Page 22 of Bitter Confessions

“Where you’re concerned, my control is nonexistent. I’ve warned you not to throw other men in my face. Push too hard, I’ll unravel, and we’ll both suffer the consequences. Is that clear?”

She made a noise of assent.

He kissed her collarbone before easing back, his face creased as if he were in pain. He started toward the wet bar, his progress slow, far from the fast stride that cleared paths for him. He looked like he’d aged a decade in an hour.

Jasmine touched her throat and felt the ghost of his hand still holding her captive. He’d been so close to... She staggered back as her legs turned to jelly and dropped down on the springy couch cushions, shocked at what had erupted between them.

Their volatile sexual chemistry had supercharged emotions that were beginning to tip far too frequently into violence. They weren’t even a month in, and they’d attempted to kill each other.

Roth opened a cabinet and pulled out a cloth. Her vision unfocused, but she heard the clink of glass as he grabbed a bottle. The slosh of liquid as he turned it upside down to wet the cloth made her aware of how thirsty she was. She swallowed to test the extent of her injuries. Her throat was beginning to swell, and the insides of her cheeks were shredded, but it could have been much worse. Her mind flashed to Thea. This was the second time in less than a month Roth had choked a woman. She hadn’t thought anything could incite him to such violence except the threat of his secret being exposed. She’d been wrong.

At her lowest, she had vowed that one day she’d pay Roth back for finding her lacking. She’d succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. It had never occurred to her she could hurt him in this way.

After leaving him, she’d thrown herself into writing to capitalize on the success of book one. When she wasn’t working, she’d cavorted in depravity and drowned herself in novel experiences before limping back to her computer to get it all on the page. Thankfully, her career had continued in an upward trajectory. With her readers cheering her on, she had indulged to the hilt and explored her sexuality. She’d realized quickly that the average male wasn’t up for what she’d been groomed by Roth to believe was normal sex. In her experience, the scarier the man looked, the softer he was in bed. Tattoos and piercings didn’t mean shit. Looking back, she was fortunate she hadn’t gotten into serious trouble since she’d been actively seeking it. She’d been stupidly impulsive more times than she cared to remember, but none of the men had hurt her or abused her... even when she encouraged it.

Despite her hoe phase, she had never achieved her original goal: to eradicate Roth from her memory bank. No matter how many men she took to bed, he was the man she pictured when anyone spoke of their first and most memorable. He was the hero of all her stories. So, the joke was on her.

Roth tossed the cloth down, right sleeve rolled up to expose the scratches she’d left behind. She tensed, waiting for the battle to start anew, but he kept his back to her and took in the view as if he’d never seen it before. The silence was fraught with tension, but she preferred it to his relentless inquisition.

Cautiously, she sank against the cushions while keeping a wary eye on him to make sure he didn’t launch another attack. She should be packing her bags and calling for backup, but she was so drained all she could do was stare into space as his confessions knocked around in her mind.

He hadn’t cheated on her. His infidelity was so ingrained in her psyche she was having a hard time casting it aside. Roth had an insane sex drive—it seemed absurd he hadn’t touched another woman during their three-year marriage. What man wouldn’t indulge with his wife in another country or after she’d filed for divorce? The image of Roth, the faithful husband, clashed with her memory of the bitter, resentful man who’d said, “You should have told me you were coming. I would have told you not to bother. I’m busy.” She wanted to call bullshit—that would make her feel better—but his outrage and righteous fury couldn’t be feigned. He was telling the truth.

She smothered the flash of remorse. She couldn’t take back what she’d done, and if she were honest with herself, she didn’t regret it. Did it matter that he’d been physically faithful when he’d given her nothing emotionally? If she hadn’t divorced him, she wouldn’t have an identity apart from the one her father or Roth had given her. Now, she had a writing career and life experiences she wouldn’t have had if she’d stayed married. Although he claimed he would have brought her to live with him in London, she suspected he would have always held her at arm’s length. Their dynamic would have remained the same.

Would he have told her about his vasectomy if she’d brought up the subject of having a family? How would she have reacted, discovering years into their marriage that he didn’t want children? She grimaced. She’d been such a docile, eager-to-please wife—the chances of her bringing up such a loaded topic were slim. She wouldn’t have pushed for anything, content to wait for him to tell her when he was ready. She would have waited forever. Would that have ended them, or would it be the constant bickering over Maximus’s interference? If she suspected not all his business was legal, would she have the balls to question him about it?

Her tongue traced a cut on the wall of her cheek as her thumb rotated her wedding ring around and around. How long would it have taken her to pick up on the fact he never spoke of his childhood? She’d assumed so much, and he’d let her, unwilling to clarify how his father had died or explain his strained, distant relationship with his mother. She suspected Kaia wouldn’t be surprised by her son’s violent tendencies or that he’d checkmated her into a corner. “Are you marrying him of your own free will, or is he forcing you in some way?” Kaia had known right from the start their second marriage was happening under suspicious circumstances, and she’d had the courage to speak up, warning Jasmine that she didn’t truly know her son. Her dad’s letter had confirmed she’d had the wool pulled over her eyes for seven years.

Kaia might be the only person on the planet who understood what a master strategist Roth truly was. His mother had been aware of Roth’s true nature even as a child and feared him. Had he tried to manipulate his mother or gotten her into some kind of trouble that made Kaia realize his unusually strong will and determination could be used for evil? Goose bumps rippled over Jasmine’s skin. She wished she could call Kaia for guidance, but Roth had foreseen that as well. He’d cut off that resource weeks ago, long before Jasmine recognized how precarious—how dangerous—her situation was.

Her gaze drifted back to Roth. For a man who saw eating as a waste of time if it wasn’t paired with another task, his stillness seemed like an odd phenomenon. Talking about her infidelity had pushed him into a violent rage, but her response to Maximus’s allegations brought him to a standstill. She should take advantage of his preoccupation and arm herself with a weapon and retrieve her phone from the kitchen. Instead, she sat in a stupor, trying to picture Maximus showing up here in the middle of the night to blackmail his son-in-law.

She couldn’t believe Maximus had flown to London the same day she went to him for help. She’d assumed her father would use a middleman or communicate through phone or even a letter so there’d be no evidence of their deal. The fact he’d done a face-to-face on Roth’s turf was ballsy... Then again, cowardice wasn’t something her father had been accused of. She was awed, proud, devastated, and confused by it all. Aside from the night they first met, she had never seen her father and Roth in the same room. Imagining their showdown gave her anxiety even though it had happened years ago.

It had never occurred to her to ask how Maximus got Roth to sign the divorce papers. She assumed they’d settled things in a civilized fashion, exchanging money or favors. Would her father have told her the truth if she’d questioned him? Why keep that from her? Why had he lied and said she’d do anything to gain her inheritance—that she had a replacement, someone “of her own class,” who made the grade? She had never cared about status. Being the bastard daughter meant she barely made the grade herself, so why had Maximus...?

Oh. She pinched the bridge of her nose as several pieces of the puzzle came together.

Her father’s goal had been to damage their relationship beyond repair so there was no chance of reconciliation. What better way to sever those final threads linking them together than by taunting Roth with the knowledge she had a suitor waiting in the wings? Her dad could have used her extensive sexual exploits to prove she’d moved on. But her father had to up the ante by creating a replacement with a background and connections Roth couldn’t compete with. And with Jasmine inheriting a sizable fortune, the wealth Roth had been slaving to amass was immaterial.

Reducing their marriage to a rebellious fling was a low blow. Where had her father even come up with this shit? Or was that how he had viewed her relationship with Roth?

Maximus never went into negotiations without extensive knowledge of his opponent’s vices and weaknesses. He’d ply his targets with compliments or disparaging comments, depending on their temperament and his goals. It was no surprise Maximus hadn’t used flattery with Roth. He’d known it would get him nowhere. Knowing how he felt about Roth, she could only imagine the deluge of insults he’d unleashed. Maximus had identified and ruthlessly targeted an inferiority complex she hadn’t known Roth possessed. Apparently, he’d hoped these lies would make Roth despise her enough to forget her and move on.

But her father had greatly underestimated Roth’s thirst for vengeance. No man wanted to hear they’d been used or were an “experiment” a woman had given up on. That had been a gross miscalculation on Maximus’s part. He’d had no idea how cunning and patient Roth was.

Her dad’s condition that she steer clear of Roth made sense now. Maximus couldn’t risk them reuniting and sifting through the ashes of their relationship. Her father had banked on Roth’s shattered pride and her promise to never see him again to keep them apart. It hadn’t been enough.

She focused on Roth, who stood looking out at a multimillion-dollar view from the building he owned. He looked every inch a tycoon. He wore his suit with the same ease he’d once worn jeans, sports jackets, and boots. He was one of the very few who could make dreams a reality. They could have gone their whole lives without meeting, gliding past one another in society and never connecting. For some reason, the moment they met, their paths had merged, and that had dictated their lives ever since.

He had been punished severely for pursuing her. Most men would have surrendered when Maximus went after their business. Instead, Roth had made her his wife and for two years endured unimaginable trials at her father’s hands. What he truly felt for her she’d never know, but his need to know the truth about the dissolution of their marriage caused him to drop his shields, revealing chinks in his armor she hadn’t known existed.

She’d thought Roth had played her, and thanks to her father, the same seed had been planted in Roth’s mind. What a fucking mess. She couldn’t comprehend how Roth had believed those lies. How could he not have seen the simple truth that she just wanted to be loved and share a life with him? The fact that he thought she’d run to her father for financial security made her grimace. Did he think she possessed so few skills she couldn’t make a living; couldn’t survive without him or her father providing for her? Nothing short of a life-or-death crisis could have compelled her to seek out Maximus. And Roth’s refusal to give her a divorce—his insistence she deal with him one-on-one—had caused her to run home. She was afraid she’d fold. That she didn’t have the strength to stand her ground with him. She’d known she was weak where he was concerned, and her current circumstances were proof positive she was still stupidly susceptible.

Had her father staged those meetups with her childhood friends? Had she been featured in several seasons of The Bachelorette and been completely oblivious? When Maximus had pointed out her friends as potential partners, she’d laughed. If her dad had wanted her safely married to put her out of Roth’s clutches, why hadn’t he been more forceful? Or, had Roth fooled Maximus into believing he’d forgotten her and moved on? Little did her father know, Roth bided his time by collecting data on her family and positioning himself to demolish his legacy.

“What else did my father say?”

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