My Husband’s Other Self Loved Me Chapter 01

My Husband’s Other Self Loved Me Chapter 01

When Malachi’s FaceTime call came in, I was on the rooftop terrace.

A woman’s voice came through the phone, all soft and weak. My face stayed still.

Malachi and I had been married for ten years.

Ten years of him whining about boredom of marriage, about no spark of life.

So he slept with other women, then made a point of video-calling me.

Watching my reaction was part of the thrill.

It made him feel alive, he said.

Maybe my composure was a disappointment.

He clicked his tongue and turned the camera toward the woman beside him.

She was still shaking, her skin covered in marks from what they’d just done.

“Greer, if you were even half as wild as her, I wouldn’t need to hunt for fun outside.”

He expected me to crack. To scream like I used to.

I just lowered my gaze and answered softly.

“Oh.”

I looked down at the people and cars crawling below.

Wondering if this height was enough.

If I jumped, would it be over instantly?

……

The video feed was still live.

Sloane seemed to be performing for me, her moans growing louder.

Her red nails raked lines across Malachi’s bare back.

She glanced at the screen, then hooked her arms around Malachi’s neck and whispered against his ear.

“Malachi, look at her face. God, she’s so pathetic.”

“No wonder you’re not interested in touching her. Just looking at that sad face makes me sick.”

Malachi was clearly close to the edge. His breathing grew heavier, his movements more urgent.

“At a time like this, why are you still thinking about an outsider…”

My eyelids fluttered at his words. I took a half-step forward.

Half of my foot hung over the precipice.

Just then, a crisp shattering sound came through the phone.

A snow globe on the nightstand, knocked off by Sloane’s flailing hand, hit the floor.

And shattered.

I froze.

My pupils constricted.

It was the gift Malachi had given me on my twentieth birthday.

A custom snow globe with the New York skyline inside.

On the base, he had drawn two little figures with a marker.

Hand in hand, pressed close together.

I’d been on medication for so long. Many of my memories had gone dull.

But I still remembered his words.

He had pressed the snow globe into my hands, pointed at the drawing, and smiled.

“Greer, you’re so damn cute.”

“From now on, we’ll be like these two little figures. Always together, okay?”

Liar.

“Greer, I promise I’ll always love you. I’ll never betray you.”

Liar.

A buzzing started in my ears.

That familiar nausea surged through me.

I crouched and dry-heaved for a long time.

Nothing came up.

“What is this thing? It scared me.”

Sloane’s voice was laced with disgust.

Malachi glanced down.

He clearly recognized it.

But he only paused for a second before lifting his foot and grinding the shards into the carpet, his tone dismissive.

“It’s nothing. Just some old junk. Should’ve been thrown out ages ago.”

The blood drained from my face.

Even after everything, a sharp pain twisted in my chest.

Malachi lit a cigarette.

He zoomed in on my face and studied it for a long moment, as if admiring a piece of art.

After a while, he spoke slowly.

“The cleaner’s off today. You have ten minutes to get over here and clean this up.”

When I said nothing, he arched an eyebrow.

“I did give you this house, after all. A lot of your things are still here.”

He nudged the broken glass on the floor with his foot.

“You wouldn’t want to see them all in a trash can one day, would you?”

Malachi knew exactly how to get to me.

He knew which words cut deepest.

And where it hurt the most.

In the end, I surrendered.

“Oh, right. There are a lot of paparazzi downstairs.”

Malachi added, as if it were an afterthought.

“Sloane doesn’t like being photographed, and she can’t handle them. Deal with them before you come up.”

“Of course, if you don’t mind Page Six running a picture of me and another woman on tomorrow’s cover, then just forget I said anything.”

The call ended.

Malachi knew I would do it.

It had always been this way.

He took models and starlets everywhere, dating them, kissing them in public.

The moment reporters surrounded him, he’d push me out front to clean up his mess.

I had cried, screamed, demanded a divorce.

Malachi had only bent down and gently wiped the tears from my eyes.

“Greer, you can’t have everything.”

“You already have all the privileges of being Mrs. Holloway. You can’t just shrug off the responsibilities that come with it.”

“Protecting this family’s public image, handling the media, burying scandals… That’s your job.”

I stood on the rooftop and looked down.

The exits were already blocked by reporters.

Hundreds of cameras were aimed at the building.

I wondered if the wife of one of Charlotte’s wealthiest men falling from a skyscraper would make tomorrow’s headlines.