came when pride was choking you.

I couldn’t breathe.

My hand slowly lowered the drink onto the table. The sound of the glass touching the wood echoed louder than it should’ve.

Then I reached for her.

Not in a desperate way. In a real way.

My arms wrapped around her and I pulled her into my chest, resting my chin atop her head as her breath hitched against me. My hand found the back of her head, fingers threading through her soft hair, and I whispered—

“I’m sorry.”

She didn’t say anything. But she didn’t push me away either.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, this time lower, more broken. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She pulled back, her lips barely an inch from mine, her gaze searching my face like she was deciding whether to forgive me or rip me apart.

“I’m not Alina,” she said, her voice a whisper, “but I’m not some cheap substitute either. So stop treating me like one.”

“I know,” I said, brushing her cheek. “You’re not. You’re everything.”

My lips met hers—soft, hesitant at first, like asking for permission. But then she leaned in too, kissing me back with a passion that burned through every wall we had between us.

The kiss deepened, hungry and desperate, her fingers tangled in my shirt, tugging me closer. I cupped her face, then let one hand slide down her neck, across her waist, and then I cupped her breast gently, feeling the thrum of her heartbeat through the thin fabric.

She let out a soft gasp but didn’t stop me.

Our kiss turned wild, our mouths speaking all the apologies and confessions words couldn’t carry. I grabbed her waist and pulled her flush against me, letting her feel just how much she still affected me.

“You want to keep talking about Alina?” she whispered breathlessly, in between kisses. “Or should we move this conversation somewhere more comfortable?”

I smirked, dipping my head to kiss her neck. “Bedroom?”

She bit her lip and nodded, eyes daring, wild.

Without waiting another second, I lifted her up and she instinctively wrapped her legs around me. We stumbled through the hallway, kissing like teenagers, her lips tracing my jaw, my ear, my throat.

By the time we crashed into the bed, I didn’t care about Alina. I didn’t care about the past. All that mattered was the woman beneath me—the one who was still here, still fighting, still burning.

My hands found her again, this time more confidently, caressing her chest, her curves, every part of her that screamed mine. She moaned against my mouth, grinding against me, her hands clawing down my back.

Her sass wasn’t gone, even in the heat of it.

“You better not be imagining her while you’re touching me,” she whispered, biting my earlobe.

“Trust me, baby,” I growled, my voice rough, “right now, you’re all I see.”

“You wanted it without a condom, and that’s what you’ll get. I’m going to make you take my big, f*****g c**k in that tight snatch and fill you until my c*m is dripping out of you.”

“I’m yours, Barry,” she moaned.

“Yeah, you are."She ushered me to the bed, and before she could lay back, she ripped my shirt from me, my d**k shaking slightly from the motion.

“Lay down for me. Let me fill you up.”