Page 25 of Savage Obsession

One after another, pictures spill onto the counter. My heartbeat pounds in my ears as my fingers tremble while picking them up. The images are crystal clear, each capturing Aithan and the ladyBella in his arms at different angles. Her beauty is undeniable, her body draped over him like she belongs there.

I barely register Abby’s gasp as I flip through them rapidly, my stomach twisting. Then, I see it—the sign behind them.

It’s his family-owned restaurant.

My knuckles turn white as I grip the edges of the photos. So this is what he does while I sit in this empty house waiting. We’ve been married for only a week and he is already back in the arms of his girlfriend. I look at the pictures again and notice Bella is putting on the same clothes she had on when she accosted me at the shopping mall.

So she came straight from his arms to taunt me. No wonder he hasn’t bothered himself with me. No wonder he hasn’t looked at me twice since our wedding. He doesn’t need his wife when he has others to warm his bed.

Memories of last night slam into me.

I had eaten dinner alone. Again. I was on my way to my room when Aithan walked in, looking as composed as ever. I’d thrown him a sarcastic welcome, my irritation clear in my tone.

His response? “Sorry, you had to eat alone. I was working late.”

Working late.

I glance down at the pictures again, my hands curling into fists.

So this is what his work looks like.

Something inside me snaps.

I take a slow, measured breath and push the photos aside, forcing my expression into indifference.

Abby watches me carefully. “Mrs. Vasilios?”

“Don’t bother fixing dinner for me,” I say, standing abruptly.

She hesitates, sensing the shift in my mood. “Are you sure?”

I nod, plastering on a tight smile. “I suddenly lost my appetite.”

I leave the kitchen without another word, my heart pounding with quiet fury. As I make my way back to my room, I mutter under my breath, "I bet he’s working. Working hard on other women."

Once inside my room, I drop onto the edge of my bed, staring at the photos still clutched in my fingers. The longer I look at them, the more the anger builds, swirling inside me like a raging storm.

Why does this hurt? I knew what this marriage was. I knew what kind of man I was marrying. And yet, some foolish part of mehad hoped… hoped that maybe, just maybe, he would respect me enough to wait longer than a few days before betraying me.

I press my lips together, swallowing the lump in my throat. I refuse to be the kind of woman who wallows in self-pity over a man.

Standing, I grab one of the photos, flipping it over. My fingers tighten around the pen as I scrawl the words boldly: Well done. I can see you are working extremely hard.

I walk to Aithan’s room, my every step fueled by irritation. The house is eerily silent, the weight of my anger pressing against my chest. I reach his door and slide the photo underneath before turning on my heel and walking away.

I don’t stop. I don’t hesitate.

Let him find it.

Let him see it.

Let him know I’m aware.

With a deep breath, I return to my room, lock the door behind me, and crawl into bed.

I refuse to waste another moment waiting for a man who clearly doesn’t waste a second thinking about me.

But sleep doesn’t come easily. My mind replays every interaction we’ve had since the wedding, dissecting his every word, every glance. Had he ever truly intended to be faithful? Have I been a fool for even expecting it?

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