My Broken Life

My perfect life shattered when I heard another woman's voice on my husband's watch, but that was just the beginning of his betrayal.

He orchestrated a car crash that killed our unborn child, all to steal my company and be with his secret family.

He thought he broke me, but he just unleashed a monster hell-bent on burning his entire world to the ground.

Chapter 1

Alexandra Smith POV:

The first crack in my perfect life wasn't a fight or a lie, but a woman's voice on my husband's watch, a voice that wasn't mine.

I was seeing Edward off at the door, our morning ritual. His hand was on the small of my back, a familiar, warm pressure. The scent of his cologne, sandalwood and bergamot, filled the space between us. He was flying to a tech conference in Seattle, a trip I usually made with him, but at three months pregnant, my doctor had advised against non-essential travel.

"I'll miss you," he murmured, his lips brushing my temple. "Both of you." His other hand came to rest gently on my still-flat stomach. A genuine smile, the kind that had made me fall for the heir to the Cardenas tech dynasty, lit up his handsome face.

"We'll miss you too," I said, leaning into his embrace. "Call me when you land."

"Always." He gave me one last, lingering kiss before turning to go.

As he picked up his briefcase, his smartwatch, a sleek silver band I'd gifted him for our anniversary, slipped from his wrist and clattered onto the marble floor.

"Oops," he said, already halfway out the door. "Can you grab that for me, darling? I'm going to miss my flight."

"Of course." I bent down, my fingers closing around the cool metal. As I picked it up, the screen lit up with a notification. It was a voice memo. My thumb brushed the play icon by accident.

A woman's voice, husky and low, filled the quiet foyer. "Don't forget our little arrangement, Eddie. I'm counting on you to get it done."

The air in my lungs turned to ice. My blood ran cold. Eddie. No one called him Eddie except for his mother and... Carla Patterson.

My breath hitched. I stood frozen, the watch heavy in my hand, the ghost of that voice echoing in the sudden, cavernous silence of our home. It couldn' t be. Carla was my professional rival, a ruthless executive at a competing firm. But she was also Edward's childhood friend. He'd always assured me their relationship was purely platonic, a relic of their shared upbringing.

My mind raced, trying to piece it together. An arrangement? What arrangement? My thoughts were a tangled mess of disbelief and a rising, sickening dread.

I had to know.

The decision was instant, a spark of adrenaline cutting through the fog of shock. I wasn't going to sit here for three days, letting this poison fester in my mind.

Without a second thought, I grabbed my purse and keys, leaving the watch on the hall table. I didn't call him back. I didn't send a text. I just walked out of our house, got into my smart car-one of my own company's prototypes-and booked the next flight to Seattle on my phone as the engine purred to life.

The flight was a blur of anxiety. Every benign smile from a flight attendant felt like a judgment. Every bump of turbulence felt like my world tilting off its axis. I kept replaying her voice in my head. Our little arrangement. It was intimate. Conspiratorial.

When I landed in Seattle, the city's signature gray gloom matched my mood perfectly. I took a cab to the hotel where the conference was being held, my heart hammering against my ribs. I didn't have a plan. I just needed to see him, to look him in the eye and gauge his reaction.

I found him not in a conference hall, but in the hotel's dimly lit lounge bar. And he wasn't alone.

He was in a secluded booth, laughing, his head bent close to another's. A woman's hand, nails painted a sharp, predatory red, rested on his arm. It was Carla. Her sleek blonde hair fell like a curtain, partially obscuring their faces, but there was no mistaking her.

Then, she leaned in, and her lips met his in a kiss that was anything but platonic. It was hungry, familiar, possessive. My husband, the man who had placed a tender hand on our unborn child just hours ago, kissed her back with equal fervor.

The sight shattered something deep inside me. It wasn't just a crack anymore; it was a complete implosion. The glass I was holding slipped from my numb fingers and crashed to the floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden silence that had enveloped my world.

Carla's head snapped up. Her eyes, cold and blue, widened in shock as they met mine across the room. A flicker of triumph, quickly masked, danced in their depths. I remembered the day she' d attended our wedding, her smile as bright as her dress, telling me, "You're so lucky, Alexandra. Edward is one of the good ones. I'll always look out for him for you." The memory was now coated in a thick layer of poison.

She nudged Edward, her expression shifting to one of feigned alarm. They scrambled out of the booth, their movements clumsy with guilt, and were gone before I could force my legs to move.

I tried to follow, stumbling over the broken glass, but my body wouldn't cooperate. A wave of nausea and dizziness washed over me, my vision blurring at the edges. My hand went to my stomach, a primal, protective instinct.

Somehow, I made it out of the hotel and onto the rain-slicked street. My mind was a chaotic storm of denial. It was a mistake. A misunderstanding. There had to be an explanation.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling as I dialed his number. It rang once, twice, before he picked up.

"Alex? Is everything okay?" His voice was strained, breathless.

"Where are you, Edward?" I asked, my own voice a hoarse whisper.

"In my room, darling. Just got out of a long session. Exhausted. Why?"

The lie was so blatant, so effortless, it stole the air from my lungs. Behind him, I could hear it-the faint, distinctive chime of the Seattle streetcar passing by. He wasn't in his room. He was outside. He was with her.

"Liar," I choked out, the word tasting like bile. I hung up before he could respond.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and blinding. The betrayal was a physical weight, crushing my chest, making it impossible to breathe. I started walking, with no destination in mind, just needing to move, to escape the image of that kiss burned into my brain. The city lights blurred into a watercolor of pain.