Page 58 of Seeking Vengeance

Matthew: Why, amore mio? Searching for skeletons?

I should be. By now, an extensive background check would’ve been done if Cole was involved. But I haven’t snooped. Instead, I’ve fallen deeper, and allowed trust to blossom where skepticism should.

Layla: One day I might make a surprise visit. But I can’t do that if I don’t know where you work.

His reply is instantaneous—Don’t tease, woman.

Layla: Me, tease? Never. Just tell me where you’re likely to be if I arrive in D.C. unannounced.

He doesn’t respond. Not for several long minutes that turn my stomach into a bile pit.

I glance out the cab window, my teeth gnawing my lower lip as I watch the illuminated skyline pass by.

This can’t be a mistake. I won’t let it be.

If I misjudged Matthew’s interest I won’t allow the rejection to sting. He may have wanted me here days ago, but those were his terms. His timeline. Now could be different. There may be another woman on his arm. And God knows we’re far from claiming exclusivity.

If things don’t work out, I’ll take this as an endeavor to gain breathing room from my family. I’ll indulge in spa treatments. Get my hair done. Dine in fancy restaurants.

Three dots appear in the text chat, the anticipation of his response forcing me to hold my breath.

Matthew: Mon-Tues, I’m usually on the coast. Wed-Thur, in Richmond. Fri-Sun, I’m in DC at Trend or The Mill.

I exhale in relief.

In appreciation.

He’s opening up to me.Trustingme. And he’s also in town.

Layla: You know what they say—all work and no play makes Matthew…

The dots appear again. This time, the reply comes quicker.It makes Matthew preoccupied with work so he doesn’t fall victim to thoughts of the woman he’s obsessing over.

I smile, big and bright enough for the lingering swelling in my injured cheek to make itself known.

Layla: Does this woman know about us?

I bite my lip, hoping for a flirtatious response.

Nothing comes.

I’m driven further and further into the heart of D.C. Closer and closer to the hotel I booked last minute, yet those three dots never reappear.

It’s hard not to take it as a sign. Maybe he does have another woman. Maybe I’m the mistress this time.

I refuse to dwell once I’m delivered to the front doors of my accommodation and check into my room.

I change clothes, pulling on a tight black dress that leaves little to the imagination, before perfecting my makeup. The bruising on my face is now easily hidden, but that’s no longer all I’m striving for. I don’t merely want to cover up.

I want to slay.

When I’m as flawless as I’m going to get, I grab my purse and make my way toward the first club he mentioned—Trend.

I don’t tell him I’m coming. I don’t even message once I arrive at the front of the building to find an illuminated white script sign of the club’s name elegantly placed above an entirely black brick wall, the lone door framed by two hulking bouncers.

This needs to be a surprise. Not only so I can judge if he’s excited to see me. It’s to cast aside any lingering concerns. I don’t want him to have time to prepare or hide those skeletons.

If he has secrets, I need to know now, while I can still walk away with my head high.

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