“Excuse me?”
“Let’s just say it was my idea that those two whores visited your hotel room, and maybe, it was the network’s idea to break the two of you up. You know, for ratings and all.”
My memory jogs back to that night. Some boys and I had been at the club, drinking hard and hanging with some girls. It was innocent until the last drink where things got blurry and I lost control of my actions. I just remember being in the room with these women and on the biggest high ever. Yeah, I’d sniffed coke before but that was years ago. These women came to my room with the goods and I just caved. I don’t know why . . . I just did.
“Are you telling me this was a setup?”
Farrah laughs while caressing my cheek. “Sweetie, Emerson wasn’t right for you. So you fucked two whores? Even if I didn’t send them to your room, you would have fucked someone else anyway.”
I had never cheated on Emerson. Okay, like when we were first dating I scored some head from some random women. But I hadn’t cheated on her since we moved in together. It was only when I had my suspicions about Logan that I let Farrah fuck me. Purely because she offered and I needed a release.
“Get off me,” I demand, angry and uncontrolled.
“Why are you so worked up? The whore moved on to Logan.”
“Why?!” I ask loudly. “Because this would have NEVER have happened if you didn’t fucking get involved. You’re telling me it was a setup and you expect me to fucking act like my whole world didn’t fall apart??”
I push her off me, her body losing balance as she tumbles off the bed and onto the ground. With a yelp followed by small cries, she manages to stand up examining the bump on her head from hitting the table.
“You’ll pay for that Wesley Rich.”
“Fuck off Farrah.”
“You’ve got a choice.” She composes herself and fixes her hair with a calm smile planted on her unreadable face. “You can tell the world that the baby inside me is yours and not Jeffrey Marsh’s, or, I can take a snap of this beautiful bruise and share your dark little secret.”
“What the fuck are you going on about?” I spit out with frustration.
“That Wesley Rich is an abusive drug addict who tried to hurt me when the cameras weren’t around.”
“You wouldn’t dare . . .” I warn her.
She walks to where I’m standing and wraps her arms around my waist. Her naked torso disturbs me because underneath the plastic lays a cold and bitter heart. One so dark and twisted that nothing else could taint it.
“Try me, Wesley. When I don’t get what I want—everyone gets hurt.”
I had no choice—again. My life dictated by a woman driven by greed, money, and power. Jealous of everything that brought me happiness. Out to destroy anyone in my life who I loved.
A replicate of my mother.
The person I hated most in this world.
Born and bred in Sydney, Australia, Kat T. Masen is a mother to four crazy boys and wife to one sane husband. Growing up in a generation where social media and fancy gadgets didn’t exist, she enjoyed reading from an early age and found herself immersed in these stories. After meeting friends on Twitter who loved to read as much as she did, her passion to write began and the friendships continued on despite the distance.
“I’m known to be crazy and humorous. Show me the most random picture of a dog in a wig and I’ll be laughing for days.”