Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Do I tell him?
He’ll find out one way or another.
Maybe he won’t.
I like the second possibility better.
Taking a deep breath, I move my bare feet through the grass until they hit the perfectly paved entrance to the front of the house. Kyler holds the door open for me while still smiling.
That smile used to make me drop to my knees, worshipping the man in front of me.
I loved him with all I am.
I married young—we were high school sweethearts.
He was my…everything.
Kyler and I thought we would be together forever. Not once did I imagine us drifting apart and becoming two strangers who simply share a house. But somehow, this is exactly what we’ve become. People grow apart, it’s a fact of life, but for some reason, I never thought it would happen to us.
Kyler looks me up and down. “Good, you’re home. I’m off.” He leans in and kisses my cheek, then looks down at the shoes in my hand and dress. “New dress? I like it,” he comments before he strides out of the house without a “Why are you late?” or “Where have you been all night?” Not even a “How was your girls’ night?”
Somehow, when the fame increased, I heard a lot of “Don’t you do anything to embarrass me,” and then it became, “it’s best you stay home.”
And I did.
There was a lot of staying home.
Too much.
So much that I lost who I was in our relationship and became everything he needed.
I need to break from that way of thinking.
It isn’t healthy, I know this, but for some unknown reason, I never left.
How do I give up on someone I have given ten years of myself to?
I’m getting close to my thirties, and my needs and wants are not the same as they once were.
What do I even want? The answer to that question is lost on me too.
Now I handle all things, my husband. He has a manager, sure, but I am practically his assistant and schedule everything for him. Like right now, as he gets into his Porsche, I know he is off to record his next album, and he’ll be there all night. He works better at night.
Kyler is talented, crazily so. He’s stepped away from playing music to writing and producing for other artists. He’s had hits all over the world, and his songs have been sung by the biggest names.
He is important.
Whereas I am… Well, I’m nothing more than just me.
I’m not even sure when I let that happen, maybe it’s because we were married so early I just gave him my all and got lost along the way. And in doing so I lost my own identity.
Who am I important to? I would hope to my husband, but I’m not so sure anymore. Everything between us feels transactional.
The last time he kissed me like he missed me was over a year ago. And even then, it was put on for the cameras.
That’s his number one rule. Don’t do anything that could embarrass him especially in front of the cameras.
So I don’t.
I am hardly ever seen out and spend most of my time locked in this house doing work for him.
I glance down at the white marble floor. I picked it out. Actually, I picked gray, and Kyler overrode me with white, but the stone and shape were all me. The walls are stark white, and the furniture is much the same, with the occasional gray accent. It almost looks like a hospital in here. The only place you can tell is used is my office.
Kyler hired a cleaner to come twice a week, as he wants everything spotless.
Mess doesn’t bother me, it never has.
I walk over and push a cushion purposely off the couch to give the area a semi lived-in feel. Then I walk up the stairs, gripping the glass railing, and go straight to my bedroom. It’s our bedroom, but nothing sexual happens in here anymore. I can’t remember the last time he fucked me. And sometimes a wife just wants to be fucked. Slammed up against the wall and have her husband ravish her.
The last time we had sex, it felt like a chore.
The sad part? I still love him, and I think he’s attractive. He came third on the best-looking list in People magazine’s “The Sexiest Man Alive” issue. Everyone tells me how lucky I am to have him, while I whisper to myself how lucky he is to have me. I signed up for this life—I know I did—but knowing I made this choice doesn’t make it any easier.
Stripping out of the dress, I watch as it falls to the floor. I plan for it to be burned so I never see it again.
Then I remember the grunting, and my body locks tight, freezing in place.