Betrayal (Infidelity Book 1) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,84

began to form a plan. “This conversation never occurred, and after I speak to Ms. Flores, Alexandria Collins’s profile will be deleted permanently. Can you take care of that for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

AS I LAY in bed, the quiet apartment did nothing to ease my laziness that minute by minute was augmented by self-pity. It was after eleven in the morning and the one thing I wanted to do was call Chelsea. I kept thinking about the time difference and knew she’d be awake now. I wanted to talk to her and confess what I’d done. Patrick and Cy had been supportive and encouraging throughout last night, but they weren’t Chelsea, weren’t my best friend. They didn’t know me like she did. No one did.

I couldn’t call. Speaking to her about Infidelity would be a breach of the agreement.

I couldn’t even discuss the specifics last night with Cy and Patrick, and they knew about Infidelity. Even without my saying much, it was clear they both understood my ongoing inner turmoil. One minute, I was happy that I’d found a solution and law school was secure. During those moments, I wanted to hug Patrick and Cy. Then, five minutes later, I was mortified at the solution I’d accepted. I questioned my decision: maybe I should have looked around more for another job or I could have spoken to the bursar’s office at Columbia about student loans.

It was as I lay in bed that I began to worry about my client. What if I didn’t like him? What if he didn’t like me? What if I ended up being the first exception to Infidelity’s abuse clause? What if he wasn’t my type? Though I’d answered a very intense and extensive list of questions, was that really enough to accurately pair me with someone I’d never met?

I also wondered about my apartment. I didn’t know if I should keep it or call and break the lease. Housing was mandatory for Infidelity. My client would provide it, and more than likely it would be with him. Then again, just because I was required to live with this unknown man, having a place of my own sounded nice. After all, my apartment was near campus. I could use it as a place to study. With a monthly salary of twenty thousand dollars, the apartment’s rent of three thousand was no longer an issue.

I stared at the ceiling. As tears dripped like a leaky faucet from the corners of my eyes, I wondered if I could do this. At this moment, getting out of bed seemed a monumental effort. How could I follow through? My pillow was damp, but I made no attempt to hold back my tears. I contemplated curling into a ball and never moving. I’d tried that before, but no matter where I hid, Jane always found me.

With each passing minute my sense of loathing grew. Every ounce of the repugnant emotion was directed at myself. I’d done this. I’d betrayed everything I’d ever stood for. I lied to myself, thinking that Alex was an improvement over Alexandria. She wasn’t. She was worse. I’d made this decision. It wasn’t done to me.

Adelaide and Alton had been right about one thing: they knew Alexandria would sell herself given the right incentive. They just didn’t realize I would sell myself to a stranger.

Would I be better off back at Montague Manor with Bryce?

The ringing of my phone shattered the silent air, stilled my interior monologue, and pulled me from my funk. The number flashing on the screen was unknown. I suddenly worried that it was Bryce. Why hadn’t I programmed his name in my phone before I deleted his text messages?

Wiping my eyes, I made the decision that I was done hiding. It never worked when I was young; it wouldn’t work now. I sat up and steeled my shoulders. Exhaling a deep breath, I answered on the fourth ring, barely saving the caller from my voicemail. “Hello.”

“Miss Collins?”

The voice wasn’t Bryce’s. It was a woman. “Yes, this is she,” I replied as my mind came to life with the possible identity of the caller: someone from Columbia—Alton had withdrawn my tuition, someone about my apartment—they needed to see me. I hadn’t had the chance to reach the correct possibility before the woman spoke.

“Miss Collins, this is Karen Flores from Infidelity. We spoke yesterday.”

Did she really think I’d forgotten?

“Yes, Ms. Flores, I remember.” Maybe I failed the exam? Probably the psychological one. They thought I was