The Man Who Broke Me
MARY’S POV:
I couldn’t understand why Alistair was acting like this.
After disappearing with Vesper for so long, after missing our daughter’s birthday, after leaving me in a jail cell overnight, after throwing parties for another woman and plastering his face across the internet with her at his side, he had suddenly returned as if nothing had ever happened.
As if he hadn’t broken every promise he had ever made.
As if I hadn’t spent weeks crying myself to sleep.
As if our marriage wasn’t already dead and buried.
He stood there in the bathroom doorway, fully dressed in his tailored suit, his hair perfectly styled, his shoes polished to a mirror shine. Every inch of him screamed wealth, power, control. He looked like he had just walked out of a board meeting and we not like a man who had been trying to destroy his wife’s life.
And I was completely naked.
The contrast filled me with humiliation. I had been about to step into the shower, my body still damp from the steam, my hair loose around my shoulders. I had been trying to wash off the day, the confrontation, the fear, the weight of everything that had happened.
And then he had walked in.
Instinctively, I shoved him away. My hands pressed against his chest, pushing hard, but he barely moved. He was solid, immovable, planted in the doorway like he had every right to be there.
I reached for anything I could find to cover myself, a towel, a robe, anything. My fingers closed around the edge of a hand towel hanging from the rack, and I pressed it against my chest, my arms crossed, my body shrinking inward.
“Get out,” I said. My voice was shaking. “Get out of here right now.”
Alistair didn’t move.
His eyes swept over me, taking in the towel I was holding against myself, the way my hands were trembling, the flush of embarrassment spreading across my skin. Something flickered in his expression that looked almost like satisfaction.

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