Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

MARSHALL

" S omething smells beautiful," Karl tells his wife. He kisses her cheek as we enter the kitchen.

She smiles, stirring the pot on the stove. "It's chicken tortilla soup."

Pulling out a chair, I sink down, watching them discreetly. Karl and his wife, Joana, first met at university, and she moved back here to be with him. She's beautiful, dressed in a red, flowery dress, with raven hair, olive skin, and brown eyes that sparkle.

When she aims her smile at me, my nape breaks out in a cold sweat. Cruz has that same smile and eyes, but they embody the night. Where he's concerned, there's no sparkle.

"Please tell me you won the round of golf today, Marshall. My husband's ego needs to be taken down a peg or two."

Karl slaps her butt, and she swats him away with a giggle. I feel like an intruder when he looks at her that way—as though more than two decades haven't passed since they first fell in love.

Conversation flows easily while they set the table. Joana pours me a glass of wine as she asks me about my week, and I tell her about the lectures. I haven't heard a peep from Cruz in over a week, and he hasn't shown up for half his classes. When he does turn up, he barely looks in my direction.

I don't know what to make of this maelstrom of conflicting emotions. It's like I have an angel and a demon on my shoulders—a whisper of reason and a more sinister, self-indulgent counterpart. I worry about Cruz, wonder if he's okay, and my insides twist when his seat remains empty.

My ears still burn every time I recall the incident in class when I drank his semen in front of a lecture hall full of unaware students, thinking it was coffee. What possessed him to do something like that? Something so…primal. I fumed, but something far more disturbing surfaced beneath the bruised pride and shame. I… liked it.

Joana pours wine into Karl's glass, when the front door opens, and feminine laughter fills the hallway.

A smile spreads across Joana's red-painted lips. "Is this the mysterious girl who he sneaks out to see at night?"

No sooner have the words left her mouth than Cruz stumbles to a halt in the doorway with a giggling girl in his arms, swamping her small frame and looking surprised, as if he didn't expect anyone to be home. It's bullshit. His father and I play golf and eat dinner together on Wednesdays. It's routine. He knows it.

Joana shoots to her feet in a flurry of brightening eyes and flowery perfume. "Join us. Let me set the table."

My teeth grind as Cruz guides her forward in her short, denim skirt and black tank top that shows far too much cleavage. It's Violet Scott—the daughter of a successful cinema franchise owner. She's also one of my students.

Cruz whispers something in her ear that makes her blush and then pulls out her chair like a gentleman. I almost snort.

His eyes clash with mine as he sits down beside her and drapes his arm around the back of her chair. A smirk teases the corner of his mouth before she steals his attention with another one of her grating giggles.

Joana lays into her with a million questions, and I fight the urge to glare daggers at Cruz while he plays with a strand of her blonde hair. His black T-shirt hugs his broad frame without being too tight, hinting at the muscles beneath, and his silver chain disappears beneath the V-neck collar, but the dark stubble on his chiseled jaw and his rare smile are what captivate me.

The food tastes like cardboard, but I force myself to eat while trying my damn hardest not to sneak glances at his long fingers in her hair or her hand beneath the table. I'm rattled to the bone, and my coiling insides tangle like a cord. I'm…jealous.

Fuck…

I take a swig of wine and Cruz slides his eyes in my direction, homing in on my trembling hand. His infuriating smirk reappears and he whispers something in the girl's ear before they both leave the room, thanking his mother for the food.

"She's so pretty," Joana gushes, starry-eyed. "Did you see the way he looked at her?

I feel sick. My stomach churns. Cruz is an amazing actor—a chameleon who blends in with the environment. I've only seen rare glimpses of the cracks in his mask when he stills, like the calm before the storm, and taps his finger and thumb together in a calculated rhythm.

Excusing myself from the table, I lock myself in the bathroom downstairs, needing a moment alone. I tremble with anxiety. Or is it jealousy? Maybe both? I don't even know anymore. Nonetheless, it's an uncomfortable feeling.

White knuckling the sink, I exhale and drop my chin to my chest. My heart races as a tightness spreads behind my ribs. I rub at the sore spot, but it remains, growing more insistent by the second.

I should leave it alone and let Cruz move on with someone his own age—it's the right thing to do—but thoughts of him with Violet intensify the tremble in my bones, and I clench my teeth so hard that my jaw aches. Why am I letting him get to me like this?

Fuck it.

Rubbing my hand over my tender jaw, I straighten up and take one last look in the mirror. My eyes are haunted, but there's a fire there—one I've never witnessed before.

When I lean closer to inspect my face, I wonder if I ever truly loved my wife or if we stayed married for so long because it was easy and comfortable. She never evoked these warring emotions in me. Come to think of it, she never made me feel much of anything.

With one final steadying breath, I exit the bathroom and take a left instead of a right, ascending the winding staircase. His bedroom is the third one in line.

I hear them before I see them, my chest throbbing at the sound of his deep groan. I almost turn back around, but the part of me that needs to see his betrayal with my own eyes screams louder.

As my steps slow near his door, an ugly sensation rears up inside me, both unfamiliar and destructive. I've never wanted to hurt someone before, but I want to inflict pain as I take that final step on the creaky floorboards and catch sight of him seated on the bed with the girl kneeling between his spread legs.

I want to hurt him the way he cuts me when he looks up at me as though he knew I would seek him out all along. Violet's blonde locks spill from between his long fingers, his grip tight on her hair as he guides her mouth on his cock.

I allow the slurping sound to crack my heart open for all of two seconds before spinning on my heel and stumbling through the door in a haze of hurt and brokenness.

I never loved my wife. I know that now.

The day I found out, I watched the short video of her fucking her colleague. Instead of this raging inferno searing my veins, a numbness spread throughout my body. I never felt an ounce of the pain back then that's clawing at my chest. Swiping my forearm across my eyes, I realize that I'm crying.