Page 35 of Repluse

“I’d show them to Logan. Show him how much I’d enjoyed his wife; how willing and compliant you’d been. How wet we’d made you. How loudly you’d begged us to give you what he couldn’t. I hadn’t thought much further than that. I just wanted the opportunity to finally have one up on him.”

I nod my head because I don’t know how else to respond. My nose tingles, and I fucking hate how irrelevant, how unimportant my entire existence is to the Walsh family.

“You were going to use me,” I whisper around the lump in my throat. “I’d just be collateral damage in your family feud.”

Now my tears are real, and they fall—man, do they fall. My nose runs, and tears drip from my chin. I thought I was strong, but right at this moment, I feel truly broken.

“I thought you were just a money grabbing little whore.”

“What changed?” I ask with a shrug.

“You turning up at my place. Almost shy, definitely vulnerable. Then telling us about the way you lived your life, the way those fuckers treated you… I knew I’d been lied to. I was thrown. I liked you, Mila. I liked you when we chatted at the party. I really liked you when you showed up at my place. Idostill. I like you. I was intrigued. I know it was wrong, but I didn’t want to turn you away. I also didn’t have the balls to admit the real reason I’d invited you.”

“Does… Does he know? Did you do it? Film me, show him the footage? Are there photos?” I feel like a six-year-old as my lips tremble together when I attempt to talk through tears.

“No. No, I didn’t do any of that. He called me Saturday arvo when you were with your mum. I told him I’d reached out, but you’d turned me down—said you were in town to see your mum, but maybe next time you were visiting withhim, we could all catch up for dinner. I made it sound like you weren’t interested in anything like what he was trying to set you up for.”

“Gee, thanks,” I tell him sarcastically, wiping angrily at the moisture streaming from my eyes, but actually feeling some degree of relief… hope, even.

He shrugs, not even attempting a response. I look past him to where Sam’s sitting on a stool that he’s turned to face our way. His arms are crossed over his chest, his long, jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him. He’s eyes are on me, his face set but giving nothing away as to what he’s feeling.

The air fryer dings, and he stands.

These two men are polar opposites in their looks and personas, but both as equally, devastatingly gorgeous. I wonder at what stage Sam knew what Frankie had planned for me, but before I get the chance to ask, another thought pops into my head, and my mouth rushes ahead of me.

“He was there.” I voice my thoughts out loud, my mind racing as I attempt to not only process all the information being thrown my way, but the realisation of what my husband was up to that weekend.

“What?” Frankie asks, those dark brows of his pulled down in a frown.

“Logan. He was there in the city somewhere. I don’t know. He told me he was on a golfing weekend but didn’t elaborate on where. When I got to my mum’s Sunday morning, he was there.”

“With your mum?”

“Yeah, they own the facility. Walsh Holdings, they own it, but that’s the first time I’ve ever known him to go there.”

Sam slides a toasted sandwich in front of me. I lift the top slice to see it’s a turkey melt. My level of devastation decreases, and a spark of warmth finds its way to my broken heart. I smile and look up at him.

“Are you not even a little bit embarrassed by your level of stalker?”

“Nope,” he says with his customary wink. “Now, shut the fuck up and eat it.”

“Charming,” I reply before taking a bite.

Frankie looks between us, his brows, once again, pulled down into a frown. I’m beginning to think this is their usual position, as everything apparently makes him scowl this way.

“Turkey melt is my go-to. I may have posted pics on my Insta. Stalker Sam over there has been doing what you failed to,” I explain.

I watch Sam’s lip tip into a smile as he sits back on the stool. My eyes slide to Frankie, and I want to believe the way he’s looking at me right now means he’s sorry, but he hid his plans behind a similar mask so well last weekend, I don’t know if I’ll ever fully trust him again.

“Tell her the rest,” Sam says.

“There’s more? Can I not just enjoy my toastie before you deliver your next blow?”

“Of course,” Frankie replies. “Did I get one of them?” he asks, turning to Sam.

“You think you deserve one?”

“Fuck off being a dick. I’ll make my fucking own.”

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