Page 6 of Fragile Twisted Vows
He leans back in his chair at my table, eyes narrowing on the witch that stands in my dining room. A blond man appears from the corner and walks towards Megan. His hand wraps around her thin waist in an all-too friendly gesture as she pats his light gray suit.
Oh yeah, they’re fucking.
And thank God for that.
“Mr. Reed,” Adrian starts, “I was not aware there would be another lawyer present,” he says in an agitated tone, equally ready to be done with this as I am.
“Neither was I,” I growl as I pour myself a glass of scotch from the kitchen counter.
I carry it with me to the long, glass dining table set in front of the floor to ceiling windows that overlook Manhattan.
It’s a beautiful loft, one that I’ve made home since she’s been living in our house in upstate New York. Never mind the apartment she still has near the firm.
Brian sits at the table and I give him no reaction. Quite honestly, I’ve got no problem that he’s fucking my soon-to-be ex-wife. We haven’t had sex in years, even though she’s tried many times. Her horrid personality has made her unattractive to me. And I know she only wants to fuck me for money or gifts.
I hope he’s fucking her. Because I hate her. And I want her out of my life.
For good.
“I want to renegotiate the house,” she says as she stands above Brian, asserting her dominance and playing the role of Alpha that she never got to play with me.
Because I would rip her fucking head off if she tried to. And she doesn’t like that.
She wants men she can toy with, manipulate. Men that will give her puppy eyes and say please and follow her around like a dehydrated dog.
Men that I never was or ever will be.
“You can have it,” I say as I sip my scotch and turn my chair to look down at the city below.
She scoffs.
“You’re playing with me. Be serious, Damien, we need to get this done,” she says in a fake, exhausted tone.
Because she’s trying to play the role of the victim. She’s trying to make it seem like I am the one that’s dragged this on for the past three years.
But she’s not. And quite frankly, I don’t care how she feels or how she acts.
And I definitely don’t give a shit about some house that she had one hundred percent control of. The design is trash to begin with. It lost market value from her reconstruction alone.
I look at her over my shoulder as I cross a leg over my knee, sipping my scotch as I sigh in annoyance.
“Exactly,” I growl, my voice dropping an octave.
“Which is why you can have it,” I say as I drain the contents of my glass.
“I’m sorry, uh, what?” She laughs nervously, glancing down at Brian and Adrian in confusion.
“You can take the house and everything inside of it, Megan,” I say as I look down at my phone that vibrates with a text from Bruno.
Found him, it says, with an address of the place where Lucille works. When I open it, I try to hide my shock as I stare at the risque establishment the youngest Fairchild daughter is employed at.
“Matter of fact,” I say as I close the text and slide the phone back into the tight pocket of my dark blue suit pants.
I reach for the papers near Adrian’s hand and pull them to me. I sign every line on my set of divorce papers and I slide them right back to my attorney, not once glancing at my ex-wife and her fuck toy.
“She can have anything else she wants,” I say to Adrian, no longer speaking to her as she scoffs and throws an airy temper tantrum with nothing but sighs.
“Except for my key to the penthouse. You will take that from her before she leaves here today. It was never in the contract to begin with and I’m in no mood to deal with her antics today. I have important matters to attend to,” I say to my attorney as Megan tries to get my attention.
