Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“How has your week been?” I ask more out of making conversation than actually caring about what he’s been doing.
Kyler doesn’t turn to look at me anymore, and when he answers, his eyes are glued to his phone.
“Busy. I see you managed to get out of bed today,” he replies. There isn’t malice in his voice, but there’s no concern either.
“I did. I was feeling a little off this week.”
“I hope you’re over whatever it was. I need you back full force next week.”
He wasn’t always like this.
Or maybe he was?
Love lets your mind play tricks on you.
My love for Kyler allowed me to let him rule me. Without even realizing he was doing so. He wasn’t controlling or manipulative, he was just…
Kyler demanded, and I gave in, always finding it hard to say no to him.
I still do.
“You look nice,” I tell him.
His fingers pause on his phone, and he glances over at me. His attention went straight to my chest. “Can you pull your dress up? Paparazzi are about to take photos, and I would rather them not take any of your tits.” I look down at my strapless dress and see it’s fallen down a fraction. I wiggle it back up and sigh.
My tits are fake.
Why are they fake? My husband thought one day it would be better if I had bigger boobs.
I agreed, so bigger boobs are what I got.
Now I hate them.
Biting my tongue, I look out the window as the car speeds along.
How is it possible to still love someone but not want to be with them? Because I do very much love my husband, but I think sometimes I would be better off without him.
Doing what? I don’t even know.
The car comes to a stop, and the driver gets out and opens my door.
“Your top. Hold it up,” Kyler reminds me as I reach for the driver’s hand to slide out onto my feet. I do as Kyler says, holding my dress firmly, and step out. Cameras start flashing, and I put on my best smile as I turn to look back at my husband as he exits the car.
We have been called the “it” couple.
Unbreakable.
Kyler’s hand rests on the small of my back as he waves his other hand at the cameras and guides me forward. I go willingly and smile for the cameras as we make our way along the red carpet and up the stairs to the entrance of the gala. It’s full of influential people, governors, police chiefs, lawyers, and those who scream money and power. We’ve been coming to these things for years. To be honest, I’m over them. Maybe I’m having an early mid-life crisis? Is that a thing?
It has to be because when I glance at my husband next to me, I think, who would ever willingly leave this man?
He is beautiful in every sense of the word.
So the question is? When he touches me now, why do I want to pull away?
Is it because we have both slowly drifted apart over time?
Maybe he pulled away first, and I just didn’t realize it.
The doors close behind us, and I suck in a breath. There aren’t any cameras in here, so Kyler’s hand drops from my back immediately. He smiles at someone and turns to me.
“A scotch on ice.” He gives me his drink order before he walks off.
I look around at all the eyes following him. He carries himself in such a way people can’t help but stare.
Sighing, I go to the bar and lean on it as I pull my phone from my bag. I flick through messages I haven’t answered for days. There are some from my parents, asking when they can visit next. My brother, who just sends me question marks now. And then there are a few from my best friend, who left me that night at the bar before I was drugged.
“Oriana.” Speak of the devil. I turn at my name being called by my best friend, sliding my phone in my purse as I smile at her. “I thought that was you. You haven’t replied to me, and I was getting worried.” Her long blonde hair falls down her back in neat curls. She’s wearing a black dress that is a little too tight, but she pulls it off amazingly.
“I’ve been busy,” I tell her as the bartender steps over. “A margarita and a scotch on the rocks, please,” I tell the bartender.
“You changed your drink,” Simone comments next to me. I met Simone through Kyler. She was an agent who was trying to pitch Kyler, but he already had an agent, and we became fast friends instead.
“Yes, figured it was time for a change.” What I usually drink would only remind me of that night, and that’s the last thing I want to think about.