Page 66 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

Andrea stands too. He briefly rests a hand on my shoulder.

“You really know how to screw things up,” he says.

The memory of how light her body felt in my arms—and of the cruel things I said to her—leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Someone tried to kill my wife.

And I keep pushing her away.

In trying so hard to protect myself, I’m destroying the only thing I truly want to save.

17. Last Chance

Valeria

“What an asshole,” I mutter before I can stop myself, slamming the car door shut.

I regret it immediately when the motion aggravates my headache, though thankfully the pain fades quickly.

Stephen chuckles as he slides behind the wheel and starts the engine.

The motor growls to life.

“And now you’re mocking me too?”

“Don’t take it out on me,” he protests as he pulls out of the parking space. “You’re the one who married him, not me.”

I turn toward him.

“I married him,” I correct sharply. “Past tense. And I regret it.”

He doesn’t look at me. His hands remain calm on the steering wheel.

“No, you don’t. And that’s exactly the problem.”

The words hit hard, and I fall silent because he’s right.

No... I don’t regret marrying Dante.

What I regret is that we’re no longer married and that he’s about to marry someone else.

I still can’t breathe properly when I think about it.

I clench my fists to keep from crying.

While I was fighting to survive, struggling to piece my memories back together, he had moved on. With my former best friend.

I know he believed I was dead, but it doesn’t erase the pain. Or the metallic taste in my mouth. Or the feeling of having been replaced, erased.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen murmurs after a few seconds. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You don’t need to apologize for telling the truth.”

My voice is calmer now, tired.

The car exits the parking garage and merges into Paris traffic. Headlights streak across the windshield. The city keeps moving, indifferent to the quiet devastation inside me.

For several seconds, nobody speaks.