Part 1My Marriage Had A Price Tag

The third year after I took Helena Montgomery back, she cheated again.

It was the same man as before.

When I ran into them at a bistro downtown, she tried to tell me he was just a client. Then, a second later, she instinctively pulled this "client" behind her, shielding him with a look of sharp, defensive suspicion.

I knew that look. She was afraid I’d lose my mind again. She was afraid I’d hurt the person she held closest to her heart.

But I didn't scream. I simply stepped forward, smoothed a stray lock of her hair that had fallen out of place, and spoke in a voice that was eerily calm.

"I understand," I said. "Don't drink too much. And remember to use protection."

I paused, realizing the advice was probably redundant. I corrected myself with a small, hollow smile. "Actually, don't worry about it. It doesn't matter."

I thought I was being incredibly accommodating. Gracious, even.

But for some reason, Helena’s face went pale, then darkened with a sudden, inexplicable rage.

* * *

The restaurant was quiet—the kind of place where conversations are hushed, and the only sounds are the occasional clink of silver against porcelain.

The atmosphere was meticulously curated. Nothing but deep red roses at every table. Everyone there was a lover. Or perhaps they were like Helena—putting on a performance of devotion while their secrets sat right across from them.

I ignored the storm brewing in her eyes. I gave a polite nod to the man cowering behind her and turned to leave.

My friend, who had witnessed the whole thing, caught up to me outside. "How are you not angry, Adrian?" he hissed.

Angry?

I searched myself for the feeling. It wasn't there. I had been angry once, years ago. I had raved and wept and burned bridges, and it had cost me everything. I had paid a price so heavy I couldn’t afford to pay it twice.

I forced a smile. "There’s nothing to be angry about. She’s just seeing a client."

My friend stared at me, his eyes full of a pity that made my skin crawl. I couldn't tell him that this was the first lesson Helena had ever taught me:

Learn to look at her life and see nothing at all.

By the time my dinner meeting ended, Helena’s black SUV was idling at the curb. I looked at the Uber app on my phone—the wait time was twenty minutes—so I didn't hesitate. I opened the back door and climbed in.

Naturally, the passenger seat was occupied.

He turned around, offering a smile that was half-shy, half-smug. "Sorry about this, Mr. Sterling. I get terrible motion sickness."

It was Parker Vance. He looked younger than I remembered. "Helena felt sorry for me and insisted I sit up front. It’s nothing more than that. I hope you don't misunderstand."

Helena slid into the driver’s seat, her voice clipped as she threw a glance into the rearview mirror. "It’s just a seat, Adrian. If it bothers you that much, I’ll make Parker swap with you."

I leaned back against the leather, my tone soft and accommodating. "It’s fine. I understand. I actually have some motion-sickness patches in my bag, Parker. Would you like one? It might make the ride easier on you."

Parker didn't say a word. Helena went silent, too.

The car became a vacuum of sound. Outside, a cold San Francisco rain began to fall, blurring the city lights into streaks of neon.

My friend texted me, asking if I’d made it into a car or if he should come pick me up. I kept my head down, typing a reply, failing to notice how hard Helena’s knuckles were turning as she gripped the steering wheel.

Finally, just before the downpour turned into a deluge, she lurched the car forward.

"Drop Adrian off first," Parker suggested, his voice light. "His place is closer."

"Fine," Helena said, her voice overlapping with my "No need."

I blinked, realizing Helena’s patience had reached its limit. I quickly tried to smooth things over. "Actually, it’s getting late and the rain is getting worse. Driving back and forth is such a hassle. Why don't you both just stay at my place? I’ll text the housekeeper to get the guest suite ready—"

Before I could finish, Helena slammed on the brakes. The tires shrieked against the wet asphalt.

My forehead caught the back of the passenger seat. Hard.

Before the pain could even register, Helena’s voice cut through the air like a blade. "Get out. Now."

I realized then that I had misread the situation again. I had been too accommodating. I shut my mouth, pulled my folding umbrella from my bag, and stepped out into the storm.

The umbrella was useless against the wind. Within seconds, I was drenched.

Helena sped off, her tires kicking up a massive spray of dirty rainwater that soaked my legs. By the time I wiped my eyes, I couldn’t even see her taillights.

I had to swallow my pride and text my friend to come get me.

When he arrived, he looked at my shivering, soaked form with pure frustration. "You let her do this to you! You deserve this for being a doormat!"

I pulled my lips into a thin, jagged smile. "Thanks for the ride. I know you’re trying to help, but I can’t leave her."

It wasn't that my heart wouldn't let me leave. It was the reality of my life that held me in place.