Chapter 5

Cole “I’ve always known she’s no good,” my mother muttered, taking a slow sip of her wine. Her lips curled into that smug smile—the one that made my stomach twist. Around us, the party carried on, a glittering display of wealth and indifference. I barely responded, gripping the glass in my hand tightly enough that Sarah’s worried gaze locked onto mine, afraid it might shatter. My mother’s voice felt like static, her words lost in the chaos swirling in my mind. “You look...” Sarah began, her hands wrapping gently around mine. I shoved her hands away coldly and breathed deeply. “I’m fine.” I couldn’t help it. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shove Yasmin’s betrayal from my thoughts. I didn’t love her—or at least, that’s what I told myself. Love wasn’t part of our deal, and I had been fine with that. She was convenient, a choice that aligned with my father’s goals. But I had been faithful to her, hadn’t I? Through all the pretenses, I kept my vows. Not because of love, but because of some twisted sense of obligation. And now, this. Could she really have done it? Betrayed me so completely? My chest felt tight, as if the air in the room had thinned. Every whisper, every shadowed glance from the partygoers seemed aimed at me. “She slept with him, Cole. The evidence is there,” my mother’s voice cut through my haze again. Evidence. How could I ignore the whispers, the photographs—her in his arms, the pregnancy? But... something didn’t fit. Yasmin had been a virgin when we married. I knew that. I was the only man she had ever been with. The thought of her in someone else’s arms, carrying someone else’s child, felt like a lie so absurd it almost made me laugh. Almost. But the seed of doubt had been planted. She had been a whore all along. The glass in my hand finally slipped, shattering against the marble floor. Heads turned toward me, but I didn’t care. My mother’s face paled for a moment before she quickly forced a smile. “Are you okay, darling?” “Go on with the party. I need to be somewhere,” I replied huskily, clenching my palm against the broken glass in my hand. I couldn’t stay here. I needed answers. I needed her to tell me why. Was I not enough for her slutty hole? Didn’t I give her every satisfaction any woman would want? “Where are you going?” Sarah asked, following closely as she held my bruised hands. “This needs to be treated before it gets infected. You’re wounded.” “Move, Sarah,” I said, shoving her aside. I pushed past the crowd, ignoring their whispers, and headed for the door. My mother called after me, her voice loud, with a hint of anger. But I didn’t stop. The night air hit me like a slap—sharp and biting—but it did little to clear the storm in my head. I had to see her. To confront her. If Yasmin had truly betrayed me, she would have to say it to my face. My phone buzzed in my pocket just as I reached my car. The sharp sound of notifications echoed in the quiet, one after another, a chorus of alarms breaking the silence. I frowned, pulling it out, and my blood turned to ice. BREAKING NEWS: CAR ACCIDENT CLAIMS FOUR LIVES, INCLUDING MRS. YASMIN COLE. VEHICLE BURST INTO FLAMES, NO BODIES RECOVERED. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My wife was dead. The words didn’t register at first, as if they were written in a language I didn’t understand. I read them again, and again, as though repetition would make them make sense. But they didn’t. At some point, the words blurred. My hands shook as I stared at the screen. The cool, controlled façade I’d worn for years began to crack, splintering into pieces I couldn’t hold together. Yasmin was gone. The thought hit me harder than I could have imagined—a fist to the gut that left me gasping for air. I clutched the car door, struggling to stay upright as a wave of emotions I couldn’t name crashed over me. Emotions I thought were buried and long gone. Guilt. Regret. Anger. How much had she endured because of me? I had been cold to her, indifferent, even when she tried to bridge the chasm between us. I had watched her suffer under the weight of expectations, whispers, and accusations—all for a marriage that had always been more contract than commitment. My hands shook violently against the car. There was no way to find out now, no way to ask her why she did it. She had always had a thing for running, and once again, she had run—this time, for good. Her last act came crashing down on me, a cruel memory of her being carried out by the guards. She had stuck her middle finger at me! I climbed into the car, my mind a chaotic storm of anguish and confusion. The drive to the accident scene was a blur. The streets streaked past in a haze of headlights and darkness, my knuckles white as I gripped the steering wheel. The radio played unnoticed, its melodies drowned by the storm in my head. Honks of frustrated drivers barely registered as I sped through the city. When I arrived, the scene was a nightmare. Flashing lights painted the night in harsh reds and blues, illuminating the charred remains of a car. The air reeked of smoke and scorched metal, and a crowd had gathered, their murmurs and cries blending into an incoherent hum. I stepped out of the car, my legs heavy, my heart pounding against my ribs. Each step toward the wreckage felt like an eternity, my breath hitching as I absorbed the devastation before me. “Mr. Martinez?” A police officer approached me, his expression hesitant and sympathetic. “I’m sorry for your loss.” I ignored him, my gaze fixed on the wreckage. The car was unrecognizable, a twisted mass of blackened steel. There were no identifiable bodies—only ash and ruin. “Where is she?” I demanded, my voice sharp and venomous. The officer blinked, startled by the force of my tone. “Sir, we—” “Don’t ‘sir’ me!” I snapped, my control slipping. “Just tell me where the fuck my wife is!” The officer flinched but held his ground. “The fire was intense. By the time we arrived—” “Then you have nothing,” I cut him off, my words cold and unyielding. “You’re standing here, telling me she’s gone, but you don’t even know for sure. You have no proof. No body. Nothing!” “The fire… Sir, we’re still working to extinguish it,” he stammered. “So?” I asked, my voice icy, unrecognizable even to myself. “I’m sorry…” he murmured, his gaze falling to the ground. “You’re sorry,” I echoed, my fist clenched as I stared at the flames. “You’re sorry…” The officer stepped back, pulling out his phone to call for reinforcements. The blaring sound of sirens filled the distance as more vehicles approached. Soon, Sarah, my mother, and Marcus joined me at the scene. I watched as they fought to put out the fire, my knees threatening to give way. I stumbled backward, unable to bear the sight any longer. Sarah reached for me, her hand hesitant, but the darkness in my gaze made her retreat. Yasmin. Dead. Gone. I turned away, ignoring the stares and murmurs of the onlookers, as well as the warmth in my mother’s voice as she tried to comfort me. The drive back to the house was suffocatingly silent. Inside me, a storm raged—each emotion clawing for dominance. Had she betrayed me? Or had I failed her so completely that she sought solace elsewhere? The questions haunted me, carving deep, painful grooves in my mind. When I finally reached the house, its silence was deafening. The rooms felt cold, empty, as though they, too, mourned her absence. I poured myself a drink, the amber liquid searing my throat as I swallowed. But it did nothing to dull the ache, the crushing weight of loss and regret. I thought of her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed. The way she looked at me, even when I couldn’t bring myself to return her warmth. “Arghhh!” I roared, hurling the glass in my hand. It shattered against the wall, fragments scattering like the broken pieces of my soul. “Cole?” Sarah’s voice echoed from the entrance. “Cole…” “Get out, Sarah,” I ordered, my voice hoarse yet commanding. “Get the fuck out of my house!”