The Stench of Betrayal

Tessa didn’t flinch. She didn’t speak. She lay still on the expansive mattress, her eyes fixed on the man towering over her. The heavy wooden door shuddered on its hinges from the force of his entrance, a cold draft sweeping into the master bedroom from the hallway.

With that gust of air came a scent that made Tessa’s stomach turn. It was sharp, spicy, and sickeningly familiar. Jo Malone’s Cardamom. It clung to Desmond’s expensive suit, weaving through the fabric and saturating the air between them. It was Sloane’s signature perfume.

A bitter taste coated the back of Tessa’s throat. While her own mother and grandmother were downstairs, dealing with the fallout of the day’s disaster, Desmond had been busy playing savior to his childhood sweetheart. He had already forgotten he had a family under this roof.

"Tessa Vance!" Desmond barked, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. He reached down and snatched the thick blanket, tearing it off her legs and tossing it aside. "I am talking to you!"

Tessa didn't budge. She remained frozen on the sheets, staring at the ceiling.

Her silence broke whatever restraint he had left. Desmond reached down, his large hand wrapping around her fragile arm. He yanked her upward, dragging her into a sitting position. "Are you deaf?!" he demanded, his gaze cold and lethal.

Tessa blinked, her eyes matching his icy glare. This was the man she had fallen in love with before she even understood what love meant. Now, looking at him brought nothing but exhaustion.

Her lips curled into a sneer. "You stink."

Desmond’s brow furrowed in genuine confusion. He lowered his eyes, glancing at his dark lapels. He had showered and changed into fresh clothes after pulling his mother from the freezing pond. There was no pond water left on him.

His grip tightened on her skin. "Enough with the tantrums. We need to talk."

"I said, you stink," Tessa repeated, her tone dripping with venom.

Desmond stared at her, as if questioning whether she had lost her mind. Seeing his clueless expression, Tessa decided she was done playing games. She reached up, her fingers gripping the lapels of his suit jacket. She pulled him a fraction closer, narrowing her eyes.

"Sloane’s perfume is all over you. It stinks," she yelled right in his face.

She let go of his shirt with a sharp shove, backing away. She lifted her hand to her mouth and blew on her palm in a deliberate, performative show of disgust, wiping his invisible taint from her skin.

"Go clean yourself up," she told him, her voice hard. "And pay attention to where you put your hands. We aren't legally divorced yet."

Desmond released her arm, stepping back. He didn't offer a defense. On the car ride dropping Sloane off, she had sobbed uncontrollably. He had pulled over to console her, letting her cry into his chest. That was it. He hadn't done anything else.

Yet, the thought of Desmond holding Sloane in his arms sent a fresh wave of agony through Tessa. It felt as if a jagged blade was carving through her ribs, leaving her heart to bleed out on the floor. She crawled backward, snatching the discarded blanket and pulling it up to her chin to block him out.

"Go sleep in another room," she muttered, turning her head away.

Desmond stood frozen, temporarily derailed. He was the one who had kicked the door down. He was the one demanding answers. Yet here she was, treating him like garbage on the bottom of her shoe. The urgent phone call from Sloane flashed in his mind, resetting his focus.

"I expect you to talk to Grandmama Agatha," Desmond ordered, his tone firming up. "Persuade her to stop this nonsense. She cannot force Sloane to marry a stranger."

"That has nothing to do with me," Tessa replied coldly, keeping her eyes shut. She hadn't known her grandmother would take such swift, ruthless action, but she certainly wasn't going to interfere.

"She loves you! That is the only reason she is treating Sloane like this!" Desmond roared, the volume of his voice shaking the crystal fixtures on the nightstand. "You are the one who needs to settle this right now!"

Tessa snapped. She shot up from the mattress, throwing the blankets aside. She thrust a shaking finger directly at her own face, pointing at the swollen, purple bruise marring her cheek.

"Desmond Carlisle!" she screamed, tears of frustration pooling in her eyes. "Did you question your mother when she hit me? Did you say a word when she struck my dying mom?! Not only did you fail to apologize for what she did this afternoon, but you storm in here screaming at me because of that woman! Do you even have a human heart?!"

Seeing the glaring red mark on her face only made Desmond’s temper flare hotter. "My mother fell into the pond!" he yelled back. "If I hadn’t gotten there in time, she could have drowned! I am already sparing you the dignity of a public scandal by keeping this quiet! Do not push my patience any further!"

"Fine! Let's push it!" Tessa challenged, her voice dropping to a dangerous, steady calm. "Go ahead. Sue me. Call the cops. Let's see if the police will punish me for what happened!"

She held her ground, her chin raised. She hadn't intentionally pushed anyone. She had only fought back in pure self-defense after his mother had humiliated and physically attacked her. The broken wooden railing was a tragic accident. Her conscience was crystal clear.

"Do not think I won't," Desmond warned, his jaw clenching.

"You're rich and influential. What won't you do?" Tessa spat. Losing whatever patience she had left, she swung her bare feet onto the floor and stood up. She wasn't going to spend another second in this room with him.

She marched toward the door. Desmond reached out, his hand wrapping around her wrist like a vice.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"I refuse to stay in the same room as you," Tessa snapped, twisting her arm to break his hold.

As she pulled away, her bare foot caught the edge of the thick rug. She lost her balance, stumbling backward. Before she could hit the floor, Desmond moved, wrapping his arms around her waist and catching her mid-fall. She crashed directly into his broad chest, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs.

He pulled her flush against him. Through the thin material of her pajamas, he could feel the frantic beating of her heart. The sudden, intimate friction sent a shock of heat straight to his groin. His breathing hitched, growing heavy and ragged in the quiet room.

"Tess," Desmond murmured into her ear, his voice dropping into a low, husky register. "I apologize for what happened on behalf of my mom."

The pet name struck Tessa like a physical blow. *Tess.* He only ever called her that during their three-year marriage when he wanted to pull her into bed and initiate sex.

That sudden, misplaced desire, combined with the suffocating cloud of Sloane's cardamom perfume invading her nostrils, sent Tessa's body into revolt. Her stomach heaved. She instinctively gagged, bending forward as a dry retch tore through her throat. She pushed against his chest, repulsed by his touch.

Desmond stiffened, deeply offended by her visceral rejection. His jaw locked. His large hand moved up, gripping her delicate neck. He forced her chin up, trapping her in place so she had no choice but to look at him.

"You and I are still legally husband and wife," he growled, his eyes dark with bruised ego. "You have the obligation to help me meet my biological needs."

Before she could turn away, he crushed his mouth against hers. He forced a rough, demanding kiss onto her lips, pressing his body weight against her.

The scent of his cologne mixed with the sickening residue of his lover's perfume. It tasted like betrayal. Tessa suffocated under the pressure. She balled her hands into fists, slamming them repeatedly into his face and shoulders. She tore her mouth away, gasping for air, and retched again, her body physically rejecting him.

The continuous gagging acted like a bucket of ice water. Desmond’s dark mood shattered. He stepped back, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, his chest heaving with frustrated breaths.

Tessa clutched her stomach, leaning over as she dragged clean air into her lungs. She looked up at him through a mess of tangled hair.

"If you want it, go look for Sloane," she spat. "Don't disgust me!"

Desmond’s expression hardened into a mask of pure venom. "Fine. You made me do this."

He grabbed her shoulders, shoving her backward. Tessa tumbled onto the mattress, bouncing slightly against the springs. Desmond didn't look back. He turned on his heel, marching out of the master bedroom and slamming the heavy door behind him. The deafening bang echoed through the silent house.

Tessa lay still on the rumpled sheets. The room was empty, yet the air felt heavy. Hot tears escaped the corners of her eyes, rolling silently down her temples and soaking into the pillowcase. She bit her lip to stop a sob from breaking free. She grieved, mourning the bitter reality of her marriage. How cheaply he desired her body, demanding sex just moments after holding the very woman he actually loved. It was a vile, pathetic dynamic.

A few minutes later, a soft knock broke the heavy silence. The door creaked open, and Mrs. Higgins stepped inside.

The housekeeper walked over, her face lined with concern, and sat gently on the edge of the mattress. She had seen Desmond storming down the stairs with a thunderous expression and knew things had gone wrong.

"Madam, please," Mrs. Higgins urged softly, placing a warm hand near Tessa's knee. "I know you feel victimized today. But you must be patient. Do not drive Mr. Carlisle away like this. If you make him angry and force him out the door, you will only hand the ultimate advantage to the other woman."

Tessa stared at the ceiling. She didn't need to guess who the other woman was. Sloane.

But Tessa knew the truth in her shattered heart. It made no difference whether she angered him or played the perfect, quiet wife. He had already chosen to run to Sloane’s side the moment she called. Her pathetic meekness, her quiet submission over the last three years—none of it had ever won his true love. What was the point of holding onto a man who viewed her as nothing more than a convenient body?

Tessa sat up. She lifted her hand, swiping fiercely at the tears staining her cheeks. She was done crying. She silently chided herself for shedding tears over a housekeeper's passing comfort when the man she had married was the one who had hurt her so profoundly.

She looked past Mrs. Higgins, her eyes fixing on the closed wooden door. A cold, hardened resolve settled deep into her bones.

From this moment on, aside from her dying mother and her grandmother, she would never be meek again. She would never bow her head, she would never submit, and she would never let Desmond Carlisle—or anyone else—walk all over her again.