“And I…” My lips part, but the words refuse to come. I shut my eyes tightly, forcing it out. “I had an affair with him.”
The weight of that revelation hangs heavily in the air between us.
I can’t bear to look at him. My gaze drops to the rug beneath my feet, focusing on a frayed edge that unravels thread by thread.
Silence engulfs us, pressing in from all sides, suffocating.
Shame claws its way up my throat. The words feel borrowed, as if they were stolen from a script written by someone else, forced into my mouth. Yet I’ve recounted this story so many times, even to myself, that sometimes I almost manage to believe it.
Almost.
My body knows better. My shoulders tense, my hands tremble, and my chest rises and falls too quickly, as if I’ve sprinted miles.
“I thought I was special,” I blurt out, the words tumbling out in a chaotic rush. “I thought… I thought it was love. That he was saving me when no one else would.”
My voice falters, and I press my palms together, the friction igniting a burn between them.
“I was twenty-one. Reckless. I wanted to be chosen, to be noticed. Loved. And he knew exactly what to say, how to make me believe I was special.”
A tremor runs down my arms, and I rub them quickly, as though trying to ward off a chill that isn’t there.
“At first, it felt… exhilarating. Like a secret worth keeping. The thrill was intoxicating.” My words come out flat, devoid of emotion. “But when people found out…” I pause, bracing myself for the worst part. “When his wife discovered everything, it shattered everything. My father… he said I brought disgrace upon him. That I tarnished the family name.”
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.
“But no one ever understood what it truly was,” I add softly, my voice barely a whisper. My nails dig into my palms now, carving half-moons into my skin. “No one saw how he made me believe I needed him, that I couldn’t… shouldn’t say no.”
I catch myself, realizing I’ve revealed too much. My chest is heaving, and my throat feels raw.
I force a shaky exhale, attempting to don my mask once more. “That’s the truth.”
I glance up at him, searching for any sign of understanding, sympathy, anything. But his face remains composed, marble-smooth, his eyes like green pools that reveal nothing.
I can feel the tears threatening to spill, but I swallow them back down. Not now. I won’t let them fall.
“So,” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel inside. “That’s my version. Whatever my father told you, it isn’t the entire story.”
The silence stretches on, long enough to suffocate me. The clock ticks somewhere in the distance, each second a hammer against my ribs.
He leans back slowly, one hand running along his jaw as if weighing the words I’ve just laid bare. His gaze lingers on me, unblinking and steady.
Finally, he speaks, his voice low and controlled, laced with an emotion I can’t quite identify.
“That’s not the version I heard.”
The air leaves my lungs in an instant.
His words fall between us like a blade, and suddenly I’m unsure if I’ve buried myself deeper or if he’s about to unearth the truth even further.
“Should I delve deeper?” Roman inquired, his tone carefully measured, as if he were treading on fragile ground.
I managed a nod, though my throat felt parched, each heartbeat echoing in my ears like a warning bell. The anticipation of what lay ahead sent a shiver down my spine, stirring up old wounds I had painstakingly bandaged over the years.
“What could my father have possibly shared with you?” I whispered, already sensing the answer lurking in the shadows of my mind.
Roman’s gaze remained steady, unwavering, as he let his words fall into the stillness between us like heavy stones, each one sinking into the depths of my consciousness.
“Your father mentioned he had to resign from his position after you became pregnant by your sister’s dance teacher’s husband.”
For a fleeting moment, the world around me ceased to exist. My heart plummeted, my breath caught in my throat, and I felt as if the ground beneath me was crumbling away. Hearing him articulate it so bluntly, so devoid of emotion, was akin to being sliced open by a knife I had long convinced myself was dulled by time.
“He’s lying.” My voice trembled, but I pushed it to rise above the fear. “That’s not how it went down.”
Roman’s expression remained inscrutable, though I noticed a slight furrow in his brow as he processed my words.
“Asher was my professor,” I continued, my thoughts spilling forth in a torrent. “Long before Chloe ever hired Monica as her ballet instructor. Whatever transpired between Asher and me… it happened before Monica even entered the picture.”
He tilted his head, his calm demeanor unsettling. “Monica is his wife?”
I nodded, my heart heavy with the truth. “Yes. And she despises me more than anyone else on this planet.”
“And your sister…?”
I rolled my eyes, bitterness lacing my response. “Chloe has always known about Asher and me. That’s precisely why she brought Monica into the fold. It wasn’t about dance lessons; it was a calculated move to watch me squirm, to see me unravel. She wanted to twist the knife until I bled out in front of everyone. And thanks to her, everything fell apart.”
As soon as the words escaped my lips, a wave of regret crashed over me. I sounded defensive, almost shameless, like a girl trying to justify the wreckage she had caused herself. What must Roman think of me now? Just a brazen little harlot?
But he leaned back, his jaw tightening. “It seems your sister is relentless in her pursuit of making her disdain for you known.”
“Chloe has always been that way,” I muttered bitterly. “She covets everything I possess while insisting that I envy her life. As if that makes any sense. I wouldn’t touch whatever she’s had her hands on with a ten-foot pole.”
The atmosphere shifted, heavy with unspoken truths.
Roman’s next inquiry sliced through the tension like a hot knife through butter.
“What happened to the baby, Savannah?”
I froze, the question hanging in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst.
The room tilted, memories crashing over me with the ferocity of a tempest. The sterile scent of antiseptic from a hospital. My father’s stern voice, resolute and unyielding. The suffocating weight of helplessness that pressed against my chest, threatening to crush me.
My hand instinctively drifted to my stomach, and I felt the sting of tears pooling in my eyes.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.