Free Covet: Trusting the Billionaire (The Trophy Wife Book 4) by Charlotte Rose Page B

the large pile of cut-up shirts and suits on the floor of his walk-in closet. I watch with satisfaction as the heap catches fire. The red and yellow flames quickly devour his clothing, which turns black, then turns to ash. The flames die when they no longer have anything to fuel them.
    “What the fuck, Cheryl?” Julian barks.
    I didn’t notice him come in, and he stands before his burnt pile of clothing, looking shocked and exasperated. It was worth it, if only to see the look on his face.
    Julian glances at me with annoyance, then puts on a poker face. I watch as he calmly collects a few of his shirts and suits and organizes them neatly into a suitcase.
    “Where are you going?”
    “I need to take a short business trip.”
    “Now? You’re fucking going away now?”
    “Now is the best time,” Julian explains, but doesn’t look me in the eyes. “I have to take this trip sooner or later, and now would be a good time.”
    “You’re probably going away on a trip with that bitch. Oh my God, Julian, how can you do this to me? I can’t believe this. Where exactly are you going?”
    “I’m taking a short trip to Tokyo.”
    “You’re going with her, I know it.”
    Julian finishes packing his suitcase, closes it, and glances at me. “Just for the record, I’m not cheating on you,” he says with disappointment in his voice. “Take care of our boy.”
    He passes me without another word, leaving me standing alone in his walk-in closet. The fire inside me has cooled, and melancholy takes over.
    It hurts so much to think that I’m not enough for him, that he desires another woman. Julian is all I want; I have no desire for another man. Why can’t he feel the same way about me?
    Even if Julian is cheating, I couldn’t possibly let him go. I can’t let the bitch win. He is my husband, the father of my child—he’s mine and I don’t share. He is my air, and without him in my life I will suffocate.
    I rush out of the bedroom and down the long-winding banister staircase so that I can catch Julian and prevent him from leaving.
    I pass one of the maids, who is dusting the living room.
    “Where is Julian?” I ask frantically. My breathing is rapid and my heart is racing.
    “He already left, Mrs. Stone.”
    I grab the house phone and try to reach Julian, but he is ignoring my calls. After the fifth call, he finally picks up.
    “Julian, please don’t leave,” I plead.
    “I have to take this short trip, but I’ll be back in two days.”
    “Please don’t go,” I plead. At least if he’s with me, he’s not with her.
    “I have to…but I’ll be back soon,” Julian explains.
    “Where are you now?”
    “M y chauffeur is taking me to my private plane, and I’ll be staying at one of the hotels I own in Tokyo.”
    “Call me when you get there,” I demand.
    “I will.”
     
    In the evening, I check on my boy. By this time I expect that the nanny has put him to bed. I turn on his bed stand lamp and find him tucked under his dark blue covers, sleeping soundly. His long, delicate eyelashes flutter. He appears to be having a dream. My heart skips a beat—I love him so much. For a moment, I forget all my worries as I gaze at him.
    I turn off the lamp and close his bedroom door. The heartache I feel is unbearable. I know the only thing that will numb the pain.
    I grab a wine glass from the kitchen and head downstairs into the wine cellar. There are thousands of wines set on racks that are enclosed in row upon row of glass cabinets. I’m no wine connoisseur, so I pick the wine with the highest alcohol content—a 1735 vintage Port wine.
    I head into the movie theatre, pour myself a glass, and turn on a movie. I watch blankly at the moving images; it’s just background noise. At least it doesn’t make me feel so alone in this colossal mansion.
    I gulp down several glasses of wine and start to feel a nice buzz in my head. Once I’ve finished the bottle, I stumble over to grab another from the cellar. I make myself