Page 7 of The Bad Husband

Is that him? Damon West?

He looks more like a bouncer than a boss, and something tells me it’s not him.

A little earlier, I spent a minute or two looking up this man online and got nothing. I mean, my search rendered a ton of results, just not anyone who could be him.

Lawyers, doctors, business owners, a slew of random people. They were either too old, too young, or simply not him.

The burly man turns his back to the house and walks toward the second car. A couple of men step out, both wearing suits and sunglasses. They look so much alike that I find it hard to believe that either of them can be the man of the house.

I almost lose hope that I’ll ever see him when they all straighten at once and peer in the same direction as a man who so easily stands out and looks so different from what I expected, strides confidently toward the entrance.

This is absolutely the owner of the house and Henrietta’s new husband.

The sight of him makes me snap upright and swiftly pull back. A few feverish steps take me to the closest corner where I hide behind a bushy plant.

Such an uninspired move, yet it’s so effective.

I got a glimpse of him, didn’t I?

Why else would my pulse race like that?

The way he moved, the secret glint in his eyes, the signet ring on his finger.

How in the world could I notice all that so quickly?

He wears a sleek suit… Oh, oh. I see him. I see him.

His steps echo against the marble floor, his husky voice dispensing orders to his men.

Does he even know I’m in the house?

The better question is, am I allowed to be in the house?

He must’ve brought these people to his place for a reason, and here I am, spying on them.

Color me inexperienced, but this doesn’t look like a casual gathering, a group of friends watching sports, or having pizza dinner with his buddies.

Are these his employees?

They must be.

What kind of nightclub does he run?

All these questions are buzzing in my head while his men head to the pool, following his directions.

Oblivious to his surroundings, he checks his phone.

Henrietta is not here. I don’t think so.

I would’ve seen her. She’s hard to miss with her wavy dark hair, plump red lips, and skintight dresses.

I wonder if he’s calling her.

My eyes glide over his face as he fiddles with his phone. His chin is tilted down, so I can hardly see his features.

When I said he stood out, I wasn’t joking.

The sleek suit he’s wearing fits him to perfection. Snug over his bulging biceps and stretched across his broad shoulders.