Page 72 of Bitter Secrets

“You don’t.”

“How do you know?” she snapped belligerently.

“We’ve been briefed on your medical history in case of an emergency. Blood type, allergies, and bones you’ve broken in the past. You don’t have asthma.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits. “I didn’t consent to allow anyone to review my medical history.”

“You’ll have to take that up with your husband.”

She looked away. Asking for a favor went against everything she believed in, but she didn’t want Roth to know how much damage he inflicted last night. He swore he would break her on their wedding night. She was so confident she could take him on. Less than a week later, she had her first panic attack in years. She wasn’t as strong as she hoped, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I’ll pay you,” she whispered.

It took him a second, and then understanding lit his eyes. She felt a burst of relief before he shook his head. He looked a tad sympathetic, but she didn’t want his pity.

“What has he done to earn such loyalty?” she asked in a strained voice.

“Maybe one day I’ll tell you,” he said and inclined his head as the doors closed, leaving her staring at her reflection.

She faced the long entry hall lined with abstract photos and two gleaming bench seats. It was so quiet, she could hear her heart beating. She mentally girded herself before she entered the main living area, which was just as she had left it. She listened, but didn’t hear movement or the murmur of his voice on the phone. Hopefully, he was still in Paris. She was exhausted and in no mood for his shit. If he wanted to fight, she might go back on her word and wave the white flag. She channeled everything she had into her writing and had nothing left.

She showered again. When she reached for shampoo, she was surprised to find several bottles on the shelf. She peered at the selection before she selected her favorite. The familiar scent was a little slice of home that served as a lifebuoy she could hold on to as she was tossed to and fro on the choppy waters of life. It really was the small things…

She didn’t have pajamas, so she wrapped herself in a robe and padded back into the master and saw the sheets had been changed. She grabbed her laptop and climbed into bed, propping herself against the pillows as she pulled up the manuscript, intending to chop up the scene so Rex and Juliet wouldn’t end up in bed. She would use Rex’s confession to kick him out of Juliet’s life once and for all. She was sure the readers would agree once they found out about the vasectomy.

Two hours later, she snapped the laptop shut. “Motherfucker.”

Rex had taken over, much like his real-life counterpart. She wasn’t strong enough to fight him, and neither was Juliet. The effort left her with a raging headache. She left the room and wandered around until she found the sleek, unused kitchen. She searched through cabinets until she found what she was looking for. She downed aspirin and looked in the fridge, which was stacked with fresh meals. She grabbed a container of mixed green salad with pecans, cheese, red bell pepper, and a side of balsamic vinaigrette. She leaned against the counter and ate while glaring moodily out the window.

She intended to edit what she wrote in the coffee shop, but found herself adding to the scene rather than taking away. Rex was just as commanding and uncompromising as Roth. She felt the rumble of his voice in her bones, and even worse, she could feel his emotions—the anger, frustration, and earnestness as he spoke to Juliet, willing her to understand that while things started a certain way, everything changed once they got together. She savagely bit into a pecan. Roth was nothing like Rex, who took responsibility for his shortcomings and wanted to be a better man. Roth didn’t.

Her headache had lessened considerably by the time she trudged back to the master suite. Against her will, she found herself picking up the laptop again. Rex whispered in her ear, pleading for understanding. Grudgingly, she documented what he wanted her to say, all the while willing Juliet to stand her ground. They would get through this. They’d survived him once.

When her eyelids drooped, she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth, and glanced at her phone. It was one in the morning and there was no word from Roth. Not a text, call, email. He was doing what he did best—absenting himself and making money. She should be relieved that she was alone, but the fact that he just went about his normal, everyday life after last night, showed just how much it impacted him. Not at all.

Chest aching, she stretched beneath the covers and rubbed her face against her pillow. She let out a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. Juliet brushed up against her. She got impressions of Juliet’s yearning, sorrow, and burgeoning hope. She shook her head. Rex had an agenda that had nothing to do with what was best for Juliet. How many times would he hurt her before she learned her lesson?

CHAPTER8

SEVEN YEARS AGO

Jasmine trudged back to her apartment. The Teamwork and Leadership class was a breeze for most people, but hell on earth for her. The highly interactive class felt more like drama, since they were forced to act out their roles as future leaders and make executive decisions off the top of their head. Most of her peers volunteered to play CEO, and she was happy to let them while she took notes. She could already pick out who would be listed alongside other famous alumni such as Elon Musk, Yotaro Kobayashi, Ron Perelman, Peter Lynch, Sundar Pichai, and so many more. Attending the best schools meant she had always been surrounded by the most talented, ambitious, and intelligent. She had never been at the top or bottom of her class, but somewhere in the middle. She always managed to get by, but graduate school had widened the gap significantly, and she wasn’t the only one who noticed. Today, her professor gave her a host of CEO problems to solve. As she stumbled through her thought process for each decision, she got a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach when whispers spread throughout the classroom. Her professor let her finish before she began to illustrate in great detail why every one of her decisions was a good example of whatnotto do. Being ridiculed was humiliating enough, but her professor hadn’t stopped there.

“There are leaders and there are followers, Ms. Hennessy. If you intend to be the former, you have a lot of work to do.”

Thankfully, her professor didn’t prolong her torture, but matter-of-factly called on her next victim. Britta gave her a consoling pat on the shoulder when she retook her seat, which only made her feel worse. She didn’t hear one thing that was said for the rest of the class, and was the first one out the door when it ended.

All she wanted to do was get to her apartment, close the curtains, and crawl into bed. It was clear her professor thought she wasn’t trying hard enough when the opposite was true. She poured over her books and signed up for every study group, but… What if her best wasn’t good enough? Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. Did Dad have her attend graduate school because he knew she would fail? Why subject her to learning in a classroom instead of at Hennessy & Co like her sisters? She would learn quicker through real-world application versus broad, theoretical problems that didn’t apply to them. Why subject her to this embarrassment?

If I wasn’t your father, who would you be?

She tipped her face up to the sun and took a deep breath as his cruel words rained down on her. If she wasn’t a Hennessy, she would be nothing. On the other hand, if she hadn’t been born a Hennessy, she could have been anything. What would it be like to have a clean slate? To be whoever she wanted to be? The sky was the limit for her classmates. Her mountains had already been chosen for her. Everyone expected her to be exceptional, to mold her life into something others would marvel at, but what if she couldn’t? What if that wasn’t in her? The path she was supposed to take had already been traveled by those much more experienced and talented than her. She would never surpass her father’s high expectations; only disappoint him.

She pulled out her phone. Even though she knew what she would find, she checked to see if there was a message, voicemail, or missed call waiting for her. There was nothing. She hadn’t heard from her family in over a month… Well, except Lyle, who said he would take her out to dinner after he came back from Australia. He dismissed what happened at the party as a minor blip, but they both knew it wasn’t. Though she was clearly in the wrong, Lyle still argued in her defense. She could only imagine Colette’s response if he tried to make a case for her. From the start, Lyle positioned himself between her and her family. He thought they were too critical and controlling. Her family wasn’t happy that Rami had adopted a similar stance, deflecting the conversation whenever Dad or her sisters started in on her. Rami hadn’t called to discuss the debacle like Lyle. That wasn’t his way. Instead, he sent her memes to cheer her up.

It took her a week to muster up the courage to call Dad and apologize. She examined her actions and knew he was right. She was complacent and lazy. If she wasn’t those things, she would be further along in her career. She led a privileged life—attending an Ivy League school and socializing with the crème de la crème of society, yet she chose to take refuge in a dream world that would do nothing for her in the long run. It was time to grow up and let go of her childish fantasies.

She rehearsed what she would say for three days before she called his cell, which promptly went to voicemail. Hellbent on making her apology, she called his office and was told by his secretary that he wouldn’t take calls from her. Dad never failed to cover his bases. The fact that he’d known she would eventually call his office and even prepared his secretary with a brutal rejection stung, but it was nothing new.

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