Her Second Chance, His Regret

Cheryl Mitchell found a pair of pearl-lace panties in her husband Zachary Francis's suit pocket, along with a hotel room key card.

The underwear was an unfamiliar brand—lace-trimmed, with tiny pearls strung into delicate chains. Not her style at all.

The key card read: The Grandview Hotel, Room 1808.

Her fingers clenched around the card until its edges dug into her palm, the sharp pain finally cutting through her numb thoughts.

Who was he cheating with this time?

Cheryl blinked hard. She tried to hold back, really tried, but in the end she grabbed the key card and walked out the door.

The Grandview Hotel was on the east side of town, a twenty-minute drive.

She didn't think about anything on the way there. Or maybe she thought about everything. When she stopped at a red light, she glanced down at her hands and noticed her fingers were trembling.

She pressed that hand against the steering wheel. Held it down.

The elevator opened on the eighteenth floor. The hallway stretched long and silent, carpeted in deep burgundy that swallowed every footstep.

Room 1808's door was slightly ajar.

Cheryl stood in the doorway and heard voices inside.

A woman's laughter—coquettish, with a flirtatious lilt at the end.

She pushed the door open gently, peering through the crack. In the living room, on the sofa, a man and woman were kissing.

The woman wore a slip dress, straddling the man's lap with her arms around his neck. Her dress had ridden up high, revealing the edge of those pearl-lace panties.

The man's shirt hung open. One hand gripped her waist; the other braced against the sofa back.

"Zachary..." the woman moaned his name, her voice thick with breathless desire.

Cheryl stood frozen in the doorway, feeling like iron wire was tightening around her chest, suffocating her.

She bit down hard on her lower lip. When she tasted blood, she shoved the door open.

At the sound, the woman looked up, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening.

The next second, she burrowed deeper into the man's embrace. "Zachary, someone's here..."

Zachary turned his head. He seemed to have expected Cheryl's arrival—there wasn't a trace of surprise in his narrow eyes.

He hooked his finger under the woman's chin. "Ignore her."

Then he kissed her again.

Cheryl's heart hurt so badly her fingertips shook.

Looking at this man, she suddenly remembered five years ago when they'd first gotten together and she'd been in a car accident.

When he'd rushed to the hospital, his legs had been shaking. He'd dropped to his knees, clutching the doctor's hands, begging them to save her.

Later, while she was getting stitches, he'd waited outside. When he emerged, his eyes were rimmed red. She'd asked what was wrong. He'd said it was nothing—he'd just been terrified.

Back then, she'd believed this man truly cared about her.

So after they married, she'd turned down the design director position at that company. The job had been in another city, and he'd said he didn't want a long-distance relationship.

Cheryl had been convinced her sacrifices were worth it.

But after Zachary made his money, everything changed. He decided she wasn't good enough for him anymore.

It wasn't like she hadn't tried to hold on.

She'd texted him—he never replied. She'd asked if he'd eaten—he'd said it was none of her business.

She'd always believed that if she just tried hard enough, if she was just patient enough, the man who'd loved her would come back. After all, they'd been so in love once.

But now, watching the two people on that sofa, she suddenly felt exhausted by it all.

Zachary released Jasmine Collins and looked at Cheryl with contempt. "Seen enough? If not, there's more where that came from. Want to watch?"

Jasmine curled into his arms, lifting her eyes to Cheryl. "Zachary, don't be like this. She's still your wife..."

Zachary glanced down at her, his lip curling. "Wife? Does she deserve that title?"

Cheryl's nails dug into her palms. Suddenly, she laughed—a laugh that made her eyes sting.

"Zachary, don't you think this is pathetic?"

Darkness flooded Zachary's eyes.

Cheryl took a deep breath. She didn't know where the courage came from, but she walked over and sat down in a nearby chair.

"If you want to put on a live sex show for me, I'm not opposed. It's free entertainment, after all. Least I can do is humor you."

Zachary's expression darkened. He released Jasmine and approached her, step by deliberate step.

"Cheryl, do you have any shame?"

Cheryl's heart was breaking, but she lifted her chin defiantly. "Funny—seems like you're the shameless one here."

Zachary stared at her coldly. Then he laughed.

"What, finally angry? If you can't handle it, you can leave. The divorce papers are right there. You're the one who won't sign them."

Cheryl blinked back the burning in her eyes.

He was right. He'd given her divorce papers a year ago.

She was the one who'd been lying to herself, desperately trying to patch together a marriage that had already rotted away.

Her heart had hurt so much for so long that now it felt almost numb.

"Fine. You said it."

Without another word, Cheryl turned and walked out.

Watching her leave just like that, Zachary's Adam's apple bobbed sharply.

What did she mean by that? Had she finally decided to sign the divorce papers?

The thought surfaced, but he quickly dismissed it. No way. She was nothing but a housewife now. He'd given her such a comfortable life—without him, she'd never survive out there.

At that thought, he scoffed dismissively and stopped caring.

Cheryl sat in her car and rolled down the window, letting the evening breeze flow in.

The wind was cool against her face, scattering the last of her daze.

She sat there for a long time. Finally, she pulled out her phone and scrolled to a number.

It was a contact she'd saved nearly a year ago but had never called.

The phone rang twice before someone picked up.

"Cheryl?"

A warm male voice came through. "What made you think of calling me?"

Cheryl paused, then spoke calmly. "Andrew, you mentioned last time that the overseas branch needed a design director. Is that position still open?"

There was a beat of silence, then laughter. "Open? Of course it's open! I've been holding it for you this whole time. I knew you'd come around eventually. You know what kind of resources that project has—there's nothing like it in the domestic fashion supply chain. The salary's ten times what you're making now. And if you do well, you'll be the branch's largest shareholder!"

Andrew Phillips was a heavyweight in the design industry.

His company controlled the largest supply chain in fashion design. This year they'd begun expanding internationally, and he'd invited her to join the team a year ago.

She'd never gone. Because she hadn't wanted to leave Zachary.

Now, looking back, it had all been self-delusion.

"Alright," Cheryl said. "I'll take it."

Another pause on the other end—he clearly hadn't expected her to be so decisive. "Really? Didn't you say before that you couldn't bear to leave, that you needed time to think?"

Cheryl looked up at the hotel building, at the lit window on the eighteenth floor.

She looked away and didn't answer right away.

Honestly, her heart was still a mess. You couldn't just let go of so many years of emotion on command.

She glanced at the date on her phone screen and mentally calculated the timeline.

One month.

She still had projects here that needed to be wrapped up. It would take at least a month to hand everything over properly.

One month, then. She'd give this marriage one last chance.

Cheryl spoke again, her voice softer. "I still have some things to handle here. It'll take about a month. Can you wait that long?"

A moment of silence, then agreement. "Alright. One month from now, I'll be waiting."