Nothing But This (Broken Pieces 2)

Not once.

And Libby had made excuses, while her husband had barely bothered to offer a single one. He was busy; it was a difficult time of transition in the company, with new contracts, old contracts, business meetings/trips/dinners . . . she’d only been fooling herself. He had never shown an inkling of interest in her or the baby.

Their marriage had ended with a positive pregnancy test, and she hadn’t even realized it was dead until now.

“Look, just give me some time to get to the bottom of this. You know how Greyson can be. He never says what he’s really feeling . . .”

“Oh, believe me, there’s absolutely no doubt about his real feelings, Harris. He looked at us like he hated us. He looked at my baby like she was the most repulsive thing on the face of this earth. I won’t have him anywhere near us ever again.”

“Libby . . .” Harris ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He kept it a little longer than his brother did, but the gesture still reminded her of Greyson, and Libby fought back a pang of pure agony as she understood that she would never see her husband again. That the man she’d thought she knew, thought she loved, had never existed beyond her imagination.

“I’m going there right now,” Harris said decisively. “I’ll be back later. Don’t worry, Bug. We’ll get this straightened out.”

Frustrated that he wouldn’t listen to her, didn’t understand, Libby just stared at him, refusing to respond. He would have to see for himself.

Harris squeezed her shoulder and dropped a kiss on top of her head. He hesitated for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something more, before leaving without another word.

Libby blinked back tears as she watched him leave and then dragged out her phone. She scrolled through her contacts before finding the one she needed. The one person she knew she could rely on, who would have her back without question.

“Tina? I need you. Please, can you come back? It’s urgent.”

Chapter Two

The loud, obnoxious knocking took a while to register. Greyson, completely wiped after his long journey, had come home and—going against the cardinal rule of combating jet lag—fallen into bed, succumbing to sleep almost immediately.

He hated personal confrontation. Professionally, he had a reputation for being an aggressive go-getter. But he liked keeping things neat and tidy in his personal life. He didn’t do ugly scenes, which was why he had allowed his farce of a marriage to continue for so long. It had felt like a kick to the groin when Olivia had so smugly announced her pregnancy, looking at him with that bright, sunny smile, her face expectant, while she waited for him to fall all over himself at the prospect of that baby.

The faithless, cheating bitch. He should have ended this months ago. But he had hoped she and her lover would decide that they were better off together and do the deed for him.

But today, when she had so proudly tried to introduce him to his “daughter” . . . he shook his head. Her absolute gall had sickened him. Who knew? Maybe she didn’t know which one of them was the father. Greyson didn’t much care what her reasoning was . . . all he knew was that it wasn’t him, and now that she knew the possibility of Greyson being the dad was zero—and understood that he knew about her infidelity—she could go and play house with Harris.

The pounding at the door continued, and Greyson grunted before levering himself out of bed and making his way to the front door of the huge penthouse apartment in the V&A Waterfront in Cape Town that he had shared with Olivia these last nine months. He had given the maid the night off after getting home, ignoring the woman’s excited congratulations.

He dragged the front door open and grunted when Harris stormed into the apartment, slamming his shoulder aggressively against Greyson’s as he shoved past him.

“What the fuck, Greyson?” his brother seethed.

Greyson bristled, offended that his brother dared invade his privacy like this. What was he doing here? Was he here to apologize? He could take his fucking apology and shove it up his ass. Greyson would never forgive him for what he had done.

The thought of Harris touching Olivia, kissing her, stroking her . . . seeing every part of her. It was enough to make Greyson feel physically ill. All his life he’d had to compete with his fucking brother. They’d shared a womb, and despite being born first, Greyson had been the weaker of the two babies, constantly plagued by ill health throughout his childhood because Harris had taken the lion’s share of nutrients in vitro.

And of course, Harris had been the more confident, popular twin. Loved by everyone. Adored by the masses. He and Olivia had been attached at the hip throughout childhood, and maybe the reason Greyson had allowed her to trail after him for so long when she’d hit puberty was because for once in his life, someone—no, not just any old someone, Olivia—had found him more interesting than his brother. Seeing her again, touching her, loving her . . . he had been primitively and possessively thrilled to discover that he had been her first.