The Jezebel Read online

  The Jezebel

  A Rivers Wilde Stand Alone

  Dylan Allen

  Edited by Lauren McKellar

  Copyedit by Rebecca Barney

  Photopgraph Edited by Staci Brillhart

  Cover Art by Alyssa Garcia

  Contents

  Also by Dylan Allen

  WELCOME TO RIVERS WILDE

  Present Day

  The Jezebel’s Undoing

  18 years AGO

  1. No Right or Wrong

  2. I Want To Fight

  3. Alchemy

  4. Just My Imagination

  5. Do You Love Him?

  One Year Later

  6. Palestine

  Six Years Later

  7. Sos

  One Week Later

  8. Anything

  Two Years Later

  9. An Echo In Time

  8 Years Later

  10. Femme Fatale

  11. Drunk Man Di Talk Truth

  12. Chasing Venus

  13. Head Start

  14. I Want More

  15. Can I Kiss You?

  16. Breaking

  17. Come With Me

  18. Social Butterfly

  19. I Remember Everything

  20. A Cult

  21. Transformed

  22. Jealous

  23. Venus And Mars

  24. Friends

  25. Everything

  26. Adieu

  27. Crash Landing

  28. Oh, Brother

  29. I Need Her

  30. Hot Stone

  31. Making an Entrance

  32. Goodbye

  Three Months Later

  33. The Prodigal Returns

  34. Opportunity

  35. Walls Come Tumbling Down

  36. Of Omelettes And Eggs

  37. A Surprise Dollop of Cream

  38. One Month Later

  39. Freedom

  40. Present Day

  41. One More Day

  2 Weeks Later

  42. Fuck The High Road

  2 Months Later

  43. Move

  44. No

  45. Home

  46. Always Be Unfinished Business

  47. Out Of My System

  48. The Jezebel

  49. Venus Rising

  50. I Want What Can't Be Mine

  51. Flat on my Face

  52. Memory Lane

  53. Bleeding Love

  54. Drunk In Love

  17 Years Earlier

  55. He called it revenge

  56. Trust

  57. So Domestic

  58. Make it Official

  59. Make Them Stop

  60. At Last

  61. Scarlet

  62. Mine

  63. Victory

  6 months later

  64. Home Base

  65. Finally

  Love Of My Life

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Dylan Allen

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Dylan Allen

  Copyright © 2020 by Dylan Allen

  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.

  v.1

  Created with Vellum

  Also by Dylan Allen

  Loved it and want more? Here are all of my currently published titles.

  Rivers Wilde Series of stand alone stories:

  The Legacy

  The Legend

  Symbols of Love Series of stand alone stories:

  Rise

  Remember

  Release

  Complete stand alone stories:

  The Sun and Her Star

  Thicker Than Water

  I love to hear from readers! email me at [email protected]

  Are you on Facebook? Come join my private reader group, Dylan’s Day Dreamer. It’s where I spend most of my time online and it’s a lot of fun! Click here.

  Praise for Rivers Wilde

  “From the cover, to the characters, to the intricate plot and interesting secondary characters, it just worked and I loved everything about it. Highly recommended!” --Book Twins Reviews

  “You can tell Allen poured herself into this story completely because it exudes everything that is her. Brilliance, awe inspiring, riveting, captivating, emotional, inspirational, unexpected and spectacular!” -- @4_the_love_of_books

  “Epic Love...they had it in spades!!! Remi’s story was a roller coaster of emotions...a ride I never wanted to end!” --Keri Loves Books

  “...I love Dylan Allen's writing so freaking much! Just Get this book as soon as it comes out and do yourself a favour.” --The E-Book Addict

  “The drama, the mystery, the intrigue and the love...all the love. It's like the tv show Dynasty and The Notebook had a love child...and it's beautiful!!” --Bibliophile Chloe

  “It's an angst fueled roller coaster. Buckle up, and enjoy the ride.”--The Romance Rebel

  “The Legend by Dylan Allen gripped my heart from the beginning and stole my breath away completely. This story was simply mind blowing and captivating. This beautifully written epic saga of timeless love is full of angst, drama, heartbreak, passion and every delicious feeling.” --PP’s Bookshelf

  To my niece, Laila.

  I can’t wait to watch you set the world alight with your magnificent mind.

  I love you.

  Until the lion learns to write, history will always glorify the hunter.

  Proverb of unknown origin.

  WELCOME TO RIVERS WILDE

  The Jezebel is the third stand alone in the Rivers Wilde Series.

  Located in the dynamic city of Houston, TX, Rivers Wilde is an enclave carved into a parcel of the most valuable and coveted land in all of South East Texas.

  The enclave is home to the two families that it’s named after. The Rivers are old, Texas money. Sugar, oil, and natural gas are how they made their fortune. And with that bounty, they helped found the city of Houston.

  The Wildes are the new money. The bourgeoisie. They built their wealth in restaurants, grocery stores and real estate. And they have made a fortune that casts the old money into the shade.

  In the 1980s, the oil markets were crashing and the Rivers found themselves hard up for cash. With no other viable options, they sold part of their precious land to the usurpers they’d previously refused to even acknowledge.

  Seeds of resentment burrowed deep into the fertile soil of their dislike and grew tenacious roots. Thirty years later, the rivalry continues. Even though, now, no one remembers what started it and just why the blood between the families is so bad.

  Today in Rivers Wilde, a new generation is coming to the helm of power in both families. Will they put the past behind them and usher in a new era of cooperation between the two ruling families in Houston? Or will the sins of their fathers continue to cast a shadow over them?

  I hope you enjoy finding out!

  Welcome to Rivers Wilde.

  Present Day

  HOUSTON, TX

  The Jezebel’s Undoing

  Regan

  “I need to speak with you.”

  The unexpected sound of my husband’s voice nearly stops my heart. My reflexive gasp draws soap and water into my nose and throat, and I cough violently to clear it. I turn the water off and meet his unreadable gaze in the mirror.

  The burn of mint scented face wash invading my nostrils and stinging my eyes barely registers against the shock of seeing him stan
ding in my bathroom when he should be on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

  I grab a towel from the small pile on my counter and wipe the soap off haphazardly and turn to face him. “Why are you here?” I demand.

  He raises one gray flecked eyebrow as if surprised by my question. “This is my house. You are still my wife.” He curls his lip and drags a possessive gaze over my towel clad, shower damp body.

  I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest and glower at him. “Please leave, now.”

  He shakes his head slowly; one side of his thin mouth curls upward in a sneer. “I’ll wait for you in the bedroom.” He informs me, and then he turns and walks out of the bathroom.

  I release the breath I was holding, and rush into my closet, slide the door closed behind me and start to pace. Mounting dread compounds my shock, but I can’t afford to indulge either.

  Since our confrontation after he received the divorce petition, he’s been radio silent. I’ve been praying, unceasingly, he’d stay that way. Marcel being here today is a very, very bad sign and even worse timing.

  The State of Texas gives a respondent twenty days to respond before granting a divorce by default. This morning, I woke up and drew the nineteenth red “X” on the small calendar I keep on my bedside table. It was like hearing a key slide into the lock of a door that had been sealed shut for years.

  Just one day left. I could taste my freedom. And, for the first time ever, I dared to imagine welcoming Stone to Houston as a single woman.

  It was stupid to think Marcel would make this easy.

  I glower at my reflection, this time, the sting in my eyes from tears I won’t allow to fall. There’s no reason to cry. Marcel will drag it out and make it as painful as possible, but he can’t do anything to stop the divorce. This is just one battle in a war that, ultimately, I know I’ll win.

  I take my time getting dressed, pulling on my softest pair of leggings and a t-shirt Stone bought me in Todos Santos. I stride into my bedroom, walking past him toward my bed without stopping or looking at him, my voice projecting irritation and impatience. “Whatever this about, I wish you’d called first. I have a very busy-”

  “Who is he?” Marcel speaks in a quiet, insouciant voice, but his question lands with the potential lethality of a grenade before it detonates. I have no idea if it’s a dud or if my whole life is about to go up in flames.

  I quell that flare of panic. There’s only one he that matters, and Marcel can’t know about him. No one does. Stone is my heart’s most closely guarded secret. With that certainty as my shield, I ignore the explosive question, turn my back to him, and start making my bed.

  “Regan, I am speaking to you.” The easy confidence in his voice is splintered by indignation that provides another balm to my rattled nerves. He’s much easier to manage when he’s angry.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I drawl and glance over my shoulder in his general direction, one eyebrow raised in apathetic curiosity. “I didn’t hear you.” I resume my task without meeting his eye or waiting for an answer.

  A second later, a black smartphone lands face down on the bed. “My mother was right about you. You are the devil in disguise.” he snarls behind me.

  I sigh loudly at his dramatics before I pick up the phone and turn to face him. “What is this about?” I snap.

  He nods at the phone in my hand. “See for yourself, Jezebel.”

  Those tendrils of trepidation hiss like agitated snakes in my gut and drawn my grudging gaze to the phone and the shield I’d been so sure of crumbles as the grenade I’d dismissed for a dud, detonates.

  The headline written in bold red all caps reads, “La femme de Landel montre au monde qui elle est: La Jézabel” The wife of Landel shows the world who she is: Jezebel.

  It’s splashed over a picture I looked at just this morning with sweet longing and tentative hope. Me and Stone kissing, his hand grasping my bikini clad bottom, my tattoo glaring the small of my bare back. My arms are twined around his neck, obscuring the sliver of his profile that the brim of his hat didn’t hide. I scan the article and see the words “unknown companion”. At least they don’t know it’s him.

  Amidst the discordant bells of devastation, disbelief, horror, and humiliation tolling inside my head, is a note of relief. But my knees still buckle under the weight of this disaster and I sit on the bed, dazed.

  “I want you out of my house, faithless woman.” Marcel issues his order like a tyrant who expects complete obedience and my head snaps up. His eyes glitter with the anticipatory menace of a spider preparing to devour the unfortunate prey trapped in its web and I’ve never been so afraid in my life.

  But, after years of living with his flagrant infidelity, Marcel’s righteousness spawns rage so ardent, it momentarily overwhelms my fear.

  I raise my head and meet his raptor like glare with one of my own. “This is my home. The kids and I aren’t going anywhere.”

  His thin-lipped sneer spreads into a malevolent smile that chills me to the bone. “The children aren’t going anywhere. But you most certainly are.”

  Heart-stopping fear steals my breath. “No, they wouldn’t...you couldn’t. They need me…” My throat throbs with unshed tears of helplessness and fury. The phone slips from my hand and lands at my feet with a clatter that’s muted by the panic thundering through my veins like a band of unbroken stallions.

  The polished tips of his bespoke Aubercy loafers come into view. And he presses a finger to the underside of my chin and lifts my face to his. I’m too shell shocked to resist.

  Disdain draws furrows between his brows, scorn etches grooves around the edges of his lips and he leans forward until I can smell the cognac on his breath. “After you have so thoroughly disgraced yourself, me and them, do you think they will want to be with you?”

  Oh God. My children. The thought of them seeing that picture fills my gut with an unbearable ache.

  At my silence, his sneering lips curl into a satisfied smile. He drops his hand from my chin and takes a step back. “You will leave. They will stay here. And if you tell me who the man is, I will call this newspaper and have them take this article out of circulation. This was published at midnight in France.” He checks the time on his wristwatch and purses his lips, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “It’s only 2am there, now. One phone call, and I can make it go away. I will spare you the humiliation of your children knowing what kind of woman you are. Just tell me who he is. Then, it will only be his life I burn to the ground.”

  Disgust cuts through my apprehension and I find my voice. “You would use our children as pawns?”

  His eyes narrow in condescending pity, “But, that is exactly what they are, Regan. The prenuptial agreement we signed saw to that.”

  “I will fight you, Marcel” I vow. That document is more than ten years old and if I’ve learned anything from my brother, is that there is no such thing as an unbreakable contact.

  He shrugs. “And I’ll win. That picture, whether the publication removes it or not, means I hold all the cards. Tell me his name and all you will lose is what you have already forfeited – custody of the children.”

  “My face isn’t showing, you can’t prove it’s me.” I grasp at straws.

  “Will your brother perjure himself and risk his law license to help you prove that in court? Because that’s where this is headed if you fight me.”

  I can see the picture in my mind as clearly as if I was still looking at it. Our faces aren’t showing. Yet, the glint of my gold body chain, the riot of dark curly hair that cascades down my back are distinctive but combined with the tattoo that adorns my lower back, it might as well be DNA evidence.

  But, there’s no way to prove that's Stone’s hand cupping my bottom. My chest aches at the thought of him. And what being embroiled in this could mean for the career he’s worked so hard for. I won’t let that happen.

  I just don’t understand how this picture that was on my personal cell phone got into the hands of a newspaper in
France. One Marcel claims he has the power to command.

  I grasp at that thread of suspicion like it’s a lifeline and use it to pull my head above the surface of guilt and terror I’m drowning in. “How did they get that picture? I don’t understand,” I make my voice sorrowful, keep my head bowed, but keep a surreptitious eye on him through the veil of my lashes.

  His smug smile falters, and his eyes dart over my shoulder. But he regains his composure so quickly I’m not sure it wasn't just wishful thinking.” Maybe your lover handed it over to make a pretty penny,” he sneers.