Chapter 2

Oliver's POV

Sure enough, Cara saw the message and left. She never came back.

I opened the social media account she and Dominic ran together as a couple. Every single post had a supportive comment from me underneath it. They'd traveled the world together and seen places I never had.

Dominic used to tease me about it. "Jealous? Get your CEO wife to take you."

He knew full well that Cara had turned me down at least ten times. "There's so much going on at the company, Oliver. Can you think about my schedule for once?"

She was never busy. She just gave all her free time to Dominic. What looked like him showing off their adventures was really him rubbing it in my face.

I was still staring at the screen when a new video appeared on their page, set so that only I could see it.

The sheets were tangled, toys were scattered across the bed, and Dominic's muscular back was arched over Cara as he pinned her beneath him, taking what he wanted without a shred of restraint.

"Feels better with me, doesn't it? Come on, let me see."

Just the night before, Cara had curled up against me, warm and flushed, letting me have all of her. "If I go a single day without you, I feel like I'm losing my mind. I can't live without you, honey."

Every word she'd whispered in bed kept replaying in my head, and now each one cut like a knife through my chest.

The camera shifted, and that was when I noticed the tattoo on her hip. It read D, not O. It wasn't smudged ink like she'd always told me.

I touched my face. It was cold and wet. The tears had come before the grief had even registered.

I closed the video, but a moment later, my heart lurched painfully in my chest. That was when the hospital called.

"Is this Mr. Oliver Beckett? Your mother suffered a sudden cardiac arrest. I'm so sorry, but she's passed away."

The world collapsed. By the time I stumbled through the hospital doors, her face was already covered with a white sheet. I couldn't think straight. I could barely get the words out.

"How could this happen?"

I held her ice-cold hand, and every breath felt like swallowing glass.

Out of pure desperation, I called Cara. The first time, she didn't pick up. The second time, she hung up on me. The third time, her phone was off.

Back in college, when I was at my lowest and getting bullied by everyone, she promised she would always pick up when I called. Now all I got was the same cold, automated voice, over and over, each repetition chipping away a little more of whatever was left inside me.

I stopped trying. After I said my goodbyes to my mother, I asked the doctor one last question.

"Her heart condition hadn't flared up in years. How did this happen so suddenly?"

He shook his head. "It was very sudden. A courier came by earlier and spoke to her briefly, and she collapsed almost immediately after."

Something pulled me back into her room. On the floor lay a lab report.

It was a prenatal report with Cara's name at the top. She was 12 weeks along, and Dominic Vale was listed as the father. There was blood on it, coughed up by my mother.

Dominic and I once made a pact that we'd have kids around the same time and be godfathers to each other's children. Now his child with my wife was what had killed my mother.

I made the arrangements for her funeral, went home, and started packing. I called a lawyer and had divorce papers drawn up.

That was when Cara walked through the door.