Chapter 2

The nurses in the recovery room had cooed about him.

"Your husband loves you so much, Mrs. Davis," one had said with a sigh. "He couldn't take his eyes off you."

The words were a bitter poison now.

When the fog of anesthesia finally cleared, Alyssa opened her eyes. The chair next to her bed was empty. Branson was gone.

Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. A text from him.

Something came up at the office. Grandfather needs me. I'll be home soon. I love you.

It was a lie. She had waited, the minutes stretching into hours. The disappointment was a familiar ache in her chest. Finally, she had called a car and gone home alone, her body sore, her spirit weary.

She found out the truth later. It wasn't the office. It was Chandler.

Burrel had staged another emergency. He'd claimed his heart was failing and had begun a hunger strike, refusing food and medicine until Branson fulfilled his "duty" again. The old man wanted an heir, and he would use any form of emotional blackmail to get one.

So Branson had gone to Chandler. Again.

This time, there were no drugs, no drunken haze. It was a conscious, deliberate act. The sounds from the bedroom that night had been long and drawn out, a marathon of betrayal that lasted for hours.

Alyssa had lain in the guest room, just one wall separating her from them. At first, she had pressed a pillow over her head, trying to suffocate the sounds, her body rigid with pain. Then, as the hours wore on, a strange numbness crept in.

The pain didn't vanish. It just sank deeper, settling into a cold, hard knot in her stomach. She became a detached observer, counting. She could discern every shift, every climax, through the thin wall.

Once. Twice. A third time.

The number was a brutal confirmation. The love he claimed to have only for her was a lie. Her heart, which had already been cracked, shattered into a million pieces.

The third betrayal was tonight. On their anniversary.

He had planned a surprise. The dining room was filled with white roses, her favorite. A private chef was preparing a multi-course meal. He had held her close just hours ago, his lips against her hair.

"Alyssa," he'd whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You are my world. My everything. I will love you until my last breath..."

Then his phone rang. Chandler's name flashed on the screen. The tender expression on his face vanished, replaced by a familiar, conflicted anguish.

"I'll be right back," he'd promised, his voice strained. "Just a quick call."

He walked out of the room. He never came back.

She knew where he had gone. She didn't need a text to confirm it. She had calmly instructed the chef to leave, then walked back to the mansion from their city apartment alone.

Tonight, she didn't feel the sharp agony of the first two times. She felt nothing. A profound, terrifying emptiness. She sat curled in the armchair in the study, just waiting.

It was past midnight when she heard footsteps in the hall. Branson emerged from the guest wing, where Chandler was staying. He was wearing only a pair of sweatpants, his chest bare.

A moment later, Chandler followed, wrapped in one of his silk robes. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen. There were red marks on her neck, love bites that he had only ever given to Alyssa.

The sight was a physical blow. Alyssa' s eyes stung, but the tears wouldn't come.

Branson saw her then. His body went rigid. His expression shifted instantly from sated satisfaction to guarded panic.

"Get out," he snarled at Chandler, his voice a low, dangerous growl. He didn't even look at her.

Chandler started, a look of surprise on her face. Then, her expression crumpled into one of hurt and vulnerability. It was a masterful performance. Tears welled in her eyes as she clutched the robe tighter.

She bit her lip, a gesture of silent suffering, and hurried away down the hall.

Branson rushed to Alyssa's side, pulling her into his arms. "Alyssa, baby, I'm so sorry," he murmured, his voice laced with what sounded like genuine pain. "You know I had to. It was for Grandfather."

She was limp in his embrace, her body numb. His arms, which had once been her safe harbor, felt like a cage.

She remembered his proposal, five years ago. He had been on one knee, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I can't give you children, Alyssa. But I can give you all of me. My whole heart, for my whole life. I swear it."

"You remember what you promised me?" she asked now, her voice a dead monotone.

He stiffened. "Of course, I do. But this... this is different. It's not what you think."