Billionaire's Perfect Revenge [18+]

FIFTY THREE

Over the brassy and body-pulsing music of the club, I heard nothing but the cracking of my heart. I couldn't believe I let him do this to me again. That I allowed him to hurt me in every freaking way. How could I be so stupid in the first place? After every horrible thing he did in the past, how could I let myself believe a single word that came out of that deceitful mouth? Maddox had been bad news since day one. And I was foolish to think he could be anything other than a pain in the arse and my biggest regret.

With another shot of dark red liquor down my throat, I winced. I wasn't sure if it was because I was drinking after a long time or because I had grown too vulnerable to handle this shit, but my throat and chest burnt like hell. But maybe this was something I needed to get him out of my head and system. I needed to lose myself for a bit to forget the bone-deep hurt he was solely responsible for.

I had left for good and should never have returned. I should have signed those goddamn papers instead of hesitating and wasting two damn weeks. Now I felt like a fool who couldn't get her priorities straight. Stupid enough to go back to his agitating ass, hoping he would help in clearing this maze of emotions inside me. Though he helped me just fine. I knew now not to trust him ever again.

"Let me guess, you just caught your ever-loving husband in bed with another woman and now you're here to dull the pain and forget his cheating ass," a deep voice rang into my ear and made me frown.

I flicked my eyes up to see who the person was and caught a pair of dark brown eyes staring right back at me. The next thing I did was drop my gaze on the table and notice the wedding ring that was still dazzled on my finger. I choked back an ironic laugh. I hated this ring more than anything. It reminded me of a dog leash used to keep pets in control, to show that they were owned, that if someone tried to claim them, there would be consequences. Yet I couldn't take it off after he handed me the papers. I should have trashed it in the bin—no, it was expensive as fuck. I should have cashed it and donated it to some charity. Someone could have been happy. It would've made me feel fucking better than how shitty I was feeling right now.

"He hurt you that bad, huh?" the man spoke again, and I tried not to break down. The way he was talking and guessing, it felt like he knew the story of my life as if it was written all over my face.

"Not in a mood for company right now, Josh. Please bother someone else." I said to him, turning to face the other side, not holding back the insult like I would have if I were sober. But I wasn't. Hence, I had no shit to give.

To my utter disappointment, he simply chuckled. "I get it," I heard him say. "Don't worry, I know how it feels to be replaced and kicked to the curb. Been there. Done it. Not a fan."

"Really?" I snorted, rolling my eyes and ordering myself another drink. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"Believe it or not, Zara, but we're no different," his voice held a trace of a bitter memory that he did nothing to hide, sounding sincere enough for me to catch his gaze. But honestly, though, could I really trust my intuition anymore? We all knew how that went down with the Richmonds and the Gracias.