A Vow of Deception, A Vow of Revenge novel Chapter 4

It was late, but Winona lay wide awake.

Her mouth was parched. She slipped out of the bedroom in search of a glass of water. As she passed Tyson's room, she noticed his door ajar, a sliver of amber light spilling into the dark hallway.-

Last night, after overhearing that phone call, she'd claimed she was unwell and moved to the guest room.

Now, faint noises drifted from Tyson's room—whispered, intimate.

Then Tyson's breathless voice broke the hush. "Celia, stop. This is my house."

"What, are you afraid she'll hear us?" Celia's tone was teasing, sultry. "Ty, what are you so scared of? We're the ones who are legally married."

"Celia!" Tyson's voice snapped, suddenly stern. "What happened between us is over."

"Ty…"

"If it weren't for helping you escaping that monster of an ex-husband, I never would have married you. Nona's been with me for five years. She's my girlfriend—she'll be my real wife someday. Once your situation is sorted, we'll—"

He stopped. The room filled again with muffled, unmistakable sounds.

Winona snapped back to herself, realizing her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

A bitter, mocking smile flickered in her eyes.

Tyson, a man nearly six foot three, and yet he wanted her to believe Celia could force herself on him if he didn't want it? That marrying Celia was the only way to help her escape her ex? What a joke.

They were just making excuses for their affair. Dressing it up to look righteous.

"Ty, don't you miss what we had? The happiness I gave you—Winona could never compare!"

"Celia…" Tyson's voice was hoarse, thick with desire.

The noises inside grew louder, more desperate.

Winona caught the whole sordid conversation on her phone. Her stomach roiled. She stumbled to the bathroom, clutching the sink, retching until her throat burned.

Disgusting. Pathetic.

When she finally left the bathroom, her phone buzzed: a message from a client. There was a problem with the project—she'd have to fix it tonight.

She turned to see Tyson in the kitchen, frying eggs. A pot simmered nearby. Celia lingered at the doorway, smiling at him.

"Ty, after all these years, your breakfast is still my favorite," Celia cooed.

"Go on, sit down. I'll bring it over."

Tyson glanced back at Celia as he spoke, but his gaze accidentally met Winona's.

"Nona." His voice was gentle—just like every other ordinary morning. "Morning."

Winona's lips twisted in a bitter, self-mocking smile.

Three years together, and he'd never cooked for her. Not once. Even when she drank herself sick to win him a contract, he never made her a single bowl of soup. He'd just call someone to deliver food.

She used to think he simply wasn't the domestic type.

Turns out, she just wasn't the one worth the effort.