Page 1 of Forbidden Dreams

CHAPTER 1

Harmony

I walk out of the house into the darkness, opting to leave off the lights inside my home and especially outside of it. I look around, making sure no one is outside on their porch watching what I’m doing. It’s past midnight, so someone being on their porch would be a bit weird, but I’m so paranoid I have to take a look around. The sound of me panting as I carry the last of the luggage into the SUV is all I hear before I close the trunk as softly as I can. My heart hammers in my chest, with me feeling like I’m a thief in the middle of the night. I mean, I pretty much am.

I tiptoe back up the stairs to the front door and walk into the house that has been mine for the past ten years. A house I made into a home. A home that is broken to the core. A home I now feel suffocated in. A home I refuse to spend another night in. Turning the brass handle of the door slowly, I shut it behind me softly before heading to the formal living room. I walk over with shaky legs and turn on the side table lamp, filling the room with dim yellow light, as I sit down with my hands in my lap and look at the clock on top of the fireplace mantel. It’s just a little bit after midnight, so he should be coming in any minute. But, in reality, who knows with him? He can come in now like he can come in at 4:00 a.m. Regardless of the time he comes home, this showdown is happening tonight. Before the sun comes up, one chapter of my life will be over, and another one will start. One I will have control over this time. One I will dictate. One I will finally start living and not dreading.

My eyes feel like they fly to the clock every single minute. My body goes tenser and tenser as the seconds turn into minutes. My legs move up and down as I go over my speech in my head. I’ve been practicing this speech, and it’s been a long time coming. I’m going over it for the fifth time in my head, when I hear the sound of his car approaching. My eyes go to the windows. The headlights shine right through, lighting up the living room where I’m sitting. If I thought my heart was hammering before, it’s nothing like it is right now at this minute. I feel like it’s going to come out of my throat as every single beat echoes in my ears. The back of my neck heats as my hands in my lap start to shake.

When I hear the sound of the car door slams shut, I look toward the foyer, waiting for the door to open and then slam shut. The house is so eerily quiet, all I can hear is the sound of my heart beating and the way my breathing turns into short pants. It takes him a second to get his key in the door, and I take a deep breath, wondering if I should stand or not. But my legs are shaky at best. “You can do this.” I give myself a little bit of a pep talk before I hear the door open and then slam shut. “Asshole,” I mumble under my breath. Not giving a shit that his son should be sleeping while he’s slamming the door.

I look over at the clock one last time, knowing I have to remember the time that my life would be changing. He takes a step into the house, tossing his keys on the big round table in the middle of the foyer area, with a vase of fresh flowers I always add to it since it brightens up the dull room. I take a second to take in the man who I thought I would live happily ever after with.

His black hair is perfectly coiffed, parted on the side and pushed over. His brown eyes have deceived me for the past ten years. Eyes that promised me the world, but then quickly showed me you can’t trust them. He’s wearing a pair of beige slacks and a white button-down shirt with a blue sports jacket. Perfectly dressed for the perfect child. At least he’s perfect in his parents’ eyes. He was perfect in my eyes too, once upon a time. But that time has run out.

He looks my way and I can see the confusion on his face. “What are you doing sitting in the dark?” he asks me, turning and walking into the living room. The closer he gets, the more I smell his musk aftershave mixed with alcohol and a sweet citrus perfume that is not mine. That alone should bother me, but after the past three years of him being very, as his mother would say, “very social” and not hiding the fact that he’s social, I couldn’t care less. Once upon a time, it bothered me. But then again, he promised me the world once upon a time and failed endlessly.

I stand, not wanting to do this with him looking down at me. No matter how weak my knees feel, I’m going to stand with my head held high. “I was waiting up for you,” I say, which probably shocks him also.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me.” He shrugs off his jacket, and I notice his buttons are not even buttoned properly. “Unless you were wanting something?”

I didn’t think I would feel my skin crawl, but with his words and his smirk, not only does my skin crawl but it also feels like there are bugs all over me. My stomach lurches, and I have to swallow down the bile forcing its way up. “I think I’m good.” He stops mid-step. “From the looks of it”—I point at his shirt and only then does he look down to see the collar all misplaced—“I don’t think you got the energy?”

“I mean…” He puts his hands on his hips as if he’s some fucking Romeo, but news flash, he’s not. “If I have to perform my husbandly duties, I would.”

I stare at him as he looks me up and down. “I think I’ll pass,” I retort, and he shrugs.

“Don’t say I didn’t try.” He chuckles and then sees that my face is like stone. “So then why are you lurking in the dark?” he asks, and I make sure I stare at him in his eyes when I say the words I’ve been dying to say for the past seven years.

“I’m leaving you.” I make sure my voice is loud and clear. His face gives me nothing. “I want a divorce.” I wait for it, counting in my head. One. Two. Three. Four. He makes it up to ten before he throws his head back and laughs like I just told him a joke. “Glad this isn’t tearing you up.”

“You’re hilarious.” He claps his hands together, clearly thinking I’m joking.

“I’m glad you find this amusing.” My tone is monotone, and he must sense that this is different.

“That isn’t funny.” He finally stops. The laughter escapes from his face, and in its place is the ugliness that is Winston Cartwright. “But nice try.” He turns and walks out of the room before I speak up again.

“I’m not joking with you,” I reiterate to his retreating back, and I see his shirt isn’t even tucked in properly. “I’m leaving, Winston.”

He turns his body, now tight, as his face gets even tighter—and I wonder what it was that I saw in him—the scowl sits on his face. “The fuck you say,” he sneers, the venom rolling off him. This is the man I’ve grown to live with. The one I’ve tried to make myself see the good in. The man who showed me he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“I’m leaving,” I state firmly. “It’s over.” His eyes go into slits. “Way past time, don’t you think?” He stares at me before he turns and walks over to the bar cart we have in the corner of the room. A cart we had to have since his parents had it in their house. A cart that is filled with crystal decanters, all restocked of course, because heaven forbid it goes empty. He picks up the one that holds the scotch, exactly like his daddy. He takes a short glass, pulling out the rounded heavy stopper before pouring himself two fingers’ worth of whiskey.

He places the stopper back into the top, then picks up his glass and looks into it before taking it all in one shot. “You aren’t leaving.” He snaps his jaw tight, his teeth clenched together. His eyes never meet mine. Instead, he’s just looking into the now empty glass. As if he has a say in this.

“It’s happening.” I pick up the papers that are on the couch beside me. “It’s already happened.” I hold up the papers.

“We are not getting a fucking divorce.” He literally hisses through his clenched teeth. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he was actually devastated about losing me, but I know better.

“Why?” I ask, wondering if maybe the man I fell in love with is in there somewhere. “Why do you even want to be married to me?” I wait for him to answer. “It’s for show.” I know what he’s thinking. “To make your parents happy so they can boast how amazing you are.” I about roll my eyes since we both know what a fucking sham it is. “So they can paint a picture of what a perfect family looks like.” I swallow down the lump in my throat because, once upon a time, I was fooled also. “So you can parade us in town as if you are the best husband and, even more of a lie, the best father.” I mention our seven-year-old son, Wyatt. “You think people are dumb?” I ask, and again, all he does is stare at me. “While you go around parading us, you also parade all the women you are with.”

“Those are all business acquaintances,” he sneers at me, and I’m the one laughing this time as his jaw gets tight.

“Do you actually believe yourself when you talk? You have a rotation of women and none of them have anything to do with your business.” His face goes white. “I mean, I guess you fucking the mayor’s wife will help with some of the bids you have to make.” I don’t stop there. “I don’t think he’s caught on, but then again, I don’t care.”

“How dare you say that.” He even acts like I’ve hurt him with the accusation.

“You fuck your assistant every Thursday.” I shrug. “You fuck Mackenzie, from the bank, every other Wednesday when her husband is out of their house. You fuck Sharonda every Tuesday, taking her out for dinner and then taking her back to her house. I could go on and on. The point is… everyone fucking knows.”

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