The picture perfect wife

Dahlia POV

I just stared at them, at how close they were to one another.

“How long?” I asked calmly.

My gaze shifted, back and forth, from Aliyah to Matthew, waiting for their expressions to give off a hint of guilt. I got nothing.

Aliyah parted her lips, already preparing to speak.

Matthew lifted a hand sharply. “Hold on.”

He turned fully to me.

“Why are you here?”

“What?” I whispered.

“You're intruding,” he said, unremorsefully. “You should have been home by now.”

I laughed bitterly. “That's it? That's all you have to say? We're married.”

“No. No, no, no.” He shook his head. “You caused this yourself. If you hadn't come to the office at this hour, you wouldn't have seen anything. And you wouldn't be hurt right now.”

My hands trembled. “So this is my fault?”

He didn't respond. He just turned his gaze towards every other part of the room except where I was standing.

I turned to Aliyah. “Is this really what you've been doing? I come to you for comfort. I tell you everything. I ask you to help me when things go wrong with him. And this is what you do to me?”

She didn't look ashamed.

She exhaled slowly. It almost sounded like she was relieved. “To be honest,” she said. “I met Mathew first. Back in college. He didn't marry you because he loved you,” she added. “He married you because you were smart and a good fit.”

Something inside me snapped.

I took a step forward…

But Matthew's voice stopped me cold. “Don't even try it.”

“So that's why,” I said, turning to face Matthew. “That's why you never touched me. You were too busy pleasing her while I was alone for years.”

He exhaled like he was tired of pretending. “You fit the picture,” he said. “That's all. A smart girl from college. You were the only option available,” he shrugged. Then with a smirk that gutted me, he added. “You had a pretty face. That helped.”

I tried to hold it back. But the tears came anyway. I tried so long to make him like me and I finally knew why he never did.

I didn't scream or argue. I just turned and walked out.

The elevator ride down was a blur. By the time I got into my car, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely start it. I drove for five minutes. Maybe less. I pulled over.

I sobbed so hard my chest hurt.

“Oh God,” I choked. “What is this? Today was supposed to be the day before my big moment.”

He ruined it.

“I knew it,” I whispered through tears. “I knew he didn't want me to get it.”

I couldn't go home. I couldn't bear to sit in that house knowing he would walk in as if nothing happened. I turned the wheel sharply and drove towards La Carsi Bar.

The light of the bar came into view. As I pulled into the lot, I didn't see the car until it was too close. I stopped inches from the hood of a sleek black Porsche.

The driver's window rolled down. So did mine.

“What the hell…” I said, defensively.

I stopped myself. I didn't have the strength to argue.

“Actually,” I said, swallowing hard. “Forget it.”

I ignored the car entirely and walked straight into the bar.

“Two shots,” I said, dropping my purse on the counter.

“What kind?” the bartender asked.

“I just need something that'll calm my nerves,” I answered.

He slid over two shots of tequila reposado. I downed them both. It made my head feel lighter.

I headed for the restroom and collided with a solid chest.

“Excuse me,” I said automatically.

Then I looked up… and everything seemed to stop.

A tall, broad-shouldered man who smelled like an expensive perfume was staring straight into my eyes.

“You okay?” He asked gently. He reached for my shoulders instinctively.

I flinched away before he could touch me.

“I'm fine,” I said too quickly.

He studied me anyway. “You really should be careful,” he murmured.

“I don't want to talk,” I said brushing past him.

I honestly wasn't in the mood.

He stepped aside immediately.

I slipped into the restroom, locking myself into a stall. As I stared at the tiled floor, my mind kept replaying the image of Matthew's mouth on Aliyah's skin. I fixed my lipstick and washed my hands.

When I stepped out, the bar was fuller and more crowded. There was only one seat left. Beside him. The man from earlier.

Before I could protest, the bartender slid my drink onto the counter, placing it directly beside the man's elbow. I hesitated, then squared my shoulders and took the seat anyway.

I had barely settled when he lifted two fingers.

“Water,” he said to the bartender.

The glass was placed in front of him but he didn't drink it. Instead, he turned and pushed it towards me.

“For you.”

I stared at the glass. Then at him.