Chapter 7
Brielle’s POV
Discovering the pool feels like striking gold. Could this place have a gym, too? Midway through my swim-a habit I’ve decided to adopt every morning if work permits-I sense the water ripple nearby. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve misread the setup, assuming it’s a private pool. Then I remember Tim has access. The thought sends an unexpected shiver down my spine, imagining him shirtless in the water. Get it together, Brielle, I remind myself. You’re a doctor. You’ve seen countless men without clothes. So why is this different?
I glance up for air and see Tim matching my strokes. Unlike Balen-who always complained I was too slow and stayed far away during those rare swims-we’re in sync, moving at a steady pace without him pulling ahead. It’s oddly comforting, filling me with a sense of connection I haven’t felt in ages. Since meeting Tim, I’ve experienced emotions I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel again. It’s unsettling, resurrecting pieces of myself I thought were long buried-fragments of the person I used to be before life changed drastically. Professionally, I’m a top-tier doctor, but privately? I’ve let years of trying to salvage a hollow marriage erode who I am. I spent so much time blaming myself for every fight, every misstep, that I became someone I barely recognized.
When my laps are done, I sit on the edge, observing Tim finish his routine. He completes twenty more laps-maybe thirty, judging by his rhythm. When he finally climbs out, the motion holds me spellbound. His hands press firmly to the pool’s edge as he lifts himself with a fluid grace, muscles contracting, water cascading down defined abs. I feel a sudden rush of heat, unable to tear my eyes away. But then his gaze catches mine, and embarrassment floods my cheeks. Did he notice me staring? Worse, does my one-piece swimsuit look okay? My confidence falters. Trying to cover my reaction, I grab a towel, drape it over my face, and make some futile attempt to look like I’m drying my hair. Yet all I accomplish is creating a tangled mess, adding another layer of humiliation.
Pulling the towel away, I rake my fingers through the knotted mess I’ve created, wincing as I spot Tim suppressing a chuckle. He’s drying his hair, carefree and unbothered, while I’m wondering if I should overhaul my entire appearance. Maybe it’s time-a fresh start to complement this new chapter. A haircut. A wardrobe overhaul. A spa day. I need something to reclaim the style I loved before Balen convinced me to dress for his tastes instead of my own. Why did it take me so long to realize I’d let my identity erode in that relationship? At least we didn’t bring kids into the mix, which would’ve complicated everything. Still, the betrayal stings-being played like a fool for years. My emotions waver between grief over wasted time and fiery anger that nearly consumes me.
That anger fuels me now, propelling thoughts of revenge. While I’ve had glimpses of payback, they’re not enough-not yet. Given time, opportunities for true vengeance will arise, and I’ll seize them wholeheartedly.
Tim and I agree to meet at my place-my new home, finally mine-for breakfast. The word “home” feels fresh and freeing as I step into the kitchen wearing skinny jeans and a floral blouse, barefoot on the cool tile floor. Bacon sizzles on medium heat while the coffee brews. I set eggs and bread on the counter, ready to make toast, when my phone buzzes. The number is unfamiliar, but I answer it on speaker, expecting a work call.
“Brielle, sweetheart, it’s me. I’m stuck; the credit card isn’t working. Could you contact the bank and fix this for me? Thanks, love,” Balen’s voice oozes false charm, like sugar-coated poison. It makes my stomach churn. In the background, I hear the murmur of a hotel front desk-a clear indication he’s not
11:06
4.9%
where he should be.
“Sure, banks aren’t open yet,” I reply, masking my disdain.
“Thanks, babe,” he concludes, and just before the call ends, I catch Cyrene’s giggle in the background.
Moments later, I dial the hotel. “Hamilton Hotel, this is Maverick. How may I assist you?” The clamor in the background signals a busy day.
“Hi, Maverick. I’m calling about a credit card issue. My name is Brielle Pendry, and I need some
clarification.”
“Ah, yes. The card provided by Mr. Balen Morcant was declined. The current charge is twenty-eight thousand seven hundred and sixty dollars. Could you offer another card to settle the debt?”
Shock ripples through me. How does anyone rack up such a figure at a hotel? “That’s… quite a total. Was this for a group booking?”
“No, no. The man reserved the honeymoon suite for himself and his bride,” Maverick explains cheerily. “Lovely couple! They’ve enjoyed spa treatments, bar rounds, and more over the past few days. He even mentioned you’d agreed to cover the costs as a wedding present.”
Disgust claws at me. If Balen thinks I’ll bankroll his disgusting getaway, he’s delusional. “Could you send me an itemized bill, please?” I ask, providing my number.
“Certainly,” comes Maverick’s quick reply. Moments later, my phone pings with a detailed breakdown. The heading reads, “Honeymoon Suite: Mr. and Mrs. Morcant. Married last Friday at 3 PM.” Rage pulses through me. My divorce papers weren’t finalized until six PM that same day. Balen was playing house as a married man while we were, technically, still legally bound. How dare he?
“Maverick,” I say, choosing my words carefully, “I suggest you destroy the card. I am not associated with this arrangement in any way.”
Maverick’s voice takes on a pleading tone. “But they’re clearly deeply in love, ma’am. Surely you wouldn’t refuse this innocent couple their celebration?”
“Not my problem,” I snap. “If they can’t pay, I suggest you involve the authorities.” I hang up.
Turning back to the kitchen, the scent of charred bacon catches me off guard. “Damn it, Balen, you’ve ruined enough of my life. You’ll get nothing more from me.”
Tears well up unexpectedly. Perhaps it’s the accumulated weight of betrayal and humiliation-the realization that Balen’s continual lies still gnaw at my fragile self-worth. I tighten my grip on the burnt pan, wondering aloud whether his farce of a marriage will bring new complications to untangle.
