Page 84 of Scandalous Contract
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
STEFANIE
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ICRIED THE ENTIREdrive home. I tried to rein in the tears, but I couldn’t. My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter every time I tried to calm myself down, but the tears just kept falling. My earlier conversation with my boss kept replaying in my head, too.
That little sit-down where he reminded me, not so kindly, that the influencer contract I’d signed wasn’t actually mine. It was a contract with the station. Not with me. So, I wasn’t allowed to sign any new deals with those companies for at least a year after leaving the station, per the contract agreement. I didn’t even want the damn deals.
I was offered brand ambassador/influencer deals all the time. That wasn’t the issue. What pissed me off was the way he’d looked at me when he’d said it, like I was beneath him. Like he wasn’t the one who’d hyped me up and convinced me to be the Weather Diva.
He bragged about me to everyone. He called himself my mentor and treated me like I was family. He’d often invited India and me to his house for dinner with his family, like we were friends, like we mattered to him.
And now? He was treating me like I was a stranger. No,worsethan a stranger. And Hudson wasn’t any better. The encounter with him had left me shaken. The nerve of him. The gall. The fucking audacity!
He acted like I owed him something. Like my life was his to weigh in on. Like he owned me.Me and my daughter. I didn’t understand him. Seventeen years. No one pines over someone for seventeen years.
That wasn’t infatuation or love. That was more like an obsession. I think the only reason he wanted me was because he couldn’t have me. I’d once seen him lose his shit because an autographed baseball he wanted had been sold to someone else.
When he couldn’t get the person who’d purchased it to sell it to him, he flipped out. If he wanted something, he had to have it, no matter what. He saw me, he wanted me, and he’d been trying for years to get me.
Back then, I’d been the young, naïve girl who’d lost her husband and had a new baby. I think he’d hoped to shape and mold me into who he wanted me to be. He’d expected me to fall into his arms and praise him for being my savior, my protector, my provider.
What he didn’t know was that I’d already learned my lesson from my husband. I’d been raised a pretty sheltered life. My father cherished my mother and treated her like a queen. And my mom submitted to him because that was what she believed women should do.
I saw how happy they were, and I told myself I wanted that, but a much larger version. I wanted a large family because being the only child sucked. When I met my husband, he seemed like the kind of man who would take care of me.
And yeah, I had my own dreams and ambitions, but I wanted to marry a provider like my dad. I found out too late that my husband was nothing like my dad. I found out that not every man was worth submitting to.
More importantly, I learned that I didn’t have to submit completely to a man to be happy. What worked for my parents wouldn’t necessarily work for me. It took going through one hell of a storm for me to realize that.
But even that wasn’t the reason I was still crying. I think it was the combination of everything that had me bawling. From India growing up and not needing me as much, to me trying a new career path, and my boss and Hudson trying to prevent me from moving on.
On top of that, I was missing my dad so much that it hurt to breathe. He always knew how to make things right. All it took was for him to look at me, see that I was sad, and then he’d open his arms and say,“Come give the pain to Dad. I’ll hold it for you until you can handle it.”
Of course, he couldn’t hold my pain for me. But his hugs were magical. They made me feel like everything would be alright. I could sure use one of those hugs right now. More tears fell from my eyes, blurring my vision as I drove. Hudson’s words came back to me, making me cry harder.
“You know your husband was planning on leaving you before he had his accident, don’t you?”
I’d worked so damn hard to bury the past. Yet, his words were making all the pain resurface. I hated my husband. Hated myself for being so naive. I was such a fucking fool back then. A damn fool who hadn’t known better.
Who’d trusted too quickly. Who thought love could fix anything. Who thought a happy marriage meant sacrificing a bit and giving my husband my all. And now, seventeen years later, I was still carrying the guilt of my choices.
By the time I pulled into the driveway, I was completely wrecked. My face was wet, my throat burned, and my head pounded. I didn’t even bother wiping my cheeks anymore. What was the point? The tears weren’t slowing down.
All I wanted to do was shower and crawl into bed. Maybe drink a glass of wine first, if I had the energy. I stopped near the mailbox, cut the engine, stepped out, and walked to the mailbox, yanking it open harder than necessary.
Inside were a few envelopes and a flyer. I got back into the car, dropped the mail onto the passenger seat, and pulled into the garage. The door closed behind me with a mechanical hum that felt louder than it should have.
I just sat there for a second, breathing. Trying not to cry again. I sat there until I felt strong enough to get out of the car. I slung my purse over my shoulder and grabbed my laptop bag and the mail from the passenger seat.
My hands were full as I pressed my code into the door and entered my house. I kicked the door shut behind me, locked it, and then activated my home security. My home was quiet. Too quiet.
