Cruel Infatuation
Kelli Callahan
Copyright © 2020 by Kelli Callahan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
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Cruel Temptation
Prologue
GRAYSON
Nine years ago
I used to always say hate is a strong word and only use it sporadically.
Yeah, I lied.
I hate my bitch of an ex-girlfriend. I hate her so much I wish hell would swallow her whole.
She’s sitting on the stand, lying under oath, and the jury is putty in her hands. Kendall is crying fake, dramatic tears, as she lies about how I raped her.
Raped her.
I’m fucking baffled. Never would I touch a woman out of turn. If a woman doesn’t want attention, to be touched, or anything else, a man stops. That’s how it is. That’s how it should be. A man needs to respect a woman. Without women, men wouldn’t have a damn thing.
I believe that to this very moment, and it’s why I’m so angry. Kendall knows I’d never touch her like that. I’d never force myself on her. I loved her, and a sick part of me still does, even knowing her betrayal.
A month ago, Kendall Johnson reported me to the cops for rape. I was half asleep when I was arrested at my home near midnight. I was told my charges and read my rights. I thought there was a mistake, but Kendall played the perfect actress. Anytime we saw each other around court, she looked at me with fear.
I thought, okay, the one thing I have on my side is evidence. And then, that hope was taken away from me.
The rape kit found that she was telling the truth since she had bruises on her wrists and an injured cervix. My DNA was found inside her which was the nail in the coffin for me. We had been together for three years, so we didn’t wear protection. She was on birth control, so we weren’t worried if we got pregnant. I thought we were going to get married. I stupidly thought I found the person I was going to spend my life with.
As for the bruises, Kendall liked rough sex. She liked to be bound and fucked hard. But the morning we had sex, I remember it because it was subpar at best. She put in no effort. It was quick, no passion whatsoever, and she rolled out of bed quicker than I could finish my orgasm. I knew then our relationship was over, but I had no idea she held such disdain for me to accuse me of something I didn’t do.
She was fucking someone else in order to have the bruises and the injured cervix. I didn’t do that. She must have worn a condom with him, or the guy pulled out. Either way, she’s a lying, cheating, whore.
And I hate her just as much as I loved her.
“What happened next, Ms. Johnson? After you got home from work.” Her lawyer leans against the podium and invades her personal space. The way he’s staring at her makes me wonder if he’s the guy she had sex with the same day as me. Maybe he isn’t. Maybe she’s just spreading her legs for him too to get out of paying lawyer fees.
Not a bad idea considering I’m paying for the best goddamn lawyer in the state of California, and he hasn't done anything for me. I guess there isn’t much to be done. Everything points to me, and my word isn’t enough.
“Well, he started kissing me, and I said no.” She sniffles and dabs under her eyes as she cries. “I had a long day at work, and I wasn’t in the mood. You girls get that, right?” she asks the jury, and all the women are wearing sympathetic looks on their faces.
I’m a fucking dead man.
I’m not disregarding the importance of rape. I believe the men or women who do it need to be charged and found guilty. There’s no doubt about that.
But this? I didn’t do this. I am not this kind of man.
I bury my hands in my hair and try to take a deep breath. My eyes burn from the enormous weight of the situation and the reality of my life being over. Once I have this on my record, I won’t be able to do anything with the family company. My dad has already cut me off, and all I have left is my trust fund. I’m lucky. I know that. I’ll have that when I get out of prison.
I know that’s where I’m going.
I loosen my tie when the room starts to get hot. I’m sweating.
“Are you okay?” my lawyer whispers out of the side of his mouth.
Is he an idiot? Do I look okay? Does anything about this situation seem okay? How the hell did he pass law school?
“Well, he didn’t like that answer. He tossed me on the bed and ripped off my clothes and pinned my wrists above my head.” She pulls her long sleeves away from her wrists and shows the jury the faded bruises that are now yellow instead of the deep blue in the photos. “Then he slapped me across the face.”
“Bullshit,” I mutter under my breath when she touches her cheek, as if remembering the pain I caused her.
“Then he lifted up my skirt and ripped my panties off, and then he…” She swallows and looks away from her lawyer.
“And he what, Ms. Johnson?”
“And then he unzipped his pants and forced himself on me.”
“What does ‘force himself’ mean? Did he kiss you? Hold your legs? What did he
