Chapter 1: The Vanilla Trap

My arms were aching by the time I finally reached our front door.

I had been carrying this stupid, overpriced caramel cake for six blocks because the bakery couldn't find a bag big enough to hold it.

 But I didn't care. 

Today was Leo’s promotion to Vice President. For five years, I’d been the one ironing his shirts at 6:00 AM, listening to him vent about his boss until midnight, and skipping my own lunches just to bring him coffee at the office. 

We were getting married in three months. His win was our win. We were finally going to start our real life.

I balanced the heavy box on my knee and wiggled my key into the lock.

The condo was quiet when I pushed the door open. I slipped my heels off right away, leaving them neatly by the mat. My feet were killing me from my own shift, but I was smiling. I wanted to surprise him.

"Leo?" I called out, keeping my voice low.

No answer.

But as I walked past the kitchen island, I heard the music.

 It was faint, coming from down the hall. An old, slow R&B playlist. 

My stomach did a weird, cold little flip. 

That was the playlist he put on when we poured wine and locked the bedroom door.

I took a step down the hallway, the cake box pressed against my chest.

That was when I saw it.

A red stiletto. It was lying on its side, carelessly kicked against the baseboard.

My brain, desperate to protect me, tried to make sense of it. 

Did his sister drop by? Did someone leave the TV on?

 But then I saw the matching shoe a few feet away. And right next to it, a scrap of black lace. Thong underwear.

It wasn't mine.

The air in the hallway suddenly felt too thick to breathe. The smell hit me next. It wasn’t Leo’s clean, familiar soap. It was a heavy, overpowering perfume. Jasmine and crushed roses.

Chloe. My maid of honor. She had literally just helped me pick out my veil three days ago.

No. No, no, no.

 My mind screamed at me to turn around. Just walk out the front door, get back in the elevator, and pretend I never came home. If I didn't see it, it wasn't real.

But my legs moved on their own. They dragged me toward the master bedroom, every step feeling like I was wading through wet cement.

With every step, the music got louder. And underneath the heavy bass, I heard the sounds.

A wet, sloppy sound of skin slapping against skin. A low, dirty groan slipping from a man’s throat, my man's throat. It was so loud that my ears wanted to bleed, and my heart was about to explode.

I stood outside the door. My hands were shaking so badly the cardboard box rattled. I couldn't feel my fingers. There was just this high-pitched ringing in my ears.

I nudged the door open just a few inches.

I should have looked away. I should have closed my eyes. But I couldn't. I just stood there and watched my entire life bleed out on the floor.

The afternoon light was filtering through the blinds, casting harsh shadows across the bed. They didn't even have the decency to pull the covers up. It was a sight that shattered my understanding and my entire existence.

Chloe was on her back, her blonde hair tangled and plastered to my silk pillowcases. And Leo, the man who kissed my forehead every morning, the man who told my father he would protect me forever, was buried between her legs.

“ Fuck, you're amazing Clo” 

“ Ughh! I want more!”

But it wasn't just the fact that they were having sex. It was how he was touching her.

His hands, the ones that held mine so gently in public, were gripping Chloe’s hips so hard I could see his knuckles turning white. He was bruising her. He had her hair wrapped around his fist, pulling her head back, and he was burying his face in her neck, biting down.

Chloe was whining moaning so loud because of the pleasure she was feeling, she was arching her back up into him, her manicured nails digging deep red into his shoulders.

He was absolutely feral. He was looking at her with this desperate, starving, dirty expression. 

He never looked at me like that. Not once in five years. With me, it was always lights off, under the covers, quiet and sweet. Vanilla. With Chloe, he looked like he wanted to devour her.

"Leo," Chloe gasped out, her eyes rolling back. "Leo, wait! what if she comes home?"

Leo didn't even pause. He thrust into her harder, making her let out a sharp cry.

"I don't care," he groaned, his voice thick and unrecognizable. "God, you're so tight. You're so much better than her. She just lays there. She’s so fucking boring, Chlo."

Those words didn't just break my heart. They hollowed me out. They took everything I was, my loyalty, my sacrifices, my body and turned me into a pathetic, boring joke.

A sob ripped out of my throat. I couldn't stop it. It was a harsh, ugly, broken sound.

Leo froze.

Chloe’s eyes snapped open. She looked over Leo’s shoulder, right at the crack in the door. Her face went completely white.

For a second, nobody moved. We just stared at each other. The fiancé. The best friend. The fool.

My hands went numb.

The cake box slipped from my fingers. It hit the hardwood floor with a heavy, sickening thud. The cardboard burst open, sending chunks of sponge cake and sticky caramel frosting splattering all over the floor.

It was wasted, just like my life, wasted in just a single moment.

The sound broke the spell.

"Serena!" Leo shouted. He scrambled backward, falling off the bed in a frantic, naked panic. "Serena, wait! It's not what it looks like!"

It's not what it looks like. The oldest, most pathetic lie in the world.

I didn't yell. I didn't scream. I didn't even cry. I just turned around and ran.

I didn't grab my purse. I didn't grab a coat. I bolted down the hallway, my bare feet slipping on the slick wood.

 I threw the front door open, slammed it behind me, and hit the stairwell. I didn't wait for the elevator. I practically threw myself down the concrete steps, gasping for air that wouldn't fill my lungs. My chest burned like I had swallowed broken glass.

I pushed through the lobby doors and crashed out into the street.

It was pouring. 

The sky had opened up, dumping freezing, heavy rain over the city. I stumbled onto the sidewalk, the icy water instantly soaking through my thin work blouse.

I just started walking. Cars honked as I crossed the street blindly. People with umbrellas bumped into my shoulders, cursing at me, but I couldn't feel anything. It's as if my entire life was useless and there is no meaning to it at all. 

My phone was in the apartment. My home was gone. The man I loved was washing another woman's scent off his skin right now.

I walked until the bottoms of my feet were scraped and bleeding, until the sun went down and the streetlights flickered on. 

Exhausted, freezing, and shaking so hard my teeth rattled, I finally sank onto a cold stone bench outside a massive, glowing hotel.

I pulled my knees to my chest, buried my face in my wet arms, and let the first real, agonizing sob tear its way out of me.

I was completely alone.

Then, the rain stopped hitting me.

I sniffled, wiping my nose with the back of my numb hand, and looked up.

A massive black umbrella was hovering over my head. I looked past a pair of expensive, perfectly shined leather shoes. Up a pair of razor-sharp charcoal trousers. Up to a face that made my heart physically stutter in my chest.

It was Alexander.

Leo’s Godfather.

He was the wealthiest, most terrifyingly ruthless man in the city. The man who was supposed to be paying for our wedding venue.

He didn't look at my ruined clothes or my bleeding feet. His dark, heavy eyes locked onto my red, tear-stained face. He didn't look pitiful. He looked furious.

Slowly, he shrugged off his heavy, custom-tailored suit jacket. Without saying a word, he draped it over my freezing shoulders. It was so warm I almost cried harder.

He crouched down, right there on the wet pavement, ruining his slacks. He reached out, his large, rough thumb gently wiping a tear away from my jawline.

"Tell me who did this to you," Alexander murmured. His voice w

as so low it vibrated in my chest. "And I will ruin his life by morning."