Chapter 1 - TELL HER...
Mason Hartley knew something was wrong before he saw his wife touch the other man.
It was the way she laughed.
Not the sound itself.
Talia had always laughed loudly when she was truly happy. She threw her head back, closed her eyes, and forgot for half a second that anyone might be watching.
Mason loved that laugh.
Or he used to.
This laugh was different.
Lower.
Private.
The kind people use when they are creating a small room between themselves and deliberately leaving someone else outside it.
Mason was walking back from the resort bar with two iced coffees when he heard it.
He turned toward the line of white loungers facing the Caribbean.
Talia sat on the edge of one in a white bikini, blonde hair loose over her shoulders, rubbing sunscreen across the bare chest of the tour guide who had taken their group snorkeling that morning.
Zayn.
Thirty-one.
Athletic.
Dark hair.
Too comfortable.
He was laughing too.
Then he squeezed sunscreen into his palm and ran both hands slowly across Talia’s bare back.
Mason stopped walking.
The two coffees slipped from his hands and hit the sand.
“What the hell?!”
Talia spun around.
Zayn’s hands froze.
Mason crossed the distance so fast that several guests looked up.
He slapped Zayn’s hand away from his wife.
“Get your hands off her!”
Zayn lifted both palms.
“Calm down, man.”
Mason turned on him.
“Don’t tell me to calm down.”
Talia stood.
“Mason, stop.”
He grabbed her wrist instinctively, not hard, but enough to pull her away from Zayn.
She jerked free.
“LET GO OF ME!”
Mason stared at her.
“He’s got his hands all over my wife!”
Zayn stepped forward as if he was about to mediate.
Mason shoved his hand aside.
“BACK OFF.”
“Hey,” Zayn said. “I’m not trying to fight you.”
“Then stop touching married women.”
Talia pushed Mason in the chest.
Hard enough that he took half a step backward.
“You’re embarrassing me!”
For one stunned second, Mason almost laughed.
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
Talia folded her arms.
Nearby guests were openly watching now.
A woman in a sunhat had lowered her book.
Two teenagers were pretending not to film.
Mason lowered his voice.
“This is our anniversary.”
Talia rolled her eyes.
That hurt more than if she had slapped him.
He stared at her.
“Our tenth anniversary.”
“I know what day it is.”
“Then what the hell are you doing?”
“Putting on sunscreen.”
“On his chest?”
“Oh my God, Mason.”
She laughed in his face.
“You’re pathetic when you’re jealous.”
Something in him went very still.
“Jealous?”
Zayn looked uncomfortable now.
“Talia, maybe I should—”
“No,” she said without looking at him.
Then she turned back to Mason.
“You ruin everything when you act like this.”
Mason stared.
He had booked the resort because Talia said she missed who they used to be.
He had moved meetings.
Canceled a client dinner.
Paid extra for the private ocean suite because she said she wanted “one week where we remember we’re married before we remember we’re busy.”
He had believed her.
Now she was standing barefoot in front of him, defending another man’s hands on her body.
“On our anniversary?” Mason shouted.
Talia rolled her eyes again.
“If you’re jealous, go home.”
The beach went quiet around him.
Not literally.
Waves still broke.
Music still played from the bar.
Someone’s child still shrieked near the pool.
But inside Mason, everything stopped.
He looked at Talia.
Really looked.
At the impatience.
The contempt.
The absence of even one flicker of concern that she had hurt him.
Then he nodded once.
“Fine.”
Her face changed slightly.
Maybe she had expected an argument.
Maybe she wanted one.
Mason turned and walked away.
He did not look back.
He went directly to their suite.
Packed in seven minutes.
His hands did not shake until he found the white anniversary card he had written that morning sitting unopened on her nightstand.
He left it there.
He dragged his suitcase through the lobby.
Stopped at the front desk.
Slapped the key card onto the marble counter.
“Cancel the room.”
The receptionist, a young woman named Elena, looked startled.
“Sir?”
“The reservation. Cancel it.”
She clicked through the booking.
“This is a six-night prepaid stay.”
“I know.”
“There may be a penalty.”
“I don’t care.”
She looked toward the elevator.
“What about your wife?”
Mason stopped.
His fists clenched.
His jaw tightened until it hurt.
“If my wife comes back…”
He pointed at the dead key card.
“Tell that whore—”
May you like
And then he stopped.
Because somewhere between rage and the next word, Mason realized he had no idea who his wife had become.
