Broken And Betrayed: A Billionaire's Regret

Benne

wed my face. But it wasn' t my face from today, poised and controlled. It was my face from

ting job-a gritty, desperate role that had earned me critical acclaim and industry notice-and seamlessly blended it with ha

f Beckham' s classmates, New York' s elite, froze with champagne flutes halfway

x Bennett. The washed-up actress Justin Barlow inexplicably marri

his. It had Beckham and Bertram' s cruelty written all over it, guided by the precise, malicious

The clip would be all over the internet in minutes. The headlines would write themselves. The comments w

she was

keep her husband. He

for a reason. Wh

arms crossed, a smug, triumphant smirk on his face. Bertram, ever th

ertram whispering. "Wait for it. She's goin

wanted the drama, the validation that

wift, brutal efficiency he usually reserved for hostile takeovers. He grabbed the mast

een wen

idn't shout. He didn't have to. He strode over to them, grabbed them both by the arm in a grip that made them wince, and dragged

at led to a deserted terrace, my legs shaking. The cold night air was a s

ried. I rarely smoked anymore, but tonight, I needed it. I lit it, th

chemical calm that momentarily stea

do you think

et. He snatched the cigarette from my lips and cru

ches from mine. His breath smelled of expensive w

filled with condemnation. The same look he gave me wh

gna

y throat. Oh, the irony was thick enough

cked in the deepest, darkest

ous crack in the contractual foundation of our marriage. For two years, I had allowed myself to beli

n he wa

e Barlow summer estate. I was watching him splash in the shallow end of the pool. I turn

d back, he w

O! I ran around the pool, my eyes scanning the crystal blue water

blue sandal floating n

his hair fanned out like a dark halo. I dove in, the water a

movements frantic, clumsy. I breathed into his tiny, unresponsive mouth, tasting

stin' s voice was a roar. He ha

o him, a wild animal protecting her y

L

ummer air. His handprint bloome

contorted with a grief so raw it was terri

horrifying moment. The sun was so bright. The birds were still

"Please, Justin. Let me take him. Just let me have him. We can go aw

ared down at me, his eyes filled with an accusat

al. He made me sit in the front row of the crematorium and watc

ghost in my own life, a hollowed-out shell going through the

gain. Not in front of hi

s talking abou

e vacant stare I'd had for months after Leo died. He mistook my trauma for shame over th

trying to pull m

th the condescending calm he used to soothe hy

ballroom doors behind us were thrown open, b

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