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Eight Years as His Second Choice Novel Cover

Eight Years as His Second Choice

At the altar, Hudson Farley shattered his vows by calling out his ex-lover's name and chasing her down the aisle, abandoning his bride, Sullivan. For eight years, Sullivan was his rock—standing by him through a three-year prison sentence and helping him build his empire from the ashes. He swore he would never betray her, yet he chose his past the moment she returned. Refusing to play second best any longer, Sullivan calls off the wedding, ready to leave him to his choices.
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Chapter 3

Just two lines of text.

"Tabitha, if you ever regret it, just look back. I'll always be here."

"Okay. I'll marry you!"

Everyone who saw it was stunned.

"Holy crap! You're serious? You didn't set this up with someone ahead of time, did you?"

"One week from now, you're all invited to the wedding. Then you'll know whether it's a prank."

The words had barely left my mouth when Jean let out a soft gasp. "Hudson, you're hurting me."

Hudson released her hand immediately, but his expression was terrifyingly dark.

"Enough, Tabitha. Stop messing around. Jean just got back. I'm going to take her home. You handle the guests."

"Whatever else there is to say, we'll talk about it at home."

As he spoke, he pulled two Band-Aids from his pocket, crouched down, and carefully slipped off Jean's heels.

Then he pressed them gently over the raw skin on the backs of her heels.

When he was done, his voice carried the kind of tender scolding reserved for someone precious.

"Every single time you wear heels, you tear up your heels. When are you going to learn?"

Jean stuck out her tongue playfully and looped her arms around his neck.

"Well, that's what I have you for! Just carry me home!"

The crowd's attention shifted to them instantly, and people started teasing and whistling.

"Aww, look at that! When it comes to spoiling a woman, nobody beats Mr. Farley!"

That scene hit me like a freight train, dragging up every memory of how Hudson and I had been for the past eight years.

Eight years together, and he'd grown used to me being the one who gave.

When he was in prison, at his lowest, the other inmates would rough him up constantly. So I started packing Band-Aids for him, slipping them into his pockets so he'd always have them within reach.

After he got out, he couldn't stand dealing with people. I was the one who introduced him to contacts, coaxed him back into the world, helped him crawl out of the shadows one step at a time.

Once his career took off, he'd leave me behind at dinners with business partners to go handle his own affairs, disappearing without a word.

I'd lost count of the nights I'd gotten drunk trying to close deals for him, only to have someone's hands wander where they shouldn't. I'd hide in a corner and cry until I couldn't breathe.

He never said a single comforting word.

When he saw me stumbling home at two in the morning because I couldn't get a cab, heels shredding the backs of my feet until I nearly collapsed on the sidewalk—

He never once crouched down to change my shoes. Not even with Band-Aids sitting right there in his pocket.

So that was it. His tenderness, his attentiveness, his devotion—none of it had ever been meant for me.

The wedding had become a complete joke.

Hudson didn't offer me a single word of comfort. He just got in the car and drove Jean away.

The guests looked at me with pity, like spectators at a show. But what they really hoped was that I'd bow out gracefully and let the two of them have their fairy tale.

Nelson pulled me aside.

"Tabitha, back in college, Hudson literally committed assault for Jean. That kind of love—you were never going to break through it."

"Even if you don't do it for them, do it for yourself. Even if you managed to keep him, you'd never be happy."

He was right. I knew he was right.

So after I'd seen off the last of the guests, I went home and started packing.

I just hadn't expected that eight years of belongings would be so overwhelming I didn't know where to begin.

Every single item was cheap junk picked up from street vendors—knockoffs, freebies. A $9.99 bracelet I'd displayed on a velvet stand like it was something precious.

The most expensive thing I owned was a gold bangle I'd asked for myself when he proposed. Ten grams. A little over a thousand dollars.

Money I'd once felt guilty about letting him spend. Now every piece of it had turned into worthless trash, cheapened by a love that had never been real.

By the time I'd thrown it all away, dawn was breaking through the windows.

He hadn't sent a single message all night. I hadn't called him once.

I was zipping up the last of my bags when Hudson walked through the door.

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