Page 1 of Keeping Skylar (Fractured Hearts #1)

Skylar

Two hours.

Baby! I get so hard thinking about devouring your body again, one message reads. I can’t wait for the day it’s me you’ll be waking up to, reads another.

My limbs tremble uncontrollably as I delve deeper into their endless message thread, every brutal exchange exposing the depth of their betrayal. A wave of bile rises in my throat, and I have to summon all my strength to swallow it back down.

This can’t be happening! How could they do this to me?

My hand flies to my mouth, muffling the raw cries threatening to burst free as tears stream down my cheeks and jaw.

The pain in my chest is suffocating, pressing down on me with unbearable weight, making it harder to choke back the sobs. Everything fucking hurts.

While I’m crumbling inside, they’re sleeping peacefully in their beds, probably dreaming of each other, without a care in the world. All I want is to disappear, to curl up in a dark, quiet place and shut out this relentless nightmare until it’s finally over.

I pull my phone from the pocket of my sleep shorts, quietly switching on the camera.

Positioning it towards my husband’s phone screen, I snap image after image, documenting every interaction between Kaden and his mistress from the past six months.

After capturing the incriminating texts, I create a new folder labelled ‘Evidence’, carefully transferring all the photos into the file before saving it to my OneDrive.

For now, I’ll focus on gathering enough proof of his infidelity, just enough that there won’t be a shred of doubt left after this. It’ll be impossible for him to deny anything once I drop the bomb at his feet.

Clicking out of his messages, my index finger instinctively lingers over the photo gallery—knowing full well I’ll be entering dangerous territory. But a part of me, the self-destructive part, feels an irresistible urge to uncover everything I’ve been blind to.

Taking in a few deep breaths, I nervously tap on the icon, bracing myself from what I’m about to see, and will never be able to unsee again.

My heart thrashes violently in my chest as I wait for the images to load one by one.

After several agonising seconds, the photos load onto the screen, and I slowly close my eyes.

Yes, Skylar. You can do this! How much more can it hurt? Inhaling and exhaling deeply, I count to three before slowly opening my eyes.

Oh God! I was wrong. So very fucking wrong!

Seeing these images hurts a thousand times more.

A surge of anxiety courses through me, my fingers flicking frantically through the photos of Kaden and his lover. Each image sears into my mind as though it could burn holes straight through my eyes. It takes every ounce of willpower not to hurl the phone through the windshield.

Upon closer inspection, I realise that nearly all the photos, save for a few, were taken in public places—on the beach, at restaurants, shopping centres, bars, and natural reserves. It’s as if they didn’t even try to hide their affair.

One photo was snapped during a hike in the mountains, the two of them glistening in sweat on their sun-kissed skin as passers-by blur in the background.

In another shot, they’re sitting side by side in a booth of a family restaurant.

Kaden’s arm is looped comfortably around his mistress’s shoulder as they both smile lovingly at each other. How fucking sweet!

And if that wasn’t pure torture, the next photo is a selfie of the two of them lying on their sides on a couch together.

The familiarity of the couch tells me the photo was taken inside his lover’s home.

She’s leaning back against his chest; her smile aimed at the camera.

Kaden’s arms encircle her torso protectively as he presses a gentle kiss to her temple—a sight that sends a sharp wave of pain flooding through me.

I nervously swipe to the next photo, expecting to be greeted with yet another cheesy cliché selfie, but to my complete and utter shock, a video with a click button icon in the middle flashes across the screen. My breathing stills.

Dear God, no!

My eyes brim with more tears at the sight of my husband, naked on top of his equally naked mistress lying on her back on the bed, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. It takes me no time at all to realise; I’ve just come across their sex video.

Nausea builds, as my heart continues to shatter into pieces.

Oh my God! Oh my fucking God!

The phone slips from my hand, dropping onto my lap with a bounce. Quickly catching the device before it lands on the car floor, my free hand wraps around my throat, as I try to gasp for air. Every part of my body feels constricted. My stomach. My airways. My throat. My heart .

Don’t watch it . Save whatever remains of your battered soul.

I chant these words over and over in my head, like a silent prayer.

To see their betrayal play out before me, in a scene so explicit, so vivid, will destroy everything within me.

I’m barely hanging on as it is. For my sanity, I decide to forgo watching the video, and stop sifting through the remaining photos altogether. My fractured heart can’t take anymore.

Instead, I lift my phone and snap photos of the images in Kaden’s gallery, quietly adding them to my ever-growing file of evidence. These will definitely come in handy when I divorce his sorry arse.

After this, there will be no room for pleading, no explanations to consider, and absolutely no chance for forgiveness.

I’m done—completely, utterly done. He can keep his lies and bullshit excuses.

I won’t waste a single moment of my time listening.

Those two vile creatures are welcome to have each other.

I take a moment to calm my breathing, wiping away all traces of my tears before pocketing my phone, and placing Kaden’s back in its hiding spot.

To think, just over two hours ago, I stumbled upon his hidden phone and uncovered the truth of his illicit affair, turning everything I once believed about my husband and our marriage upside down. Though the discovery was accidental, it’s one I’ll always be grateful for.

I had just finished watching my favourite TV series, when I noticed one of the legs on the coffee table had a slight wobble as I wiped a small wine spill from the surface.

Determined to fix the issue on my own, I’d headed to the garage to look for an Allen key. A few minutes into my search, a muffled vibrating sound coming from Kaden’s motorbike caught me off guard. Suspecting something might’ve been malfunctioning, I figured it would be wise to check out the noise.

Not a minute later, the vibrating sound buzzed once again.

I followed the noise until it led me to the top box attached to the back of his Kawasaki Ninja.

Lifting the lid, I found a helmet, a few takeout receipts, a pen, and a black beanie with Kaden’s company logo stitched on the front, all tucked beneath the helmet.

As I picked up the beanie, a heavy, solid object slipped out and dropped with a thud on the bottom of the compartment.

As I picked up the fallen object, inspecting it for damage, what I found instead struck me to my core.

It was an iPhone, a slightly older model, its locked screen flashing with missed calls and messages.

My stomach lurched, an unsettling sense of dread creeping in.

Nothing good ever comes from finding a hidden phone.

I hesitated, hoping it would be the same four-digit pin as Kaden’s other phone. With a shaky hand, I tapped in the code, and the screen unlocked instantly. In that moment, I knew, that everything in my life would never be the same again.

So, here I am, sitting in my car, parked inside the garage at nearly 3 am in the morning, playing detective on my husband’s phone.

I’m toying with the idea of hiding it somewhere he won’t find, just to watch him panic a bit.

It’d definitely get him sweating a little.

In a few hours, though, Kaden’s alarm will blare through the house, dragging him out of sleep to get ready for work.

Thankfully, my husband is a heavy sleeper.

He could probably sleep through a world war, with explosives going off every minute, and still not move an inch.

It’s no shock that Kaden hasn’t come looking for me while I’ve been sitting in my car, or even noticed I’m missing from our bed. The man sleeps like the dead.

With my mind in complete turmoil and my body weighed down by grief, I feel drained and absolutely exhausted. So, I decide to call it a day, fully aware that sleep will elude me—probably for a long time.

It’s early on a Thursday morning and the first week of school holidays. At least I have the whole day ahead to try and rest. God knows, I need it now more than ever.

Quietly stepping out of the car, I gently shut the door and walk the short distance to Kaden’s motorbike sitting idle on the other side of the garage.

Placing the phone back in the top box, just how he left it, I carefully close the lid, and take in a few deep breaths before making my way back to our bedroom.

After stepping into the bedroom, I move quietly towards my husband’s side of the bed.

In the still darkness, I can just make out the silhouette of his sleeping form.

He looks peaceful, angelic almost, lying on his stomach with one arm under the pillow, the blanket pooled around his waist showcasing his bare torso.

His muscular back displays a large Nordic raven tattoo with its wings spread across his shoulder blades, a tribute, he once said, to his Scandinavian roots.

Even though the thought of him makes me sick, there’s no denying that this man is perfectly sculpted. Effortlessly sexy.

His eyelids and thick lashes flutter in his sleep, making me wonder if he’s dreaming about her ? I saunter over to my side of the bed, peeling the blanket back and slowly climbing in, careful not to wake him.