Page 48 of Broken Destiny

The place felt strikingly similar to her old apartment in Vancouver, as if pieces of her past had been gathered and rebuilt here, brick by brick, to create a life that carried shards of everything we once shared.

I opened my eyes, and the photographs on the fireplace mantle appeared before me again—wedding pictures, family portraits, candid moments frozen in time, each one telling a story I had not been part of.

Jiya stood in a white dress beside Cole, her hand resting comfortably in his. Beside them were pictures of Lucas and Emma, their faces glowing with happiness. They looked like a complete family, the kind of family I had once imagined building with her, the kind of life I had believed would one day be mine.

I cursed under my breath.

Finding out that her husband had passed away hit me straight in the gut. My stomach dropped, and heat rushed to my ears. I had come here ready to wound her, ready to tear open old scars and remind her of everything she had done to me, but not like this. Not with death standing between us.

Regret flickered through me, but it vanished just as quickly as anger surged forward to take its place.

I would not let her vulnerability weaken me again.

For a woman who owned businesses and had married a wealthy man who was now gone, her supposed hunger for money did not add up. The pieces refused to fit together, no matter how hard I tried to make sense of them.

And the letter she had left me…

Nothing about it made sense.

My knuckles turned white with how hard I gripped the steering wheel.

Greg looked at me with his eyebrows drawn together. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, started the engine, and pulled away from the curb, the tires rolling forward along the road and carrying us toward the hotel while Greg sat silently beside me.

But my thoughts remained behind… still circling her house.

That evening,Greg dragged me to the strip club that Jiya had suggested.

When we stepped inside, bright pink and purple lights flashed across the room, hitting my eyes.

I slid into the seat with a drink in my hand, trying to focus on my next steps.

Around me, women moved gracefully beside polished poles, their glittering outfits catching the light with every turn and enticing the men seated nearby. The music pulsed loudly through the speakers, vibrating through the floor and into my chest, while customers laughed, cheered, and lost themselves in the spectacle.

Yet none of it held my attention.

My thoughts kept circling back to her.

Greg, determined to keep the mood alive, bought me a lap dance with one of the performers.

The woman approached with a playful grin, her movements fluid and practiced. She sat down in front of me and began to dance, twirling slowly, stretching her legs with dramatic flair, leaning closer with a teasing smile meant to spark desire.

But all I saw was Jiya, as her face appeared in my mind.

The contrast between the woman dancing in front of me and the woman I could not stop thinking about felt almost malicious.

She had changed everything about her life… her name… her location… her identity.

She was married… then widowed.

A mother of two children.

She had built an entire life from the ground up.

A restaurant.

Two cafés.