Shattered Vows

POV: Valeria.

Wrapped tightly in a towel, I stepped out of the steamy shower and onto the cold tile floor. I fought to cling to the mundane motions of my morning routine, needing the familiar rhythm to keep my feet grounded in reality. My eyes still burned from crying myself to sleep, so I ignored the drawn curtains and moved straight to my vanity. I focused on applying my scented lotion in slow, deliberate strokes. I slipped into a fresh set of clothes, smoothing out the fabric. Every single movement was calculated to stop my mind from dwelling on the agonizing events of the previous night.

It worked for a few minutes. I managed to build a fragile mental barrier. However, that thin wall shattered into pieces the second I sat down at my mirror.

The devastating memories of last night crashed down upon me like a physical weight. I could still feel the freezing torrential rain soaking through my thin clothes. I could still feel the bone-deep chill that left me sick and shivering. But worst of all, the brutal image of walking into that hotel room and finding my own husband fucking another woman burned bright behind my eyelids. Hot tears escaped my control, rolling down my cheeks and dripping onto my collarbone.

Right at that vulnerable moment, the bedroom door swung open.

I quickly raised my hands to wipe away the wet evidence of my heartbreak. I did not even need to turn around to recognize who had walked into the room. The familiar, intoxicating scent of Roman's woodsy cologne hit my senses in a wave. It was the very fragrance that had captivated me from the beginning of our relationship.

I took a deep breath to collect the scattered pieces of my dignity, and finally turned my head. Roman stood near the center of the room, presenting his broad back to me. He was taking his time unbuttoning his white dress shirt, slipping the expensive fabric off his shoulders to reveal the hard muscles underneath. Even now, after enduring so much emotional devastation, seeing his bare back sent a flutter of butterflies through my stomach. My treacherous body still reacted to the sight of him.

He tossed the shirt aside and finally turned to face me. The expression on his handsome face was as cold and unyielding as a winter glacier. His dark eyes held zero warmth or regret. He caught me staring at him so vulnerably, and an intense wave of embarrassment washed over my entire body.

"Roman, we urgently need to talk." I stammered the words out, my hoarse voice betraying my fragile state.

"There is nothing to discuss. You just need to stay in your lane and leave Sylvia alone." Roman replied flatly, his tone merciless.

I stared at him in sheer disbelief. My jaw practically unhinged. He had not come home in days. During our last intimate encounter weeks ago, he had cruelly called me by Sylvia's name. Yet here he stood in our marital bedroom, acting with nonchalance, audacity, and staggering arrogance.

"Are you serious right now?" I asked, my voice trembling with suppressed emotion.

"Save it, Valeria. You should consider yourself lucky that Sylvia has chosen to let it go. If it were up to me, I would have thrown you in jail." He said, walking past me toward his dresser to unfasten his luxury silver wristwatch.

My mind reeled in shock. What did Sylvia have to let go? I was the one who nearly lost my life braving the torrential rain last night. I was the one who walked into that room and found my husband fucking another woman. I was the one who deserved a desperate plea for forgiveness.

Refusing to be dismissed so easily in my own home, I boldly stepped forward. I planted myself directly in his path to the en-suite bathroom, firmly blocking him from walking away.

"I am your wife, Roman, and I demand a proper explanation for what I saw last night." I stated fiercely, crossing my arms over my chest.

Instead of offering a single shred of remorse or an apology, Roman let out a dark, mocking scoff at my sudden defiance.

"Do you really want an explanation? Because I can detail exactly how amazing Sylvia's body felt under me, though I am quite sure that is the last thing you want to hear." He threatened, his eyes narrowing in deep irritation.

That sick, degrading taunt pushed me far beyond my breaking point. The dam holding back my fury finally burst open.

"I will not allow this blatant disrespect from you!" I snapped, raising my voice to a loud shout that echoed off the high ceiling.

Roman stopped dead in his tracks. He looked shocked. I had never dared to yell at him before in the history of our marriage. We stared at each other in a stunned, heavy silence.

Instantly, my ingrained submissiveness kicked in. The fiery courage drained rapidly out of my veins, leaving me hollow. I shrank back from his towering, imposing frame.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to yell." I stammered a hurried apology, dropping my gaze down to the floorboards.

Unfortunately, my quick retreat only served to fuel his boundless arrogance. He stepped much closer, his dominant presence suffocating the oxygen right out of the room.

"You have no right to question me. You know exactly what Sylvia is to me. She was my first love, and she will be the only woman I will ever truly love." He reminded me coldly, driving the familiar knife deeper into my chest.

My heart pounded wildly against my eardrums, the rushing sound nearly deafening me.

"I know about Sylvia! But this is not right. You are cheating on me. Do you honestly expect me to just sit back and do nothing while you sleep around?" I confronted him, the bitter tears breaking free once again to stream down my face.

A cruel, terrifying smirk played on his lips as he mocked my flowing tears.

Roman leaned down so his face hovered mere inches from mine, his voice dripping with venom. "You are pathetic when you cry. And let us get one thing straight right now. Sylvia is not a mistress. I think you have forgotten your place, Valeria. You are nothing without my wealth and status. You should be worshipping the ground Sylvia walks on. Because without her initial departure, you would have never secured this position. You would be eating out of garbage bins right now instead of living in luxury."

His vile words delivered a devastating gut-punch. The air rushed out of my lungs. He looked straight into my tear-filled eyes, showing no mercy for the wreck I had become.

"Is that truly all I am to you?" I whispered brokenly, the last ounce of fight bleeding out of me.

Roman did not even dignify my agonizing question with an answer. His face remained an indifferent, stony mask. He simply reached down and unbuckled his leather belt. He pulled off his tailored trousers, tossed them carelessly onto the edge of our massive bed, and continued his casual walk toward the bathroom door.

He acted as if my heart was not breaking into jagged pieces right behind him. I stood there on the treacherous precipice, my legs trembling beneath my weight. I was ready to collapse to my knees and weep until my eyes ran dry.

Then, just before he crossed the bathroom threshold, he paused. He did not bother to turn around to look at me.

"If you are so tired of this marriage, you should simply say so. Let me set us both free, because I am equally drained by it." His chilling voice drifted back out into the silent bedroom.

I froze in place. My breath hitched painfully in my throat. I stood stunned and paralyzed by the horrifying realization that my own husband was suggesting a divorce.