Page 3 of Broken Trails
Nothing intimate. Nothing complicated. Just exactly what I needed.
This is the part where I should be sinking into that post-sex haze, letting the pleasure settle deep into my bones. The part where I exhale, fully sated, already considering another round. But something’s off this time. A quiet, nagging thing I can’t quite pin down. I roll my shoulders, shake it off.
Hell, nothing another round or two won’t fix, right?
2
GO TO HELL - Clinton Kane
I’m the kind of woman who can handle people in small doses—any longer and I’m already planning my exit. And if I’ve warmed up to you, sure, I’ll laugh at your jokes… but I won’t hesitate to throw a chair if I don’t like your tone. At least, that’s who I used to be.
Before I ended up here, following a long ribbon of asphalt through the dry, sun-scorched landscape, the weight of the past seven hours pressing harder with every kilometre I put between me and Sydney. My knuckles tighten on the wheel, fighting the urge to turn back. But there’s nowhere else to go now. Wattle Creek looms in the distance—a place I thought I’d never have toreturn to, filled with memories I’ve avoided for years. The streets of Sydney were a symphony of chaos and life, each car horn and hurried step feeding the city’s endless hum. I used to love that sound, the constant buzz of people going somewhere, doing something. It matched my pace, my ambition. Or at least, it used to. Lately, it had all felt like background noise to the hollow ache inside me.
I’d moved there at twenty-one, fresh-faced and determined to make something of myself. A double degree in business management and marketing was my ticket out of the small-town monotony I’d left behind. And I’d done it. Studied hard, landed a job, climbed the corporate ladder. By my mid-twenties, I was managing a company and living the kind of life some people envied. From the outside, anyway. Then came Liam. Liam De Luca.
My husband.
The perfect match on paper. He was a high-flying businessman, and we met at one of those glossy networking events, all overpriced champagne and fake smiles. At twenty-six, with all my friends getting married, having babies, or announcing engagements, it felt like the universe was nudging me toward him. I wasn’t desperate—God, no—but let’s be real, a woman can’t wait forever.
Liam was everything I thought I should want. He had the success and that maddening confidence that made me think, why not?
So, when he proposed, I said yes. Not because I was madly in love, but because saying no felt too difficult. Disappointing him? His family? My family? That wasn’t an option. Years of ingrained conditioning from my parents had made sure of that.
But five years in, the cracks weren’t just showing, they were splitting me wide open. Liam didn’t know me. Not really. He knew the version of me that fit into his world perfectly—the smiling wife who played nice with his colleagues, kept the apartment running, and didn’t rock the boat. But the real me? The one suffocating under his control and his sharp words, the one who learned to cover bruises with makeup and excuses?
That version of me didn’t exist to him.
I stayed. God help me, I stayed. For too long, I convinced myself I could fix it, fix us. I threw myself into my career, into money, into anything that made me feel in control. But no amount of success or money could fill the growing void inside me.
The night everything unravelled started like any other. I’d spent the day drowning in cocktails and laughter, letting my friends’ chatter pull me into their world of glossy distractions. By nine-thirty-ish, I’d called it a night, craving some quiet.
However, when I opened the door to my apartment, I walked straight into the moment that solidified every doubt I’d been trying to ignore. Because what I’d discovered was Liam, tangled in the sheets with his assistant.
In our bed. My own fucking bed.
I froze, every nerve in my body screaming at me to move, to yell, to do something. When my voice finally found me, it cut through the room like a whip. “What the fuck?”
Liam scrambled, dragging the sheet over himself like it could somehow shield him from what he’d done. Amanda—her name was—had the audacity to smirk, like she’d just won a game I didn’t even know I was playing.
“Zoe, fuck! It’s not what it looks like,” Liam stammered.
“Not what it looks like?” I snapped. “What does it look like then? Because to me, it looks like you’re fucking another woman. In my bed.”
“Zoe, just listen—”
“Don’t you dare ‘Zoe’ me,” I spat, my anger boiling over. “How long? How long has this been going on?”
“Not long,” he muttered, his face flushing like the coward he is. “It means nothing.”
“Nothing?” Amanda’s voice cut in, and the sound grated against my nerves, irritating the fuck out of me. “That’s not what you—”
“Not now!” Liam barked, his tone dismissive. Unbelievable. She had the nerve to pout, like she was the victim here.
“Oh, what’s wrong?” I sneered, my fury bubbling over. “Feeling hurt now?” I turned back to Liam, my voice icy. “Get her out of here. Now.”
Amanda didn’t need to be told twice. She scrambled out of the bed, grabbed her clothes, and bolted—a coward, just like my soon-to-be ex-husband. I didn’t watch her leave. I was already moving, pulling out a suitcase and throwing in whatever my shaking hands could find.
Liam’s voice followed me. “Zoe, stop! We need to talk.”
