Ethan’s POV “You’re staring.” “I’m not,” I lied. The words left my mouth a beat too slow. But I was. I absolutely was. Her every movement had been orchestrated like a scene from a dream, or worse, a temptation I had no business indulging in. She lowered the gleaming silver bucket onto the center table with a slow elegance that made the moment surreal. Her eyes never left mine, daring me to look away, and I couldn’t. Then came the pièce de résistance. She took the bottle of champagne and nestled it in the valley between her breasts. Just the right pressure, just the right tilt. And then, pop. The cork burst free, bubbles fizzing and spilling with joyful abandon. They danced over her exposed skin, trails of golden liquid glistening as they trickled down her breasts. I swallowed hard. She poured the drink into a flute, holding my gaze hostage the entire time. “You’re tense,” she said, handing me the glass. Her voice was smoke and satin. “Tension doesn’t vanish with... theatrics.

Ethan’s POV “That was good sex... really good.”The words tumbled out of my mouth like a reflex, like I was trying to convince myself more than her. I lounged back on the dark leather couch, my bare skin still damp with sweat, the taste of her still lingering faintly in the air like an expensive perfume I didn’t want to admit I’d worn. Juno was curled beside me, catlike and smug, wearing nothing but her skin, enough to leave nothing to the imagination.“Two rounds, my mster,” she purred, stretching luxuriously as she propped herself up on her elbow. Her voice was velvet-wrapped seduction, smug and satisfied. “I should feel honored. You don’t strike me as the type who sticks around long enough to finish dessert.”I gave her a hollow smile, one that didn’t quite reach my eyes. My chest felt tight. Too tight. Olivia’s face kept slicing through the haze like a blade, her shy laugh, the warmth in her eyes, the way she had held me that one night like we were more than just a fleeting mista

Vanessa’s POV “I knew you’d try something stupid,” I said aloud, imagining Nathan’s smug face. “But what you didn’t know? One of your men, one of your loyal dogs was sleeping in my bed last weekend.” I chuckled, my lips curling in delight.“Men,” I muttered, letting out a thin stream of smoke. “Wave a little skin, a few moans in the dark, and suddenly, secrets slip out like confessions in a confessional.” His name was Jeb. A nobody. A thug with just enough brawn to earn Nathan’s trust and just enough stupidity to become my puppet. He thought I cared. I didn’t. I needed eyes. Ears. And a mouth that whispered back to me. “And he did,” I whispered, pride swelling. “God bless his lonely libido.” The real win, though? Getting to the scene before it was too late. Beating the ambulance. Swooping in like some divine intervention dressed in designer. Ethan had looked dazed. Bloody. Vulnerable.Perfect. My fingers twitched around the cigarette.“I swear,” I muttered darkly, “Nathan’s goin

Olivia’s POV “You’re wasting ink, Olivia,” Andrew snapped, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded. “You know he’s not going to read any of those.”I didn’t even lift my head. My pen moved faster. “I don’t write them for him to read. I write them for me.”He exhaled, frustrated. “So now we’re pretending journaling fixes betrayal?” He pushed off the frame and walked into the room. “You sent him a message eight days ago. No reply. What does that tell you?”I slammed the journal shut. “It tells me he’s scared. Or confused. Or... processing.”Andrew arched a brow. “Processing? Liv, you’re five months pregnant with a man’s child and he hasn’t even called you back. What kind of man does that sound like to you?”I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.Exactly.He sighed again and sat on the edge of the bed beside me. The familiar scent of his cologne brought me back to simpler times, when things were just cousins and childhood and Christmases. Not lies. Not heartbreak.“You’re bette

Ethan’s POV I watched her from the bed, the way she fussed over the tray like a waitress auditioning for a role she wasn’t born for. Vanessa was wiping the edges of the food tray now, meticulous, like it mattered. Who knew she had it in her, this sudden nurturing instinct? This strange, delicate roleplay of wifeliness. Except she wasn’t my wife. Not anymore. And even when she was, she wasn’t like this.She picked up the now-empty bottle of water and dropped it into the wastebasket like it had personally offended her, then reached for the napkins and folded them neatly as if she were resetting a table at a five-star restaurant.“You really don’t have to do that,” I said, finally breaking the silence.She turned, wide-eyed, like I’d caught her stealing something. “Do what?”“This,” I gestured weakly. “Waiting on me like it’s some dinner date.”She gave a small, almost innocent shrug. “You needed the help. I was already here.”But were you? I wondered silently. Were you just... already