While My Husband Cheated I Married His Powerful Brother novel Chapter 5
Chapter 5 Her Terms
His hand tightened around hers. Too tight. “Veyra, that’s not—it wasn’t—”
Xiomara’s smug little I already won — Veyra carried it with her out of the building, except by the time she reached the elevator, it didn’t feel like a threat anymore. It felt like evidence.
When he left, she lay very still and stared at the ceiling and thought about her options.
The building was glass and steel. The lobby smelled like bergamot. She almost laughed at that. Bergamot. Of course.
She thought about what she had seen through the glass door. Xiomara on her knees and her mouth on Caspian’s hardened dick. Xiomara’s red nails on his thighs. Xiomara’s smile when she saw Veyra watching.
She felt something crack inside her chest and no, it was not her heart but something smaller and more fragile, the last piece of herself that still wanted to believe he could change.
She put her hand on her stomach. It was flat but something was in there. A person. A mistake. A consequence of the only impulsive thing she had ever done in her entire life.
And then the doors opened on the executive floor, and she stepped out, and she saw him.
He closed his mouth.
A police officer stepped in, notebook already open in his hand. He glanced between her and Caspian, offered a short, procedural nod, and said:
She woke up in a hospital bed.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t run. She slid Caspian’s phone into her coat pocket, pulled out her own, and pressed record on the scene in front of her. Her hands were steady — steady enough to surprise her, steady enough to count the red scratch marks on Xiomara’s nails against his thigh, steady enough to catch the timestamp clearly in frame.
Six weeks.
“My mother died—”
Her stomach dropped.
A nurse came in. A woman with kind eyes and tired hands. She said something about a fracture and about surgery. About how lucky Veyra was that it was just her ankle and not her spine.
He was standing by the elevator bank, a tablet in his hand, his dark hair pushed back from his face. He was wearing a suit. He looked taller, sharper and his gray eyes found hers before she could look away and the elevator door closed at that moment.
She prayed he would not recognize her. She had been a different person that night. A woman who kissed strangers and left before dawn. She had not given him her name. She had not let him see her face in the light. Maybe, maybe he had been drunk enough, tired enough, that she was just a blur.
The nurse left. A doctor came. He was young and spoke too fast. He used words like displaced and reduction and six to eight weeks and she signed something.
She took the elevator.
Caspian had his head thrown back. His eyes were closed. He did not see Veyra. He did not see anything.
The impact hit her sideways, hard enough to lift her off her feet, and she went flying like a rag doll.
She heard someone screaming. It took a moment to realize the sound was coming from her.
You almost did, she thought. But not the way you mean.
She stared at him. His mouth was still moving. She could see his lips forming words, but her brain had stopped translating. All she could hear was a high, thin noise, like a radio tuned to nothing.
Xiomara was on her knees in front of him sucking on his hard dick.
1
It was not a happy sound. It was dry and broken and it hurt her throat coming out.
It was a cold sound. This was the man underneath all the masks.
She felt the ground meet her body — hip first, then shoulder, then the back of her skull.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t tell me it was a mistake. Don’t tell me you were drunk.”
“If you hadn’t kept rejecting me,” he said, his voice rising now, “I wouldn’t have suffered like this. Xiomara wouldn’t have had a chance. This is on you too, Veyra. You pushed me away.”
Her red nails were on his thighs. Her dark hair was loose, falling over her shoulders. She looked up at him with that same lazy, satisfied expression from the plane, and then she turned her head just slightly, just enough to see Veyra through the glass.
“I was so scared,” he said. His voice cracked. Perfectly. “When the hospital called, I thought—I thought I was going to lose you.”
It was the same smile from the arrivals hall. The one that said I have already won.
Veyra nodded like she understood.
The doctor was still talking. Something about follow-up appointments. Something about not making any decisions until the fracture healed.
She said nothing.
She smiled.
For weeks, Caspian came home on time and kept his promise to have dinner with her. Then, one day, he left his phone at home.
The ceiling was white, too white that it hurt to look at. She turned her head and the room tilted with her, slow and sick, like she was on a boat.
“I want a divorce,” she said.
“You told me you cut ties with her.”
Then the world faded to gray, and there was no more sound at all.
The last thought before everything went dark wasn’t fear. It was confusion.
“You were with her,” Veyra said.
“I want the five billion dollars,” she said. “Per our agreement. You cheated. I have proof. Give me what I’m owed, and I will walk away and never speak to you again.”
The drive to his office took twenty minutes. She had never been there before. He had always said it was too boring, too corporate, that she would hate it. She had believed him.
Six weeks since the postnup was signed. That was the only thought in her head right now, cold and precise, like she was checking a receipt.
She stopped at the scene before her.
She laughed.
And then, almost as an afterthought, the doctor said: “You’re also about six weeks pregnant. The fetus appears unharmed, but we’ll need to monitor—”
She stopped listening.
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Story doesnt even make sense...