Page 3 of What Broke First (The Cheating A$$hole #1)

Matt squinted against the sunlight slicing through the blinds. It was too bright, too exposed, not like the soft filtered light of his and Sarah’s room, where the curtains had always been drawn just enough to keep the morning gentle.

This was his first real morning waking up somewhere foreign. He was disoriented. Even the air smelled different; her absence clung to him like a second skin.

He turned onto his side and found Lily already watching him, propped on one elbow, smiling like she had just won something.

“Morning,”

she said, her fingertip drawing lazy circles on his chest.

Matt blinked, still adjusting. Her room smelled like lavender and expensive shampoo, not clean laundry and coffee. Even the sheets felt foreign. Cool and sleek. Not soft. Not home.

“Were you watching me sleep?”

he asked, his voice still rough.

Lily grinned. “Maybe.”

He let out a low laugh, but it landed flat.

“Let’s hope that’s not one of your low-key stalker tendencies.”

“Only when the view’s worth it,”

she teased.

Matt smiled, but a pang of unease slid through him. There was something about being watched while sleeping that made his skin crawl. He couldn’t explain why. He just filed it away. A red flag, maybe. Small. But still waving.

Lily leaned over, her lips brushing against his ear.

“I have a surprise for you,”

she whispered, her hand slipping lower beneath the sheets. Matt’s breath hitched, his body responding instantly to her touch.

She moved with confidence, her body sliding down him, her hips grinding slowly, teasingly. Matt groaned, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her closer. She smirked, leaning down to kiss him deeply, her tongue sliding against his. The kiss lingered, heavy with demand, more command than invitation.

She was in control, her movements becoming more urgent, more dominating. Matt let himself get lost in her, in the way she felt, the way she moved. Every touch, every kiss was fevered, setting his senses on fire. He felt her core tremble around him, her breath quickening, and he knew she was close. He kissed her like a man clawing for amnesia. Every sound she made fed his body, but starved something else inside him.

He thrust up into her, his hands guiding her movements, and she cried out, her body gone limp with pleasure. He followed soon after, his release hitting him hard, leaving him breathless and panting.

As they lay there, sated and spent, Lily laughed, a sound filled with satisfaction.

“You’re mine now, Matt,”

she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of possessiveness and triumph.

Lily traced a finger along his collarbone, her voice honey-sweet.

“You know... I’ve never been with an older man before,”

she said, almost shy.

“You’re so... confident. Rough, in a good way. Like you know things. It’s kind of hot.”

She giggled and leaned in like she had just shared a secret.

“I always feel like such a rookie with you. You just... take over.”

Matt didn’t reply. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling a strange mix of exhilaration and guilt. The words should have flattered him. They didn’t. His mind spun in restless loops, snagging on the same unanswerable question. Was guilt a tether strong enough to pull him home, or the very chain that kept him in Lily’s bed, sated yet undone in all the places that counted?

What once had felt like validation now landed like a diagnosis.

A grim reminder that he wasn’t her equal. He was her detour. A lesson. A story she would tell later, with a half-smile and no regret.

What he had mistaken for a spark suddenly felt like a spotlight, bright, unrelenting, and aimed directly at his regrets. The sex had been incredible, unlike anything he had ever experienced, but a part of him felt empty, as if he had lost something he could never get back.

And he had, because right now, Sarah was telling her parents that Matt was a cheating asshole.

She was sitting at their kitchen table, her fingers worrying the edge of a napkin she’d folded into tight, uneven squares. Across from her, Helen Whitfield’s face shifted from concern to disbelief to something harder, the kind of rage only a mother could wear.

Hayward stood at the counter, arms crossed, silent, his stillness louder than words.

“I told you,”

her mom said.

“That man always had too much charm and not enough character.”

Sarah nodded. Her voice was calm.

“He slept with someone from work. A 27-year-old named Lily.”

Her dad exhaled slowly.

“Jesus, Sarah.”

“I’m not here for sympathy,”

she said.

“I’m telling you because the kids will know something is wrong, and I need to control the story.”

Helen leaned in, her voice clipped.

“When did you find out, Sarah?”

“Last night.”

Her words came steady, though her fingers dug into the napkin.

“Don’t get me wrong, he confessed. But it felt more like he wanted it off his chest than to give me the truth. He knew I was already suspicious with all those late nights at the office.”

She exhaled.

“He swears it was only once. But I tracked his phone. He’s with her right now. At her apartment.”

Hayward’s head lifted. His voice carried more gravel than volume.

“How do you know it’s her apartment?”

Sarah met his gaze.

“Because I Googled it, Dad.”

For a long beat, no one spoke. Hayward’s eyes slid to the wedding photo hanging on the wall, Matt’s arm looped around her waist, both of them smiling like permanence had been guaranteed. His expression hardened, a look that stripped the joy out of the glass frame.

“The next time I see him,”

Hayward said, low and certain.

“I’ll rip him to shreds.”

Sarah let out a dry laugh that caught in her throat.

“Dad, I might beat you to it.”

She called her best friend next. Then her sister. Then the couple who always hosted game night. She told them all the same way, direct, measured, almost detached. Like a woman laying the foundation of a new life, starting with brutal honesty.

They all had the same reaction: anger, pity, and that mix of gossip and heartbreak reserved for when good marriages went bad.

She didn’t cry until later, when she was alone in the car listening to Take a Bow by Rihanna.

And by the time Matt finally texted her, she had already rewritten his contact name in her phone.

Matt – Cheating Asshole

The truth was, Sarah had her mirror moment, the one where you don’t recognize your own reflection because everything you thought was solid was suddenly vapor.

She had stared at herself until her reflection felt like a stranger. Her face was intact. But something in her eyes had packed up and left. Just a woman standing in the wreckage, choosing not to scream.

Then came the picture frames. One by one, she pulled them off the walls and shelves. Vacation smiles, anniversary dinners, his arm around her waist like it had meant something permanent. She placed each frame in a box with clinical precision, as if sealing away a season. It hurt more than she expected. Less than she feared.

The closet was next. She pressed his shirt to her face without meaning to, instinctively inhaling him. The scent slammed into her, cruel in its familiarity. Clean laundry and cologne. It was involuntary, the way her body remembered what her mind wanted to forget. She hated that his scent still comforted her. Hated that she stood there, surrounded by fabric and absence, and felt her knees wobble.

In the bathroom, she stared down at his razor, his cologne, the half-used bar of soap they had been sharing. She didn’t cry then either. She just slowly began to gather each item and drop it into the trash bag beside her, like she was conducting a quiet funeral. One that no one else would attend.

By the time the sun rose that morning, Sarah had already made up her mind. This wasn’t salvageable. Not then. Not yet.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t break anything. She faced reality and chose herself.