The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,270

who had a problem with her.”

“Because she was our nanny and you got her pregnant.” I scream, incandescent anger propelling me toward him.

He takes a step away from me. “Lower your voice,” he hisses.

“I will not. I’ve never cared where you have dallied. I still don’t. But if you do this--I will see you in hell.” His eyes dart past my shoulder again, this time, his tongue darts nervously over his thin lips.

I swivel in the direction of his gaze. There’s nothing there but the huge gold leaf framed mirror that hangs over my fireplace.

“What the hell are you looking at?” I demand, searching the wall for whatever keeps drawing his attention.

“Anything but you.” He means the words to sting, but his cadence is stilted. His unease, in a moment where he holds all the cards, plucks at my suspicion.

I erase any trace of it from my voice and my expression and turn back to him with a narrow-eyed glare and scornful scowl on my face. “Why? Because I’m not eighteen and under your employ?”

His haughty, self-righteous stance is back. But I don’t miss the flash of worry in his eyes. Or the way his throat bobs behind his starched collar.

“You must stop this delusion about Hanna.”

“Is the baby she popped out with your fucking eyes a delusion?” I ask incredulous that he’s still denying it.

“You have no proof. Whereas, I have this picture.” He waves his phone in my face, and his sneer turns taunting. “You’re nothing but a common slut and soon, the whole world will know.”

I bristle. “Well, they already know that you are the king of sluts, so they’ll just think you finally rubbed off on me.”

He flinches as if I slapped him and then his face flushes scarlet and he bares his teeth in a feral snarl before he rushes toward me. With more speed and strength than I thought him capable of, he shoves me. I land flat on my back. The rug cushions the impact of my fall, but I lay there, dazed and disoriented. He drops to his knees beside me and grips my cheeks, squeezing so tightly that I can’t move my lips.

“Is he the reason you asked me for a divorce?” Spittle sprays my face and shock at the violence of his touch stuns me silent and still.

“Fucking answer me.” He tightens his hold on me and my teeth cut into the inside of my cheek. The salty metallic taste of my own blood is an elixir – neutralizing my fear and feeding my fury.

I gaze into the wrathful face of the man I wasted too much of my life on. The last ember of goodwill I feel for him, dies. Whatever he sees in my expression startles him – his eyes widen and his grip on my face slackens. I yank his hand away, press my palms to his chest and shove him off me. He lands in a sprawl beside me.

I pull myself up with as much dignity as I can muster and wait for him to do the same. And then I step to him and stand close enough that I can see sweat beading on his cowardly upper lip.

My hands curl into tight fists at my side, the bite of my fingernails in my palm keep me grounded and in control of the tempest that wants to fly free and beat his ass the way my brothers taught me to. But I am not going to jail for this asshole. “You will never, ever touch me again, Marcel. Not ever.”

His jaw trembles, but his voice is as sharp and smooth as the edge of an assassin's blade. “I don’t have to lay a hand on you to hurt you, Regan. You smug, faithless woman. I am going to ruin you. And when I find out who dared to cuckold me, I’ll do the same to him.”

“Mom?” At the sound of my daughter’s trembling, tear clogged voice, we both freeze. I brush my cheeks, clear my expression, and with my heart in my throat, turn to face her.

“You should be sleeping, Angel, are you okay?” It’s an asinine question. It’s clear from the way her stricken gaze darts frantically between her father and me that “okay” is the last thing she is. My gut clenches at the sight of tears trailing down on cheeks and the trembling hand pressed to her mouth.

She rushes to me, her arms circle my waist, and she presses her wet cheek to