of his drink and swallows. “I’m surprised I’ve forgotten to mention it...”
Off he goes again on one of his long rants about how wonderful the formal event will be, how anybody who’s anybody will be there, and how amazing he is for all his wife’s hard work. Obviously, I’m invited because he would just love for me to see how much influence he can throw around.
No, he doesn’t say that specifically, but the hint is there, and I gladly accept the invitation. I intend to insert myself into the picture as often as possible, and Grant is the perfect opening for me to do so.
The man is a tool, and it’s a simple feat to unsnap the leash he has attached to Adeline’s neck to use on him.
He’s too arrogant to see it, but judging by Adeline’s expression, she knows exactly what I’m doing.
Good. When the time comes that she opens her fucking eyes to see this process was necessary in order to free her of this sham for a life, she’ll appreciate me more. Maybe even forgive me.
Or maybe not.
A half hour passes and Adeline announces dinner is ready. Happy for the interruption, I stand from my seat and follow them into the dining room.
Scanning the home as we pass through it, I take note of the cameras throughout, my lips kicking into a grin because Grant may have spent a pretty penny renovating the place, but he was cheap as fuck when it came to security.
It will be too easy to hack into the home’s system, and I’m chomping at the bit to get back to my place to do just that.
Unfortunately, before I can do so, I have to sit through another hour at least of Grant’s bragging.
It’s worth it, though.
It has to be.
For Adeline, I’d do just about anything, even kill this loudmouthed fuck if it ever comes to it.
Adeline
I’m going to kill him.
I’m not sure how, or when, or even if it’s possible, but in my head, Ari is as good as a dead man.
After manipulating Grant into practically demanding I pick up my camera and somehow manage a show worthy set within a month, Ari sat at our dining room table for over an hour continuing with his games.
His comments and remarks were all stabs at my marriage. When he wasn’t secretly reminding me of the two times I’d betrayed my husband, he was egging Grant on, making comments that highlighted and encouraged the way my husband treats me.
It was a relief when he finally left, but even that was short lived. Unable to close the deal again, Grant was in a foul mood, and he’d taken it out on me until we finally went to bed.
Needless to say, the night didn’t pass peacefully.
No. I was woken up to be screamed at for fighting again. For screaming. For crying.
Grant was back to demanding I take the medicine, his threats delivered to me with little room for misinterpretation before he left for work in the morning.
I’m not going to take them. I don’t care what he says. Everything was fine until Ari came back into the picture, and it will be fine again when I finally force him out. I just have to figure out how to accomplish it.
Not that I want him out entirely.
And that’s the part that scares me most.
Ari has an undeniable effect on me when he’s around, one I can’t pretend not to feel, even if I wish I didn’t. I find myself taking a little extra time doing my hair and makeup, feel an extra kick to the speed of my pulse when I know I’ll see him.
But that’s nothing compared to the hyper-drive of my heart when he finally walks into view, the way my eyes study him, as if dedicating every detail to memory, the way I feel full when our eyes meet, and I know he can somehow hear everything I’m thinking.
It’s disconcerting how alike we are. I’m not sure he knows how the tiny details he tells about himself remind me of the girl I’d once been. Things as insignificant as his choice in what to drink mimicking the years I spent careening out of control until Grant locked me down and demanded I change.
What type of man drinks vodka and cranberry? That should have been my question. But instead all I could think was he’s just like me.
Still, he’s the devil and he’s ruining my marriage. He knows it, too, if the wicked grins he