PART 1
Five blows for a car I didn’t even touch. And he still had the nerve to look me in the eye and say, “Be grateful it wasn’t worse.”
My name is Sabrina Miller, I am thirty-three years old, and that night I learned that the man I had been married to for six years was capable of believing any lie as long as it came from the mouth of his lover.
Gavin Pierce was still standing in front of me, breathing heavily with his heavy leather belt held tightly in his hand. To one side of the bedroom, Charlotte Gable, his twenty-six-year-old public relations director, was casually sipping my red wine as if she already owned the house.
An hour earlier, Gavin had burst through the door claiming I had scratched his expensive sports car in the parking lot of SwiftFreight, his regional logistics company located in Minneapolis. It was completely absurd because I had spent the entire day working quietly from my home office. Gavin didn’t care to check the security camera footage, the building schedules, or a single piece of actual evidence before accusing me.
