Cruel Infidelity

All Rights Reserved ©


Something about Andrew has been off since his return from his Thanksgiving trip. He hasn’t said much of anything, not even to insult or criticize her. He’s been spending more time at home, too. Even returning home from work much earlier than usual.

Was he finally accepting married life? Was he coming to terms with being a one-woman man? Heather poured a mug full of coffee, adding exactly one tablespoon of cream, just how he likes it.

She brings it into the living room, setting it down on the coffee table in front of him. He doesn’t look up from the book he’s reading. In fact, he hasn’t so much as looked up in two hours.

In an effort to connect with her fiancé she decides to go looking for a book of her own so that she might join him in his silence.

After dumping a box out, she sifts through her long-untouched collection. She chooses the book that she feels still resonates with her.

Padding proudly into the living room with a glass of diet coke in hand, she perches herself next to Andrew. She pulls her legs into her body and opens her book, sighing with satisfaction.

When Andrew flips a page without so much as acknowledging her presence, she leans forward. Licking her lips, she ventures, “48 Laws of Power? What’s that about?”

Andrew clears his throat, but says nothing.

Heather puckers her lips together, observing him as he flips another page.

As if sensing her eyes on him, his eyes flick up from the page to her and then land on the book she’s holding. “Twilight…” he trails, leaving the observation to linger.

She smiles, her eyes lighting up. “Yes, I’ve actually read this book like three times already. Have you heard of it? I know it’s a movie now and all, but the book is waaay better.”

“Oh yeah?” Andrew says absently. He leans forward, bringing his mug of coffee to his mouth. “It suits you.”

“You think?” Heather chirps.

“Elementary-level vampire smut for you and your pathetic little girlfriends to finger yourselves over.”

Heather blinks, unsure of what to say.

“Oh yeah,” he says, looking up as if just remembering something profound. “You don’t have any friends.”

Heather scoffs, pushing herself up from the couch.

Book gripped firmly in hand, she marches to the garbage bin and tosses it in. It lands with a hollow thud.

On her way to Rachel’s former bedroom, she steals a glance at Andrew who sips his coffee with a smug expression.

What the hell is his problem? she wonders. He hadn’t said a word about marrying her. Not a word. Hadn’t reported anything that had happened while he was away, no cards, no gifts. She’d refused to believe that he actually wasn’t going to tell anyone about her or the wedding. Wishful thinking on her end. No man could really be so cold. Surely it was an act.

She stops outside the two bedrooms, listening intently. A page turns and Andrew clears his throat. It doesn’t seem like he’s in any hurry to move from that spot. She’s sure if he were to get up, she’d hear him.

She’d noticed him unpack his laptop and slide it under the bed while he thought she wasn’t paying attention. This was unusual, even for him. She goes into the other room first, hauling the box of books into Andrew’s room. That way, in case he gets up before she’s ready, she has a perfectly good reason for being in there. She slides the laptop from its hiding place and opens the cover. The fan revs up followed by a locked password screen. She bites her lip, squinting, searching her memory bank for any clues. She doubts he would use names or birthdays, but would he use the same pin over a variety of devices? That seems probable. She’d watched him type the pin for his debit card numerous times, she’d even eyed him typing the same pin for his phone. It couldn’t hurt to try.

She slides her fingers over the four familiar numbers and the computer makes processing noises. The screen goes black before the desktop flashes before her eyes. Her heart skips a beat. She places her hand on the cover, ready to slam it shut at a moment’s notice. She listens as yet another page turns. Sucking in a breath, she taps on the Chrome icon.

A Facebook page loads, one she isn’t familiar with. Is this a secret account? She scrolls down the page, not seeing much of anything. His profile picture is nothing more than a black square. Black Lives Matter, maybe? Although he didn’t strike her as the social justice type. Unless he kept it a secret. Maybe that’s where he was over the weekend, she thinks. She pictures it—Andrew marching along the streets of Portland with a mass of green and blue-haired white people, chanting for reparations for black Americans. Using his body as a human meat shield to protect the nation’s most vulnerable citizens. Then she remembers he voted for Trump and dismisses her fantasy.

She opens his messages, finding a recent one from his mother:

It was nice of you to introduce us to your little friend Raquel. Despite her being grossly obese, she was decent.

We are looking forward to the wedding, but I’ll be honest. Your father doesn’t approve and doesn’t understand why you couldn’t just marry Clare’s daughter, Hanna. It’s okay, though. I am very excited to meet the grand baby. Victor, right? What a handsome name.

There’s no response from him. No wonder he doesn’t want me to meet his family, she thinks. His parents are terrible. This explains why he’s been so weird and secretive lately. As much as she hates it, she knows Andrew has an obligation to his child, and he wouldn’t have that child if she hadn’t been so desperate to get him to like her. She’d still love very much if Rachel died and disappeared, though.

She opens another tab in Chrome and looks at the sites he’d last visited in the drop-down menu. Zillow, Trulia, Realty. She clicks them, and beautiful houses within the $600,000-$1,000,000 range populate the screen. Newly remodeled kitchens, full-sized baths, and elegant patios flash before her eyes. How loaded is he? she wonders. He’s so stingy, there’s no way he’s got this kind of money.

A stirring comes from the living room followed by a clattering mug. Hands shaking, she scrolls the touch pad until the arrow lands on the X. She taps it and slams the laptop shut, quickly sliding it back under the bed, then she rushes to the box of books she’d brought in, pulling them out and stacking them into piles.

The floorboards creak under his weight as he moves toward her. She forces her breath to remain steady as he hovers over her shoulder.

“More trash?” he asks.

Heather nods. “Yeah,” she says, fighting to keep her voice from shaking. “Don’t know why I kept them.” She digs around, tossing them into a pile next to her.

“Fifty Shades of Grey?” Andrew says mockingly.

A hot prickling sensation heats the back of her neck. “I stole it from my mom.”

“Oh, you bad, bad girl.” he says, unzipping his pants. “Is that where you learned how to be such an accommodating little slut?”

His cock is hanging in her face now, hovering millimeters from her lips.

“Come on, baby. Open up.”

Shaking, she places the book she’d been holding down—A signed copy of Wolf Pact.

Andrew roughly grabs the back of her head and presses his cock down her throat. She gags and fights back the urge to vomit.

Snarling, he grabs a tangle of her hair and forces himself balls deep. She retches. He pulls back, allowing a thick gob of saliva to fall from her mouth and land on the cover of her once-beloved book.

Looking down at the ruined cover, she ruminates on how she’d gone with Rachel and her mom to the book signing that day. How giddy they’d both been to meet the author. Did any of that matter anymore? Why hold onto things that only dredged up sour feelings? She pushes the thought away. Rachel may have been a friend once, a best friend even, but she’s dead to her now.

“Are you gonna cry over your children’s book?” Andrew asks, pulling her up and spinning her around. He tugs her leggings down, and takes her from behind, easing into her.

She pushes back, fucking him just as hard as he’s fucking her. She would show him. She’d show him how good she could be. She’d be better than Tammy. Better than Rachel. He couldn’t love either of them the way he loves her. He wasn’t marrying them, he was marrying her, and right now, he could be impregnating her. He just didn’t know it yet.

Continue Reading Next Chapter

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered publisher, providing a platform to discover hidden talents and turn them into globally successful authors. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books our readers love most on our sister app, GALATEA and other formats.