ChapterOne ad: The Phantom Heiress: Rising From The Shadows

Chapter 1 What Is the Gender? Twenty-five weeks pregnant, Sloane Powell caught her husband cheating—right outside the hospital. A tall, striking man in a black overcoat was shielding a soft, delicate-looking girl in his arms. The girl wore a white fox-fur coat. Her cheeks were rosy, her small face tucked into a fluffy wool scarf, her features pretty as a porcelain doll. Sloane clenched her prenatal checkup slip so hard her fingers went white. The cold wind sliced across her face, but it was nothing compared to the stabbing ache in her chest. Jaxson Cole saw her from far away. His expression stayed indifferent, not a trace of shame at being caught. He personally opened the car door for the girl, his demeanor gentle. So the cold, untouchable man at the top of the world could be tender, too. The girl seemed to notice Sloane. She paused, looked at Sloane with confusion first, then turned to Jaxson and asked, “Why is that old woman staring at you? Jaxson, do you know her?” The wind howled in Sloane’s ears. She didn’t know what else the girl said to Jaxson. But from the shape of her mouth, Sloane could clearly make out two words. “Old woman.” That was supposed to be her. Sloane’s lips curled into a bitter smile. She was only twenty-four. But she’d always been a little chubby, with an ordinary face. Wrapped in a black puffer jacket and a black knit hat, her late-pregnancy body was swollen and heavy. Add in the exhaustion on her face, and she really did look like some worn-out woman in her thirties or forties—how could she compare to a young, bright, beautiful girl? Jaxson protected the girl as she got into the car. Sloane stood frozen, watching the vehicle pull away. She and Jaxson had married because of the baby. This forced marriage—to a man like Jaxson, heaven’s chosen—was a stain on his life. The child in her belly was the tool she’d used to corner him. He hated her. And she had loved him in secret for eight years. Sloane knew she never deserved him. All she could do was study harder, keep pushing, take him as her life’s ideal, and chase after his footsteps. Finally, she got what she wanted. She became his assistant. She could stand close to him. But that night destroyed more than Jaxson. It also tore apart every last shred of pride and dignity she’d ever had in front of him. She would never forget the way he’d stared at her afterward—disgusted, like he’d touched something filthy that made him sick. So, of course, only a beautiful girl like that deserved him. A hot tear slid from the corner of her eye. Then her lower abdomen cramped hard. She hurriedly held her belly with one hand and braced the stone pillar beside her with the other. A passing nurse saw her and rushed over, supporting her and taking her into an exam room. It was just the emotional shock—she’d stirred the baby. Once she calmed down… Sloane left the hospital, driving alone back to Emerald Bay Mansion with a body and soul that felt wrung dry. This was Jaxson’s villa. Wren Cole, Jaxson’s grandmother, had arranged for experienced housekeepers from the Cole Estate to look after her. At that moment, the two housekeepers assigned to her were sitting in the warm living room like they owned the place, eating good food and laughing together. When they heard the sound, they turned toward the door. Seeing Sloane back, one of them stood and walked over, asking, “How were the results?” The attitude was arrogant, the tone dripping with contempt. They were supposed to be taking care of her, but they looked more like they were here to watch her and act like the real masters. Sloane only gave the housekeeper a cold glance and didn’t answer, heading straight for the stairs. The housekeeper frowned in displeasure. “I’m talking to you.” Sloane still ignored her. The housekeeper spat toward Sloane’s back. “Fat as a pig. You really think you’re some young mistress of the Cole family? Who are you trying to fool?” Back in her bedroom, Sloane sat on the bed, hollow and lost. Neither Jaxson nor the Cole family had ever accepted her. Wren had been the one to make the decision and force her and Jaxson to get their marriage certificate. But that was only because Noah Cole, Jaxson’s grandfather, had been critically ill. She’d shown up pregnant at just the right time, and they’d arranged the marriage to bring him good luck—two happy events at once. Whether it was coincidence or whether the “good luck” was real, Noah’s condition gradually improved. Only then did Wren’s attitude toward Sloane soften. But everyone else in the Cole family still looked down on her. Today’s hospital visit had been to confirm the baby’s gender. A girl. Mrs. Cole’s side had probably already gotten the hospital’s notice. Just then, her phone vibrated. Sloane pulled herself out of her thoughts. She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. When she saw the caller ID, she froze—it was her advisor. She picked up. “Professor Grant.” “A spot just opened up for advanced study at Stanford—PhD track. You interested?” At Leo Grant’s words, Sloane went still for a long moment. When she didn’t answer, Leo continued, “If you’re not available—” “I’m in.” Sloane snapped back to the moment and answered with quiet certainty. This time, Leo fell silent. He knew better than anyone how hard Sloane had fought just to be worthy of standing beside Jaxson. Now that she finally had what she wanted—marriage, a baby on the way—how could she possibly walk away? He’d only mentioned the last slot on a whim, testing the waters. “Professor Grant,” Sloane said. Leo replied, “Come by my office tomorrow at ten.” “Okay.” He hung up without another word. Sloane set the phone down and let out a long breath. For the first time in a while, it felt like the clouds had parted, letting a sliver of moonlight through. She needed to wake up. A man who didn’t love you—no matter what you gave him, no matter if you bore his child—would never stay. He wouldn’t even glance back. Her phone rang again. This time it was Wren, asking her to come back to the Cole Estate. Sloane agreed. It was probably about the baby. Now she finally had a bit of energy. She went to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower. Afterward, sitting at the vanity, Sloane studied herself in the mirror—puffy face, dark circles under her eyes, sunken eyelids, cheeks dotted with freckles. Looking this worn down… who wouldn’t be repulsed? How could someone like her ever deserve to stand next to Jaxson? She put on makeup, slipped into a pink puffer jacket, and pulled on a white beanie. She looked much more presentable. She’d planned to drive herself back to the main residence. But the moment she stepped outside, Jaxson called. His voice came through flat and cold. “Come out.” Sloane startled. Wren must’ve told him to come back too. She answered, “Okay.” Outside the villa, his Rolls-Royce sat idling at the entrance. Two hours ago, that same car had picked up another woman and dropped her off somewhere. Sloane took a deep breath, walked over, opened the door, and got in. The moment she sat down, she caught a faint scent—sweet and young. On the seat beside her sat a pink teddy bear, the kind of plushie a girl would adore. When she lifted her gaze, she noticed a hair tie wrapped around the man’s wrist. A quiet claim. Jaxson must really like that girl. Sloane swallowed the sour ache rising in her chest, sat up straight, and buckled her seatbelt. The driver pulled away smoothly. Sloane stared out the window, silent. Before, every moment alone with him had been something to treasure. She’d inch closer, start conversations over and over, even if he looked down on her. Because she’d foolishly convinced herself they were already husband and wife—that they had a child, that there was a long future ahead. If she became a good wife, a good mother… maybe one day Jaxson would finally turn and see her. But in the end, it had all been lies she told herself. The man didn’t care about her feelings. As always, he was detached, asking in a casual tone, “What’s the baby’s gender?” Sloane answered, “A girl.” Hearing that, nothing shifted in Jaxson’s sharp, handsome features. He only said flatly, “After the baby’s born, we’ll get divorced.” The words landed. Sloane’s fingers tightened. It felt like a hand had clenched around her heart, making it hard to breathe. This marriage was never meant to last. She’d always known. But hearing him say it—now, like this—still cut deeper than she’d expected. She bit her lip and answered, “Okay.” Jaxson turned his head to glance at her, as if surprised she’d agreed so easily. Chapter 2 He Came Home Early But he didn’t dig into it any further. Sloane followed up right away. “Tomorrow’s Monday. Do you have time in the afternoon? Why don’t we go to Civil Council early and get it handled? It shouldn’t matter if we do it two months ahead of time, right?” Even after signing, there was still a one-month cooling-off period. And it wouldn’t be long before she gave birth. Jaxson looked at her. She was too calm, too straightforward. Something like scrutiny flickered in his eyes before he pulled his gaze back. “Whenever I call, that’s the time.” Sloane lowered her eyes and didn’t speak again. The car arrived at the Cole Estate. Wren had called them back because of the baby in Sloane’s belly. The Cole family had more men than women. Wren had two sons. The eldest was Ethan Cole. The younger was Julian Cole. Ethan had two sons. The eldest, Felix Cole, had gotten married a few years ago and had a pair of twin boys. They were five this year. The younger, Miles Cole, was twenty-four and still unmarried. Julian only had one son—Jaxson. So when it turned out Sloane was carrying a girl, both Wren and Noah were overjoyed. “It really is good news. The moment our little sweetheart arrives, the old man’s illness is basically cured.” Seeing how much her mother-in-law valued the baby, Lyra quickly echoed her, then added a couple of nice words to Sloane. Sloane sat quietly to the side, hands folded, her posture obedient. Looking at her—plump, head bowed, meek as could be—Lyra found her hard to stomach. But with Wren right there, she kept it off her face. Wren, however, was in high spirits. She gifted Sloane an expensive emerald bracelet. Sloane blinked, flustered, and immediately tried to refuse, pushing it gently back. Lyra Cole, Jaxson’s mother, spoke up. “If Wren’s giving it to you, take it.” So small-town. So timid. Just like someone who’d never learned how to carry herself in public. Sloane stopped protesting and accepted the bracelet. “Thank you, Grandma.” “Take good care of that baby. Give us a healthy, chubby little one.” Sloane smiled and nodded. She knew Wren’s kindness had nothing to do with her. Originally, she and Jaxson were supposed to stay for dinner. Until Jaxson stepped out to take a call. Through the glass door, she saw something shift in his expression—a softness in his eyes, indulgent, almost tender. It sounded like they’d just gotten a pet. Jaxson murmured the pet’s name. Sweetie. If he married the woman he actually loved, she thought, he’d probably make a good father. “Mm. I’ll be right there.” He hung up. When Jaxson turned and walked back in from the balcony, he found Sloane standing just inside. She flinched, slow to react, lifting her gaze to meet his—only to be met with the cold, distant face of a stranger. Her chest tightened. She managed, “Grandma wants you in the study.” He said nothing. Just walked past her. Sloane stayed where she was, heart clenched in a grip she couldn’t loosen. She didn’t know how long she stood there before she finally came back to herself. Jaxson reached the study. Wren and Noah were both inside. “Jaxson,” Wren began, “Grandma knows you don’t have feelings for Sloane. But the baby’s almost here. And Sloane herself is accomplished—top university, well-educated, gentle. What this marriage needs right now is stability. She’s the most suitable partner for raising children and supporting her husband.” Jaxson said nothing. But the faint furrow in his brow—the tension there—spoke volumes. How could Wren not see it? Sloane really was plain. Standing next to her grandson, they just didn’t look right together. Noah cut in. “Right now, your marriage can’t afford any disruptions. If you truly don’t care for her, as long as she doesn’t do anything reckless, keep things steady for a year or two.” Wren added, “Exactly. Too many people are watching you, waiting for a story. Let her raise the child first. Divorce later—it won’t be too late.” Jaxson was quiet for a long moment. His handsome features revealed nothing. Finally, he said, “Grandpa, Grandma. I understand.” When Sloane saw Wren again later, Wren said simply, “Something came up at Jaxson’s office. He had to leave. I’ll have the driver take you home.” Sloane nodded. “Okay.” Before she left that day, Wren reminded her, “Even though you’re pregnant, you still need to exercise more and take care of yourself. Back when Lyra was pregnant, she still had to accompany her husband to events and manage the household. Some things are easy to get, but holding onto them isn’t easy.” Sloane understood instantly what Wren meant. Being a daughter-in-law in Cole family wasn’t easy. If she wanted to secure her position, she had to change herself. And in her current state, she would only embarrass Jaxson. She had thought about getting better—working out, doing yoga, trying to lose weight. But she lacked the drive to keep going. She grew exhausted in body and mind, and her weight only climbed. But Wren was right. She couldn’t keep sinking like this—though not to secure her place. For her future self. “Grandma, I understand.” Night. What surprised Sloane was that the man who’d brought up divorce that morning actually came home. “You…” “Make me a bowl of chicken soup and bring it to the study.” After that, Jaxson went upstairs to the study. Sloane snapped back to herself, went to the kitchen, cooked a bowl of chicken soup, and delivered it to the study. He was flipping through documents in his hand, his features hard and cold, his whole body giving off a distant, untouchable chill. She didn’t disturb him. She turned and left the study. Even if he came back, they still slept separately. He slept in the master bedroom on the second floor. She slept in the guest room on the first. The next day. Because Jaxson was home, the housekeeper prepared a lavish breakfast. He sat at the main seat and didn’t see Sloane. Usually, when he was home, Sloane not only ironed and prepared the clothes he’d wear the next day, she also made his breakfast herself. She really had been a dutiful, proper wife. But that morning, there were no freshly ironed clothes laid out. And breakfast had been made by the kitchen staff. “Where is she?” Jaxson asked, irritation creeping into his voice. Maren didn’t hesitate to unload her grievances. “I went to wake her first thing, and she just refuses to get out of bed. Every day we have to bring meals to her room. She acts like we don’t exist. Ask her what she wants to eat—she won’t say a word. We’re not mind readers. She’s just pregnant, that’s all. When Mrs. Cole was expecting you, Sir, she still serve Mr. Cole well. But this one? She acts like she’s checked into a resort.” Jaxson’s brow tightened. “Go wake her up.” “Yes, sir.” Sloane had actually been awake for a while. She was just waiting for Jaxson to leave. Then the door swung open, and Maren walked in without knocking. Spotting Sloane already seated on the sofa, she let out a sneer thick with contempt. “Oh, look at that. The Young Madam, waiting to be invited out of bed.” Sloane lifted her gaze, her voice cool. “I’m not. Are you?” For months, Sloane had kept her head down, never once talked back. Maren hadn’t expected that. “If you keep forgetting your place, don’t blame me if I tell Wren exactly how you’ve been carrying on.” She was getting divorced anyway. What did she have to lose? With two months left, why keep swallowing insults? Maren’s eyes went wide. “You—” Just yesterday, Lyra had called and told them to take good care of her. Even if it was a girl, this would be the only daughter of the Cole family’s third generation. Sloane was lucky—carrying a girl meant Wren had taken notice. Maren choked back her anger. “The Sir’s waiting for you in the dining room.” Sloane was surprised. She made her way to the dining room. Jaxson was already eating. He glanced up as she entered. She wore a white knit tunic, the fabric stretched out of shape by her swollen body. Her steps were unsteady, her pace slow, her belly so heavy she looked like she’d carried multiple children before. Sloane felt his eyes on her and consciously sat far from him. Then she heard his flat, cool voice. “Maren and the others have been with the Cole family for decades. You can’t expect them to cater to you in everything. You’re only pregnant. It’s not like you can’t move.” Only pregnant? Yeah. To him, this accidental child probably meant nothing at all. This sudden scolding of his had to be because Maren had been running her mouth to him. And it wasn’t the first time. Sloane stirred the porridge in her bowl, her voice even. “If they resent having to look after me, then send them back to the main house. I can manage on my own.” After all, she cooked for herself, washed her own clothes, cleaned her own room. The staff only bothered putting on a show when Jaxson was around. Jaxson’s brows drew together. Sloane recognized that expression—it was his tell. Displeasure. In work and in life, Jaxson was relentlessly controlling. He didn’t tolerate being contradicted. “I’m telling you. I’m not asking for your input.” Sloane lowered her head and fell silent. Jaxson looked at her—that flat, hollow expression—and his jaw tightened. He turned to Maren and the others and told them that from now on, she could handle her own affairs. They didn’t need to wait on her. Sloane’s fingers tightened around her fork. Breakfast ended. Jaxson left. Sloane went to Silverlake University. She arrived at Leo’s office. Behind the desk sat a young man in a tailored suit. His nose was sharp and straight, rimless glasses resting on its bridge, his bearing composed and deliberate. Leo was only twenty-nine—the youngest full professor in Silverlake University’s Finance Department, a near-legendary figure whose name carried weight throughout the financial world. Sloane raised her hand and knocked. Chapter 3 Not a Good Match When Leo looked up and saw the woman standing in the doorway, he froze for a beat. He didn’t recognize her at first—until she spoke. “Professor Grant.” Leo smoothed his expression without a trace and said, “You’re here.” Sloane took off her mask and walked into the office. “Professor Grant. Long time no see.” Leo smiled gently. “Long time no see. I almost didn’t recognize you.” Sloane hooked her lips in self-mockery. “With how I look now, I almost didn’t have the nerve to come see you.” Leo stood and came around from behind the desk. “It’s normal for your figure to change during pregnancy. Once you have the baby, it’ll get better.” “Sit.” Sloane sat on the sofa. Leo poured her a cup of warm water. “Warm up.” Sloane took it. “Thank you.” Leo glanced at her swollen belly. “How many months?” “Twenty-five weeks,” Sloane said. Leo said, “Then when school starts at the end of January next year, you’ll be right at your due date.” Sloane pleaded, “I want to ask you for help, Professor. Can I delay enrollment?” Having a baby was unavoidable, but she really didn’t want to miss this chance. Leo’s face turned serious. “Why do you want to go?” Sloane lowered her eyes. “After the baby is born, Jaxson is planning to divorce me. I don’t want to keep this twisted connection going either. I want to start over and live my own life.” Six months wasn’t long. It wasn’t short. But for her, it felt as long as an entire lifetime. Leo couldn’t help frowning. The sunny, lovable girl from back then had changed beyond recognition in such a short time. You could imagine what kind of torment—body and soul—she’d been through. “I’m relieved you’ve thought it through and decided to pull yourself together,” he said. “You and Jaxson really aren’t a good match. From now on, you’ll definitely meet someone who truly loves you.” Sloane kept her eyes lowered and nodded. Back then, Leo had opposed her going to Jaxson’s side as his assistant. But she insisted. In the end, she crashed headfirst until she was bleeding. She suddenly asked, “In your eyes, Professor Grant, what kind of person is Jaxson, really?” Leo fell silent for a moment, then said slowly, “Someone who will do anything to reach his goals. Profit above everything else. He probably won’t have love.” “Is that so?” Yet the tenderness he showed that girl couldn’t be fake. Maybe only someone who loved to the point of ruin would lower himself like that. Only a beautiful, stunning woman was worthy of him. Sloane didn’t ask anything else. “Since you’ve decided,” Leo said, “when the time comes, I can help you apply to delay enrollment.” “Thank you, Professor.” Leo had her fill out an application form. Sloane finished filling it out. “After the baby is born, will you leave her with the Cole family?” Leo suddenly asked. Sloane tugged her lips helplessly. Even if she wanted to take the child, it would be impossible. She could only be the one who let this child down. “The Cole family should take good care of her.” Leo didn’t press further. “I happen to need an assistant. Just for a month. Want to try?” Sloane agreed without hesitation. “Okay.” Ever since she got pregnant, Jaxson’s side had transferred her to an insignificant position in the secretarial office. Overnight, she fell from CEO assistant to a nobody, and all her effort turned to foam. She really did need a new job to distract herself, to make her life move again. It would also be the perfect way to prepare in advance for further study later. And she’d taken the day off anyway. Sloane stayed on and began working as the professor's assistant. She had been Leo's student originally, and after those months of intense, high-pressure work at Jaxson's side—even though she'd spent the last few months in a fog—she still picked things up quickly. Handling the tasks came easily. For the first time in a while, Sloane felt a flicker of clarity, like she'd found herself again—found the real value of her own existence. Just like Leo always said, she was meant to thrive in a professional setting. Love was never supposed to be the only thing in life. That night. Jaxson didn't come home. Same as always—he only showed up once in a while. Only this time, she didn't care anymore. The next day. She drafted her resignation letter ahead of time. Jaxson oversaw the Cole Group's financial sector, including its banks and investment funds. In an industry soaked in betrayal and cutthroat ambition, where reputation and wealth were everything, the fact that he'd inherited the Cole family's core enterprises—and kept acquiring and expanding without pause—proved not only that he had an exceptional mind and ruthless instincts, but that he also possessed a cold, unyielding heart. Sloane arrived at the office and happened to see Jaxson stepping out of his car. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a sharp suit—devastatingly handsome, commanding. Wealth and status only sharpened his appeal, giving him a mature, almost magnetic presence. "Mr. Cole." Employees lowered their heads in respect as he passed. Sloane snapped out of it and quickly dipped her head too, stepping back a pace. The man walked past as if she weren't there and strode into the building. Sloane handed her resignation letter to Thea. Thea was Jaxson's secretary. She used to be Sloane's subordinate. Funny how things turned out. Now Sloane reported to her. When Sloane had been abruptly demoted, the whole department had been stunned. Right after college, she'd been made the CEO's assistant. That role demanded more than competence—appearance mattered too. And Sloane, whether in looks or figure, was unremarkable. Yet she'd still been chosen, which said something about her ability. The CEO, notoriously hard to please, had even praised her more than once. But Thea knew the real story. Sloane was just a frog dreaming of swan meat—trying to sleep her way up. No matter how capable, she still wasn't decent. That was exactly why. Mr. Cole despised her down to his bones. Thea glanced at the resignation letter, her eyes flicking over Sloane's pregnant belly. Her lips curled. "People should learn their place. Take a good look in the mirror. Don't think carrying a baby buys you a ticket up. Do you even know what kind of family the Coles are? What kind of standing you have?" The fact that she and Jaxson were already legally married—no one in the company knew. Chapter 4 I Don’t Want to Hear Your Excuses “Have the financial report analysis for Vegas Partners done before lunch break ends.” Sloane went back to her desk. Even though she’d been transferred to the secretary department as nothing more than a low-level clerk, Thea still dumped a pile of work on her—tasks that were never supposed to be hers. And Sloane accepted every single one. She stayed at the company like this, working herself to the bone, but it was just her own self-deception. Jaxson was never going to spare her a second glance. After finishing the report analysis, Sloane handed both the electronic file and the printed copy to Thea, then ordered delivery. The company had a cafeteria, but she always brought her own lunch. She didn’t want to go somewhere crowded. She didn’t want people’s eyes weighing her up and down. She didn’t want to socialize. She only wanted to be alone, quiet, and undisturbed. But she hadn’t prepared lunch this morning, so she made do with delivery. While she waited. A couple coworkers returned to the office after eating, walking in while chatting excitedly. “Mr. Cole’s girlfriend is so young—she’s still at college, right?” “Probably. She’s seriously gorgeous, like a doll.” “And the way the CEO looked at her—so soft it was practically dripping. Who knew someone as stern as him could be that devoted? It’s literally the real-life romantic novels!” The two of them talked as they came in, then noticed Sloane at her workstation, sitting there like a stone statue. Ever since she’d been transferred to the secretary office, she barely spoke to anyone outside of work. Lately she’d gotten more and more withdrawn, wearing a mask all day like she couldn’t show her face. It was hard to imagine that just over half a year ago, she’d been the CEO’s glorious, untouchable assistant. After getting the delivery driver’s call, Sloane stood up. When she went downstairs to pick up her food. She happened to run into two hotel staff carrying boxed dishes, asking the front desk for directions. The receptionist swiped a card for the CEO’s private elevator. Sloane saw the bottle of red wine in one staff member’s hand. Just that single bottle cost around two million dollars. Two million—pocket change to Jaxson, money he could earn in less than a minute. She carried her delivered braised pork rice back upstairs. At two in the afternoon. Thea came to her and said, “Mr. Cole wants to see you.” Sloane’s heart jumped. A vague, terrible premonition rose in her chest. And sure enough. The moment Sloane stepped into the CEO's office, the weight of the room pressed down on her like a physical force. She walked to the desk and said, "Mr. Cole." When Jaxson looked up, his handsome face was cold and hard. Without a word, he hurled a file folder at her. It struck her square in the face. The sharp edge of the paper sliced across her cheek. A sting flared instantly. She stared at the documents scattered at her feet—her report from this morning. One hand braced against her stomach as she bent down awkwardly to gather them. The man's dark eyes tracked the way she held her belly, the slow, careful way she crouched. Sloane scanned the report in her hands and spotted several incorrect figures immediately. She said, "Mr. Cole, this isn't the report I wrote." "Enough. I don't want to hear excuses." Sloane's grip tightened on the papers until her knuckles went white. Jaxson knew her capabilities. He wasn't refusing to listen—he was choosing to believe she'd failed. To be hated this much by the man she loved... she was pathetic. A joke. She drew a slow breath, closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and forced the words out. "I kept a backup. I can send it to you now. After you've seen it, you can tear into me then. It won't be too late." Jaxson's eyes narrowed. Displeasure flickered openly across his face. Sloane's nerves pulled taut. Deep down, she was afraid of Jaxson—the kind of fear you have for someone with power, especially when his expression went cold. She almost never dared to contradict him. But now she forced herself to stay steady. They were getting divorced anyway. She'd give him what he wanted. After this, she'd never set foot here again. She'd stopped hoping for anything from him. So what was there to be afraid of? "You think you've been wronged?" His voice was ice, edged with mockery. Sloane met those sharp, black eyes. Her nails pressed into her palms as her voice came out heavier. "You didn't even ask what happened before you blamed me. Don't I deserve to defend myself?" Jaxson's expression turned arctic. "Then that's something you deserve." A violent pain ripped through Sloane's chest. The color drained from her face. Then. The lounge door opened. A young girl stepped out in a pink satin slip dress. Her long black hair gleamed, her skin almost luminous, her features so delicate they were impossible to look away from. “Jaxson!” Her voice was like a gentle spring rain—soft, warm, and tender. Sloane finally saw the girl’s face clearly. She really was stunning enough to make anyone feel inferior. Sloane only looked once before the man barked harshly, “Get out!” Sloane pulled her gaze back, swallowed the surge of emotion, turned around, and walked out. The moment she left the office. She heard the girl soothing him gently, and the man quickly calmed down. Sloane lifted her chin, forcing the tears in her eyes back down. She went to the deserted stairwell corner. One hand held the railing. Her emotions finally snapped, and tears fell in a steady stream. The pain in her heart twisted so hard her stomach churned. To rip an eight-year love out of her heart completely was no different from carving bone and stripping flesh. But it was fine. Everything would get better. She would forget him completely. She didn’t know how long passed. When she finally calmed down and went back upstairs toward her workstation, she ran into the girl walking toward her. The girl was dressed head to toe in custom designer brands, exquisite from hair to heels—clearly someone raised in luxury and spoiled with love. Adrian escorted her personally. He was Jaxson’s special assistant. Seeing Sloane, the girl smiled and walked over, stopping in front of her. In a gentle voice, she said, “It’s okay now. Jaxson won’t blame you anymore.” As she spoke. She reached into her bag, took out a pearl, then took Sloane’s hand and placed it in her palm. “This is for you. Don’t be sad. And remember to treat the cut on your face. It won’t look good if a girl has a scar on her face.” What a beautiful, kind girl. Compared to someone glowing with youth like her, Sloane felt like a clown living in a dark world. When Sloane didn’t respond at all. Adrian frowned and reminded her coldly, “Aren’t you going to thank Miss Reed?” So her last name was Reed. Liora Reed withdrew her hand. “It’s fine. Let’s go.” The two of them left. Sloane stood where she was, staring at the silver-blue Australian white pearl in her palm—flawless, as pure as that girl. She just didn’t know whether Miss Reed understood the fact that Jaxson was already married. Back at her desk. She printed the original document again and delivered it to Thea. When Thea saw her, there wasn’t a trace of shame on her face—only smug satisfaction. “Did you see it clearly? That’s what a girl who’s worthy of the CEO looks like.” Sloane slammed the materials down in front of her. “So I’m not worthy—and you’re not either. You can only pull trashy little tricks like this. You’ll never have a future in your life. You’re already in your thirties—hurry up and find someone to marry. Stop day dreaming.” Chapter 5 Look Similar Thea’s face changed in an instant. She slammed her palm on the desk and shot to her feet. “Sloane!” Sloane couldn’t be bothered to respond. She turned and walked away. Back at her workstation. Sloane pulled out a small mirror and looked at the faint blood mark on one side of her cheek. It wasn’t deep. She wiped it once with a damp tissue. No need to do anything else. With a face like hers now, what did one more scar matter? And then she thought of that girl again. Somehow, she looked familiar. Near the end of the workday. Sloane got a call from her dad. Ezra was back, and he wanted her home for dinner. Sloane brightened. “Ezra is back? Didn’t you say he’d be home on the fifteenth?” Her father said, “He wrapped up work and came back early.” “Okay. I’ll come home as soon as I get off.” Sloane drove back to the Powell family house. Their place was in a mid-range complex in the west side of the city, a spacious secondhand condo they’d bought earlier this year. Her father ran a mid-sized real estate company. They weren’t some elite dynasty, but they’d always lived comfortably, so Sloane had grown up in a well-off life. But the market had turned cold. More than half a year ago, a failed investment blew a hole through the company’s finances, pushing it to the edge of bankruptcy. When her father found out she was pregnant with Jaxson’s child, he hadn’t forced her to march up to the Cole family and demand an answer. Watching her father grow older and more worn by the day—so desperate he was already selling off assets just to pay debts—Sloane finally made her choice and went to the Cole family. Back then, she’d had her own selfish reasons. It wasn’t only for her father. It was for herself, too. She did get what she wanted. The Powell family cleared the debt because of a huge bride price from the Cole family. But she’d paid the price she was supposed to pay. So the pain she suffered now… it was all her own doing. She couldn’t blame anyone else. Back at the Powell House. Nora came out of the kitchen. “Sloane, you’re back.” When Sloane was nine, her mother divorced her father. Her mother took her brother and left Sloane behind. Later, Nora met her father, but the two of them never got a marriage license. They lived together like partners. At first, Sloane didn’t accept her—she even hated her. But little by little, she felt Nora’s kindness. And Ezra treated her so well. After losing her brother, she’d gained a new one. “Aunt Nora, where are my dad and them?” “They should be on the way. They’ll be back soon. Go rest for a bit first.” “Okay.” Sloane went back to her room. Even though she was married, her father had always kept a bedroom for her, renovated in the style she liked. Back in a place that belonged to her, all the exhaustion and bitterness inside her vanished in a single breath. She sat on the edge of the bed and saw the photo album on the nightstand. She reached for it and opened it. The very first photo was a torn family portrait. The picture was old. She had been eight that year. Her young, handsome father held her in his arms. Beside him stood her brother—he’d been fourteen. On the other side was her mother. She was the one who had ripped the photo. Because she’d hated her mother for taking her brother and abandoning her and her dad. Time had passed, and now that ripping, splitting pain no longer existed the way it used to. She turned to the next page. In the photo, a teenage girl looked bright and beautiful. She wore a long white dress and a light-brown woven little square cap, standing beneath golden ginkgo trees. The sunlight fell perfectly over the girl’s radiant smile. Long black hair. A small oval face. Features that were vivid and striking, moonlit and mesmerizing. Especially those eyes—sparkling like stars in the sky. But later, she’d gotten seriously ill and had to take steroid medication. Her body slowly gained weight. No matter how she tried to lose it, nothing worked. She could only rely on starvation and exercise to keep herself from getting even bigger. All at once, Sloane thought of the girl from today. Her features looked somewhat like the girl in this photo—especially those eyes. Chapter 6 Far Out of Her League Knock, knock, knock. "Sloane, your dad and brother are back," Nora called through the door after knocking. Sloane didn't think much of it. She set the photo album down, got up, and walked out. The moment she saw the two men coming in, her face lit up. "Dad, Ezra." Ezra and Silas Powell both looked at her. "Sloane, I brought you something. Come see if you like it," Ezra said, motioning her over. Sloane hurried toward him, delighted. "What is it?" Ezra carried in several bags and set them on the coffee table. Then he pulled out a designer jewelry box and handed it to her. "Open it." Sloane took it happily. Inside lay a beautifully crafted gold bracelet. "Thank you, Ezra. I love it." "Glad you like it." Ezra reached out and ruffled Sloane's hair with easy affection. He'd also bought Nora a different gold bracelet that suited her, along with skincare sets for both women. For Silas, he brought tea and liquor, plus local specialties. The atmosphere was warm, easy—the way home should feel. Only here did Sloane feel like she could finally breathe. "Sloane, when are you due?" Ezra asked, concern creeping into his voice. Her belly really did look like someone else's late-term pregnancy. "Two more months," Sloane answered. "Sloane must be carrying a girl," Nora said with a smile. Sloane nodded. "It is a girl." "You checked?" Silas asked. Nora seemed to catch something and tensed up alongside him. "Yeah. But Wren cares a lot about this baby," Sloane said. Silas finally let out a breath. "Good. As long as there's a child, you and Jaxson will slowly work things out down the road." Sloane lowered her eyes. Her chest tightened, heavy and aching, and for a moment she didn't know how to respond. Jaxson had already brought up divorce. But she couldn't hide it forever. And she'd already decided to move out of Emerald Bay Mansion and come home. Forget it. She'd tell them after dinner. Nora prepared an elaborate meal. Ezra had partnered with a friend to start a tech company. Two years ago, when the business was just getting off the ground, Silas hadn't hesitated—he'd given Ezra startup capital. The company was doing extremely well now, focusing mainly on AI. This trip had been for a partnership deal, and it had gone smoothly. Silas, meanwhile, was in the process of selling off his own company. Before, thanks to the bride price from the Cole family, the company had managed to stay afloat. But the economy was struggling now, and pivoting had proven nearly impossible. The business simply couldn't survive. He was getting older, with far less energy than before. He believed strongly in Ezra's company. Ezra's company would enter its financing stage by the end of the year, so it was the perfect time to sell his own business and invest everything into Ezra's. Then he shared another piece of good news: Silas was going to officially get the marriage license with Nora. Nora's eyes immediately welled up. Years of standing by his side had finally led to this. Sloane had no objections. She knew her father had held back all these years because, deep down, he still missed her mother. She'd never understood why her mother had divorced and left a man as good as him. But now it didn't matter. On a day like this— She couldn't bear to ruin the mood. But in the end, she still said it. “Dad. Aunt Nora. Ezra.” She forced the words out. “Jaxson is planning to divorce me.” The moment it left her mouth, the dining room went dead silent. Everyone’s expression turned heavy, especially Silas. He lowered his head, his face tight. The result wasn’t exactly a shock. Only the speed of it was. The Powell family and the Cole family had become in-laws, but there had been no wedding—just a marriage certificate. In the past six months, the two families had had no contact at all. Jaxson had never once stepped into the Powell family home. No matter the holidays, the Cole side never sent gifts. Every time Sloane came home alone, Silas and Nora would prepare holiday gifts and have her deliver them to the Cole family. When she brought them over, Wren would accept them politely, but Sloane knew she handed them straight to the staff at Cole Estate. Lyra, on the other hand, had a servant throw them directly into the trash right in front of Sloane, telling her not to let her family send that kind of low-class junk again. Jaxson only reminded her not to do something so pointless. In a marriage that unequal, going their separate ways had always been a matter of time. Sloane pressed her lips together and continued, “But we’ll wait until after the baby is born. And I already agreed to Professor Grant—I’m going to Stanford University for advanced study next February.” Ezra was the first to break the suffocating silence. “Going for advanced study is good. Sloane, you’re so outstanding. You shouldn’t be trapped in a marriage. No matter what you decide, I’m backing you.” Sloane smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Ezra.” Silas sighed—a sigh full of endless helplessness and guilt. “Then divorce. It’s all Dad’s fault. People like us… ordinary folks… we really can’t reach a family like the Coles.” Sloane’s eyes burned red. All the pain she’d endured lately suddenly felt small compared to this. She had her family. They were her shield, her support. With them behind her, there was no hurdle she couldn’t get over. Seeing her like that, Nora quickly grabbed a tissue and wiped at Sloane’s reddened eyes, soothing her. In the end, the family still finished this dinner with smiles. At the same time. In the southern suburbs, at Cloud Peak One—an area that had existed for over twenty years, an old-money neighborhood with aging infrastructure. A Bentley slowly stopped at the gate of Villa 12. This villa was the one the Powell family had sold. The car window slid down, revealing a handsome, flawless profile. He looked into the villa. Inside, the lights were blazing. Warm yellow streetlight fell into his eyes, unable to hide the complexity and loneliness there. He pulled his gaze back and lit a cigarette. Then his phone vibrated. He picked up and answered, his voice gentle. “What’s wrong, Liora?” Liora’s sweetly complaining voice came through. “Declan, when are you getting here? I’m starving. And Jaxson won’t even let me eat first.” Right after that, a low, indulgent male voice sounded on the other end. “Who was it that told me to remind her to watch her mouth? Now she’s blaming me?” Liora huffed. “If you’re hungry, eat first. I’ll be there soon,” he said. He hung up. Declan stubbed out the cigarette. Then, one last time, he looked out the window. He raised the window and drove away from the villa.

Your childhood bully grew up hot. Now he wants you to fake his girlfriend.🔞🔞 Jessica's Pov “Mhmm…” I let out a soft m0an, my fingers kneading my br3asts as waves of pl3asure rippled through me. The rose vibrator hummed relentlessly against my c1it, drawing stars across my vision, but in my fevered imagination, it wasn’t silicone—it was Aaron’s mouth, his t0ngue teasing me with a wicked precision only he could dream up. Heavens, the thought of him, my roommate, my eternal crush, had me teetering on the edge. “Yes,” I hissed, cranking up the speed, my hips bucking involuntarily. I was so close, stars bursting behind my eyelids, when—damn it—the jingle of keys shattered the silence, followed by the unmistakable creak of the front door. No. No, no, no. Not again. This was the second time this week he’d ruined my org@sm. I flicked off the toy with a frustrated groan and shoved it under my pillow, my chest rising and falling like I’d just hauled up a flight of stairs. Sweat beaded on my forehead, even though the room was cool from the slightly open window, and blasting air conditioner. I froze, my eyes glued to the ceiling as I listened to his heavy footsteps thud closer. Our bedroom door creaked open, and I slammed my eyes shut, my heart slamming against my ribs. Please don’t smell it, I begged silently. The air was thick with my scent, musky and unapologetic. Could he? Guys were supposed to have that sixth sense, right? And worse…..what if he’d heard me m0aning his name earlier? That would be mortifying. “Quit faking it, Jess. I know you’re wide awake.” His voice rolled over me like dark honey, deep enough to drown in, vibrating through the quiet room and straight to my already throbbing pussi. I stayed perfectly still, holding my breath, hoping he’d buy it and leave. The silence dragged on, and I figured he’d given up, stalked off to the bathroom or the kitchen. I cracked one eye open to peek, and there he was, his gorgeous face hovering inches from mine, those honey-brown eyes sparkling with an infuriating mix of mischief and mockery. A squeak escaped me, half-yelp, half-laugh, and I slapped my palms over my burning cheeks. “Jesus, Aaron! Personal space much?” He chuckled, low and rough, pulling back just enough to loom instead of invade. “Why are you still awake? I thought you had that big test tomorrow.” He straightened up, his tone casual, like he hadn’t just scared the life out of me. I sat up slowly, pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them, trying to hide how flustered I was. He turned away then, thank God, yanking off his jersey in one smooth pull. Sweat glistened on his inked muscles, the tattoos flexing as he moved—dragons and symbols that told stories I was dying to trace with my fingers. I heard my pussi purr, and I pressed my knees tight to prevent the juices from coating my bed. Down, girl. Not now. I’ve been in love with Aaron Tyrone for what feels like forever. It’s been my quiet curse since we were kids scraping knees in the neighborhood. He was the villain in my story back then—my next-door bully, the one everyone whispered about like he was cursed. “Bad news,” they’d say, crossing the street to avoid him. But my bruised little heart? It latched on anyway, because it was the only attention I ever got from anyone. At home, I was invisible. My dad poured all his love into my step-siblings, and my stepmom never missed a chance to remind me I was “bad luck” because Mom died giving birth to me. I was the shadow girl, overlooked and forgotten. And yeah, Aaron was hot—even at twelve, with that jaw already cutting edges, dark hair flopping over his forehead until he’d shove it back, revealing those endless brown eyes that could pin you in place. Straight nose, lips made for sin—I’d replayed kissing them in a million stolen dreams. He bullied me, sure, but he’d muscle in like a guard dog if anyone else tried: “Back off, she’s mine to mess with.” Toxic as hell. I knew it, I should have bolted. But that possessiveness? It hooked me deep, and damn if I didn’t crave the burn. How we ended up roommates? Pure desperation. College dorms filled up before I could snag a spot, and apartments were insanely pricey. Where was I supposed to get the cash? Dad? Puh-lease. I had no friends—thanks to my locked-away childhood that made Rapunzel look free-spirited, and sharing with a stranger sounded like a nightmare. Aaron lived near campus, so I swallowed my pride and asked him for help. He grumbled, but he said yes. Turns out, under that mean streak, he’s not entirely heartless. Living with him, though? Torture. Sleeping just feet away from temptation every night pushed me over the edge. I deflowered myself with toys just to cope, imagining it was him. How do you sleep next to fire and not get scorched? “Are you even listening to me? What’s got you spacing out?” He snapped his fingers in front of my face, jolting me back. “Huh?” I blinked, my gaze locking onto his eyes. They were warm as bourbon, sucking me under like quicksand. I could drown happily there. He huffed, and raked a hand through his tousled hair, leaving it even messier. Sexy bedhead on steroids. I thought. “I said, I need you to come somewhere with me this weekend.” “A date?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my heart leaping stupidly. His face crumpled—surprise? Irritation?—and he barked a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “In your dreams, maybe.” The words landed like a gut punch, but I played it off, rolling my eyes with a snort. “Ouch. Way to crush a girl’s ego at midnight.” Inside, though? It hollowed me out, but I’d take scraps over nothing. “My grandpa’s throwing this big family dinner. Everyone’s gonna be there.” He leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, looking effortlessly sexy in just his shorts. I arched a brow, folding my arms to match him. “And I’m invited because…?” “I want you there.” His tone was firm, almost commanding, but that didn’t make it any less vague. I rolled my eyes. “That’s not exactly a reason, Ronnie.” He scowled, his jaw tightening. “Do you really love getting on my nerves? I’ve told you a million times to stop calling me that.” I snickered, shrugging. “You get on mine all the time. Fair’s fair.” He glared, those heated eyes boring into me, and I felt my cheeks flush. I cleared my throat to break the tension. “For real, though, why me? Why drag your roommate to a family thing?” My voice came out softer than I intended, almost vulnerable. “Fiona and Eric will be there.” His voice flatlined, face a blank slate, but I caught the glimpse of an old wound reopening. Ah. His ex and his cousin. Fiona cheated on him with Eric, shattering Aaron in ways he never admitted. I never got what he saw in her—beyond her mean-girl vibe, she wasn’t even that pretty. Maybe it was her big, unhinged boobs. Or maybe he just liked the thrill of the chase. Or… right, her family’s money. But no, Aaron wasn’t that shallow. At least, I wanted to believe he wasn’t. His family, the Tyrones were loaded, hockey royalty in the US, though Aaron bucked tradition by choosing basketball over the family sport. That choice pissed off his stoic grandpa, creating this massive rift, but Aaron didn’t budge. He chased his dreams with that fierce determination I secretly admired. “So, you up for it?” he asked, one perfect brow arched in challenge. I swallowed, piecing it together. The fake girlfriend act. “You want to use me as a rebound?” The words slipped out, laced with hurt I couldn’t hide. He tilted his head, scanning me slow, like he was weighing my soul. “Yeah. Just for the weekend.” It felt like a knife twist in my chest, but I nodded anyway, forcing a smile. God, I wanted to grab his shirt, beg, Make it real—just once. But desperate girls get doors slammed, so I bit it back. “Okay,” I whispered. A smirk tugged his lips, and he reached out, ruffling my hair like I was his pesky little sister. “Perfect. We’ll hit the stores tomorrow, I can’t have my ‘girl’ rolling up in those tragic hoodies and sweats. Time for an upgrade.” He turned and vanished into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. Alone, the dam broke. Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. Why did loving him have to hurt so damn much? Chapter 2 Jessica's POV “Take a break, we’ll reassemble in thirty,” Aaron’s smooth, commanding voice echoed across the court, cutting through the squeak of sneakers and the thud of basketballs. The college players scattered like leaves in a gust, grabbing towels and water, their chatter filling the gym. Aaron stayed rooted in the center, chugging from the bottle I’d slipped into his gym bag that morning. He is such a stubborn ass. Earlier this morning, he’d grumbled about not needing it when I offered, but there he was, guzzling it down like it was liquid gold. Lucky for him, my love made me a fool who’d bend over backward, even if he didn’t deserve it half the time. I watched from the library’s massive window, perched on a stool with a forgotten textbook in my lap. The view overlooked the court perfectly, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from how he owned the space—barking orders, demonstrating shots with effortless sexiness. Students hung on his every word, launching balls toward the hoop like disciples following a prophet. Aaron coached part-time at Arcadia Hills College, a gig that always puzzled me until I pieced it together: he wanted to nurture the next generation, help them chase dreams like he was chasing his. Soon, he’d ditch Florida for LA, signing with some top-tier team, and damn if I wasn’t rooting for him harder than anyone. I’d be glued to every game, cheering from afar. Weird, right? Anyone sane would call me deranged because I was wishing the moon for the guy who’d tormented me since we were kids, chipping away at my confidence like it was his hobby. But love doesn’t play by rules, especially not mine. Maybe I lost a screw when Mom died; her spirit taking a chunk of my sanity with her. Loving Aaron was my beautiful madness. “How does it feel sharing an apartment with him?” The question yanked me from my reverie, and I yelped, flailing like a cartoon character. My stool wobbled, and my forehead bumped the glass with a comedic thump. I clutched the thick curtains for balance, only for them to billow uselessly as I nearly face-planted. “Oops! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” I rubbed the budding ache on my head and spun to face Debbie, the campus’s favorite punching bag for laughs. If I was awkward in high school (and okay, maybe still a tad now), Debbie was the queen of geeks: frizzy dirty blonde hair escaping a messy ponytail, braces flashing with every word, coke-bottle glasses magnifying her wide eyes, acne-scarred skin, and that lanky height that made her tower over everyone like a giraffe in sneakers. But strip away the world’s cruel beauty checklist, she was stunning in her own way: kind eyes, a warm vibe that peeked through if you bothered to look. Society’s beauty standards were just a rigged game anyway. Superficial and impossible. I managed a small smile, trying to shake off the embarrassment. “Hey, Debbie.” She shyly mirrored it, her fingers twisting together, weight shifting from foot to foot like she was debating running away. “How’d you know I live with him?” I asked, keeping my tone light. She let out a nervous giggle, relaxing a fraction, probably sensing I wasn’t the judging type. “It’s not exactly a secret…” She trailed off, squinting as she fished for my name. “Jessica,” I supplied softly. “Sorry.” She scratched the back of her neck, cheeks flushing. “So, are you guys, like… do you two, you know…” Her words fizzled out, but the implication hung there, awkward and prying. I raised a brow, not thrilled. “Don’t you think that’s a weird thing to ask a stranger?” Deep down, though, a twisted part of me wished it were true—that we were more than roommates, more than this endless push-pull. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” The air thickened with her discomfort, and I didn’t want to marinate in it. Who knows what she’d blurt next? Maybe ask if we took a shit together or something equally mortifying. “Thanks for saying hi, Debbie. See you around.” I flashed another quick smile, grabbed my bag from the nearby chair, and slipped past her, escaping the library stuffy air. Outside, I yanked my hood up, shielding my face, and kept my head down as I hustled across campus. I was lost in a swirl of thoughts, eager to hole up in the apartment and lose myself in a book’s pages, forgetting the world for a bit. Then, out of nowhere, a firm grip snagged my arm. I barely had time to gasp before I was hauled sideways, yanked into a cramped, dimly lit space that smelled of chalk and old mops—a janitor’s closet? The door slammed shut, and my back hit the wall with a thud, knocking the breath from my lungs. My heart sprinted, faster than a ticking second hand, pounding in my ears. My eyes squeezed shut in panic. When I pried them open, Aaron’s honey-brown gaze locked onto mine, pinning me harder than any wall ever could. He was dangerously close, one ripped arm braced above my head, his body heat radiating through the thin air between us. His scent—sweat mixed with his cologne, flooded my senses, turning my brain to mush. “What the hell, Aaron?” I stammered, voice shaky, staring up at him like a deer in headlights. He didn’t answer right away, just held my gaze, leaning in until our breaths mingled, faces so close I could count his lashes. My mind raced: Is this it? The The kiss I’d fantasized about a million times? Had he finally woken up, seen me as more than the girl next bed? But no, of course not. He pulled back slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “So, how’d the test go? You were buried in books all week.” Disappointment sank like a stone in my gut, but I gulped it down, and rolled my eyes to mask the sting. “Aw, thanks for the concern. But we both know that’s not why you kidnapped me into a closet. And if anyone saw? They’d get the wrong idea. Hotshot basketball coach sneaking off with the hoodie girl? Headline news.” He chuckled, that deep, rumbling sound that unleashed a swarm of butterflies in my stomach, fluttering wildly. “Don’t play coy, Jess. You’d eat up those rumors like candy. Hell, you’re probably praying they turn real.” My pulse skyrocketed, throat tightening as I struggled to swallow. The way he said it, so cocky, like he had me figured out. “Don’t flatter yourself, that’s not true.” I shot back, the lie tasting bitter because yeah, it was killing me how much I wanted exactly that. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” His whisper brushed my ear, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that screamed certainty. It hit me then: Does he know about how I feel towards him? All the teasing, the “harmless” bullying—maybe it’s because he senses my feelings, toys with them like a cat with a mouse. That would be the ultimate humiliation, worse than any childhood taunt. I shoved against his chest, and spun around to leave, but he caught my wrist, yanking me back until I collided with his solid frame. His arm banded around my waist, firm and warm, holding me captive. My hands flattened on his chest, feeling the steady drum of his heart under taut muscle, while mine roared in my ears. The closet shrank around us, walls closing in, air charged and suffocating. “You weren’t at the court today. Why?” His voice dropped, eyes searching mine like he was digging for buried treasure. I hesitated, caught in his gaze. “I had some research to do in the library,” I murmured, so softly that if we weren’t this close, the words would’ve dissolved into nothing. He leaned in again, closer, my lips parting on instinct, breath hitching. But instead of the kiss, he tugged my hood off, letting my hair tumble free. “I’ve told you to stop hiding under that thing, Jess. Why so stubborn?” I blinked, the spell shattering, and pushed him away, harder this time, creating precious space. “It’s my choice, Aaron. You don’t get a say in how I dress. You’re not my boyfriend.” He arched a brow, that infuriating smirk curling his lips. “Oh? Pretty sure I asked you to play the part just the other night. Jealous type might disagree.” I rolled my eyes. Honestly, knowing Aaron had turned eye-rolling into my default response, more frequent than breathing. “Fake girlfriend, genius.” I plastered on a sarcastic grin. “And FYI, your proposal sucked. No flowers, no charm…. zero effort. Ugh!” He smiled, biting his lower lip, a move that drove me crazy. “FYI? Seriously, Jess? What is this, 2025?” he teased, his tone playful and laced with laughter. We stared, the tension crackling like static, until hallway chatter and footsteps filtered through the door, bursting the bubble. “See you later, Aaron,” I whispered, turning to slip out. “I’ll be crashing at Jason’s tonight,” he called after me. “Don’t bother making dinner for two. Oh, and I left my card, buy whatever you want for the trip tomorrow.” I whipped my head around, but he was already facing away, tugging his Jersey off. I stared a beat longer, then left. My heart echoed in my chest with every hurried step, and I wondered—would I ever catch my breath around him? Chapter 3 Jessica's POV “Jess, seriously, what the fvck is taking you so long? Are you trying to wash away your sins under the shower?” Aaron’s growl rumbled through the bathroom door, thick with exasperation, like I’d been in here for hours instead of twenty minutes. I ignored him, rolling my eyes at the steam-fogged mirror. Well, technically, I was scrubbing away every last bit of grime down there, just in case… you know, we got sloppy drunk at this family reunion blowout, or some sneaky cousin spiked our drinks with an aphrodisiac, and boom—things heated up fast. Ridiculous, right? My brain was a romance novel on steroids these days. I shook my head at myself, my cheeks burning, but damn if I didn’t secretly root for that wild plot twist to happen. “What has become of me?” I mumbled under my breath, the hot spray pounding my skin like a reprimand for my overactive imagination. “Jess, if you don’t come out in the next thirty seconds, I swear I’ll storm in and haul you out myself,” he threatened again, his voice edging into that deep, commanding tone that always made my toes curl. What the hell was his deal? We had a full hour and a half before we needed to leave. Or was there a broadcast of a traffic apocalypse I know nothing off? I wiped between my pussi with the special towel I kept just for it, then stepped back under the cascade to rinse off the last suds. Satisfied everything was clean, I turned off the water and padded to the full-length mirror, fogged at the edges but clear enough. I scrutinized my legs, and ran a hand over the smooth skin to check for stubble, then… yeah, everything else down there. Smooth as silk. I moved on to inspect my armpits when his countdown kicked in. “…18, 17, 16, 15…” Panic spiked through me. I darted around the spacious bathroom, dripping water everywhere, hunting for my towel. It wasn’t on the rack. Shit—had I forgotten to bring one in? Asking Aaron now would just piss him off more. I yanked open the cabinet, but I found it empty, the spares usually there weren’t. I’d meant to grab them from the laundry room yesterday. Damn it. I had one last option, but it was risky as hell. “…5, 4, 3…” I snatched his large white towel from the hook, the one that smelled intoxicatingly like him—fresh cologne mixed with that unique Aaron musk, and wrapped it snugly around my body. It dwarfed me, soft against my skin. His countdown hit zero, and the doorknob rattled aggressively. I unlocked it just in time, and he shoved the door open, standing there like a bouncer at a club with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His eyes raked over me, slow and appraising, finally settling on my heaving chest where the towel clung a bit too tightly. He was already dressed to kill: a simple black T-shirt hugging his muscles, beige pants that looked effortlessly stylish, hair styled just right with those long strands pushed back. He had his stud earrings in today, glinting under the light, and a silver cross pendant dangling against his collarbone. I couldn’t help it, I drank him in, my soul feasting on his appearance despite the tension. But I snapped out of it first. “My eyes are up here, Ronnie,” I teased, arching a brow. “And why the hell were you counting down like we’re in boot camp? We still have, like, an hour and a half left.” I glanced at the clock on my nightstand for emphasis, water dripping from my hair onto the floor. He didn’t speak, just kept staring, his gaze intense and unblinking, like he was memorizing me. What was running through that head of his? “Why are you using my towel, Jess?” he finally asked, his voice low and neutral. I shifted, clutching it tighter. “I forgot mine, and the spares are still in the laundry. If I’d asked you to grab one, you’d have bitched about me not finishing my shower.” I scowled, mumbling the explanation. He didn’t respond, just eyed me up and down again, his expression unreadable. It bugged me not knowing if he was judging, annoyed, or… something else. I brushed past him, heading for the closet to get dressed, when his words stopped me cold. “Make sure you wash it when you’re done.” I whipped around, searching his eyes for a hint—disgust? Teasing? But they gave away nothing, blank as a fresh canvas. Did he think I was dirty? That sharing his stuff grossed him out? Or was it teasing, his subtle bully mode? I decided not to overthink it, pushing the door open and stepping into the walk-in closet before he could see the sting in my eyes. Inside, alone with the rows of clothes, a single tear escaped, trailing hot down my cheek. Is love supposed to hurt like this? Sharp and constant, like a thorn you can’t pull out? I wouldn’t know; I’d never felt real love or affection growing up. No hugs from Dad, no kind words from my stepmom. Just neglect and shadows. So maybe this was normal. Maybe it was all I deserved. I wiped my eyes roughly and took a deep, steadying breath. I’d survived four years of this push-pull with Aaron, hell, longer if you counted our childhood. I could handle eight more months. I dried off quickly, slathered on my favorite lotion to soothe my skin, then slipped into the sleeveless chocolate-brown dress I’d picked out. It hugged my curves like a second skin, the fabric clinging to my wide hips and rode up to reveal my thick thighs, the ones I always hid under baggy pants. Uncomfortable didn’t seem fit to describe the dress; I felt exposed, and vulnerable. But it was the only thing that seemed appropriate for meeting his fancy family, and I’d stuck to a budget. Aaron could afford extravagance, but overspending on his dime felt wrong. He was already doing so much—letting me crash here rent-free for years, covering bills without a word. Gratitude didn’t cover it; he’d saved me from the streets. Staring at my reflection, I sighed. Once I had real money, surgery for reduction was top of the list. Doing my makeup was next, but I was hopeless at it. Eyeliners and gloss were my limits. Hopefully, Aaron wouldn’t rag on me for looking plain. I stepped out, and the door clicked shut behind me. He was lounging on his bed by the window, scrolling through his phone, the evening sunlight haloing him like some brooding god. The sound drew his head up, and his eyes swept over me, slow and thorough. I fidgeted, tugging the hem, bracing for the hip/thigh roast—his go-to tease. “I, uh… this was the only outfit I liked. It was affordable and fit okay. Sorry, I’ll change or throw a jacket over it,” I rambled, turning back toward the closet. His hand caught my wrist, spinning me into his chest with a gentle tug. I stumbled into his chest, the solid warmth of him stealing my breath. Our eyes locked, the intensity making my pulse race, and he reached up, brushing a damp strand of hair from my face. My whole body ignited, heat blooming despite the blasting AC. “It’s beautiful,” he said softly. “You look gorgeous in it.” My heart leaped into my throat—or maybe straight out of my ass, who knows? It was pounding so hard I could barely think straight. This was the first ever direct compliment from Aaron, no sarcasm, no backhanded jab disguised as teasing. And the kicker? I could hear the sincerity threading through his tone, warm and real, like he actually meant it. Not the bully from our past, not the roommate who poked at my insecurities for fun. This was something new, vulnerable almost, and it terrified me as much as it thrilled me. “Huh?” I blinked, dumbstruck. He released me slowly, held my wrist and guided me to the vanity table. “Sit.” The command was simple, but it sent a thrill through me, turning my legs to jelly. I obeyed without a word, sinking onto the vanity stool, my legs still a bit shaky from his compliment and the way his touch lingered. He rummaged in a nearby chest drawer, and pulled out a sleek black box. Curiosity gnawed at me as I watched. He unlocked it with a soft click, revealing an array of makeup: palettes from brands like Dior and MAC, liners, shadows, lipsticks—all high-end stuff that probably cost more than my monthly diner tips. My jaw dropped a little. “When did you get into makeup, Aaron?” I blurted, eyeing the contents. A small smile tugged at his lips. “When I got stuck with a roommate who couldn’t even nail a basic lip combo.” He was mocking me, but playfully. My mind flashed back to a particular awkward day; the company picnic my boss at the diner had hosted. I’d tried to make an effort, to look a little less tired and plain. But after several failed attempts, I’d given up and settled for a simple gloss. Aaron had been right there in the living room, hunched over his laptop with headphones clamped on, totally zoned out. Or so I’d thought. “How did you even know about that?” I asked, surprised. He rolled his eyes, his smirk deepening. “Four years sharing this place, Jess. Even the damn furniture knows your strengths, and your epic fails. Now shut up and let me work.” He selected a lip liner, his warm fingers sliding under my chin to tilt my face up toward the light. Did he really buy all this, and learn how to use it just for me? The thoughts of that made my heart thundered so loudly I swore the neighbors could hear it through the thin walls. His breath fanned my skin as he leaned in, focused on drawing precise lines on my lips. Every cell in my body screamed to reach up, grab his neck, and close the gap between us—pull him into the kiss I’d fantasized about a thousand times. And God, the way he looked focused wasn’t helping: brows furrowed in concentration, jaw clenched, those honey-brown eyes locked on my lips with an intensity that made the hair on my skin to stand at attention. Aaron was going to be the death of me someday, I was sure of it. And the crazy part? I’d thank him. Chapter 4 Jessica’s Pov “How much longer, Aaron?” I hissed, annoyance creeping into my voice. We’d been on this endless stretch of highway for nearly two hours now, and he’d conveniently forgotten to mention the drive would feel like a cross-country marathon. “If you ask me that one more time, Jess, I’ll pull over and leave you on the side of the road,” he snapped back, his eyes glued to the asphalt ahead. I bit back a retort, stealing a glance at him instead. He looked good—too good—like he’d stepped out of one of those brooding hero ads. The way the late afternoon sun slanted through the windshield, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw. I wished I could just blurt out what was really swirling in my head: ‘Stop being such an ass and tell me you feel this pull too, or at least turn on some music to drown out the silence.’ But nope. I just huffed dramatically and turned away, fixing my gaze on the rolling hills blurring past. The city had vanished in the rearview long ago, replaced by lazy suburban sprawl—farmhouses with wraparound porches, vast cattle ranches where cows grazed around. The fading sun painted everything in a flaming orange glow that screamed old-school Texas—peaceful, nostalgic, like we’d tumbled into a ’90s Western. It was almost soothing, if not for the tension coiling between us. “Can we roll down the windows?” I asked, still not looking at him, my voice softer now, laced with the fatigue. I half-expected him to ignore me or grumble about the wind messing up his hair, but he didn’t. The AC hummed to a stop, and he cracked the windows, even sliding open the sunroof. A rush of cool evening air flooded in, tangy with earth and wildflowers. I propped my chin on the door rest, letting my eyelids flutter shut as the breeze tangled my hair and soothed the itch under my skin. For a moment, it was perfect; just the whoosh of wind, the hum of tires on pavement, and a fleeting illusion of eternal peace. I didn’t mean to doze off. The view was too pretty to waste, but exhaustion from the day’s activities caught up to me. One minute I was tracing lazy cloud shapes; the next, everything faded to black. Aaron’s Pov “Jess, pull your head in, we’re hitting a bumpy stretch,” I said, keeping my eyes locked on the winding road ahead, the gravel already crunching under the tires. There was no response. Not a twitch, not even a sarcastic eye-roll from the passenger seat, and It pissed me off. Why was she so damn stubborn? Always pushing back, always testing the edges of my patience like it was a game only she knew the rules to. “Jess,” I growled, the word coming out sharper than I meant, infused with that frustration she somehow always dragged out of me. Still nothing. I blew out a frustrated breath, and eased off the gas, hitting the brakes until the car rolled to a dusty stop on the shoulder. The engine ticked softly in the sudden quiet as I twisted in my seat, ready to scold her—tell her she was impossible, infuriating, a walking headache. But then I saw her: Her head was lolled against the door, lips parted in the softest breath, lashes fanned out like dark wings on her cheeks. She was out cold, asleep against the door like the world had paused just for her nap. How the hell was that even possible? Head bobbing with every bump, wind whipping her hair into a frenzy, and she crashes out like it’s a damn hammock on a beach. Every damn day, Jessica Reid proved why she was wired different, unique in ways that snuck up and punched me in the gut. I’d thought I had her mapped after living with her under the same roof, but nope, she’d unlock another facet, like today, dozing off mid-ride as if defying physics was her superpower. I reached over, my hand wrapping gently around her soft arm, and tugged her back from the door. She stirred with a sleepy mumble, something incoherent about “cookies” or “monsters,” her head lolling to the side before settling against the headrest. She remained knocked out. Classic Jess: she could crash anywhere when exhaustion hit, even if it was the ninth circle of hell. She was stubborn in sleep, too. Cursing softly, I killed the engine and hopped out, the cooling evening air nipping at my skin, carrying the earthy smell of fields and pines. I circled to her side, popping the door open with a quiet creak. She didn’t budge, so I slid one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her like she weighed nothing. God, she fit against me perfectly, her body molding to my chest as she nestled in with a contented sigh, mumbling nonsense again. Her scent wrapped around me, a soft mix of vanilla lotion and sun-warmed skin, and for a second, I just stood there, holding her in the fading light, the world narrowing to the steady rise and fall of her breath. Shaking off my thoughts, I juggled the back door open with my elbow, then eased her onto the wide leather seat, laying her down as gently as I could. The dress she’d fought so hard to downplay rode up in the shift, revealing those smooth, beautiful thighs—golden in the sunset glow, curves that begged to be traced. I should’ve looked away. Hell, I tried to—force my eyes back to the road, the dashboard, anything. But I couldn’t. She was a vision to behold, even unconscious. It’s been four years of this torture: overlooking the treasure sleeping mere feet from my bed, sharing breaths in the dark. I’d tried to tune it out, but failed miserably. Her scent lingering in the mornings, that faint vanilla trail pulling me from sleep. The little giggles turning into snorts when she got lost in one of her novels, curled up on the couch like a cat in a sunbeam. The way she cared without fanfare: slipping those water bottle into my gym bag, cooking meals that warmed more than my stomach, sneaking to the court bleachers to watch from the shadows, her face lighting up when I nailed a shot. I saw it all. Jessica had turned into my obsession, a subject I’d majored in secretly—like prepping for a final where acing it meant decoding her soul. Every detail about her is engraved in me: my soul, my brain, my blood, my damn marrow. From the freckles dusting her nose, the way her laugh crinkled her eyes, how her fingers twisted in her lap when she was nervous. Her soulful blue eyes, lighting up like summer skies whenever I brought home something small—a coffee from her favorite spot, a dog-eared book I pretended to “find” at the store. She was grateful for crumbs. I hear her muffled sobs some nights, probably stressing over “owing” me, cries she thought didn’t reach my ears. But I didn’t want repayment. Never had. And I couldn’t explain why, not even to myself. Sometimes I wonder if she knows how much I notice. When I caught Fiona riding my cousin that night, I swore I was done. No more love, no more emotional crap. Women were for the night, nothing deeper. But life? That bitch loved her jokes. The universe dropped the one girl I’d spent years teasing, tormenting, right back at my doorstep, wide-eyed and desperate for a roof over her head. Jess had never been ugly. Christ, she was the kind of beautiful that could eclipse any beauty standard, the sort that lodged in your chest and stayed, generation after generation: full lips begging kisses, eyes holding oceans, a body sculpted for worship. Too bad she buried it all under hoodies and baggy pants, armor against the world… and against assholes like me, who’d helped forge her insecurities. I can’t justify what I did back then. I was a punk kid, a full-blown jerk who got off on the power trip of making eyes water, thinking it made me tough. Jess was collateral, an easy target for my cruel entertainment. Sometimes, late at night, I’d replay it all: the teasing, the laughter, the way she looked hurt but tried to smile anyway. And I’d hate myself for it. If I could crank back the clock, and erase those scars I’d left, I would. I’d tell her then what I barely admit now: You’re stunning, Jess. That body of yours? It’s a masterpiece. Hips I’d kill to grip during a slow dance, thighs I’d bury my face in until you forgot your own name, an ass that haunts my dreams like the perfect pillow after a long day on the court. What I feel for Jess, I don’t know. It’s an infatuation, raw and unnamed—not love, not hate, just this magnetic pull that defies labels. I crave her presence like oxygen, the way she makes the house feel like home, and her existence that lit up the corners of my world I didn’t know were dark. I want to keep her smiling for real, make her feel safe and worthy, make her understand that she deserves the world. But I’m held back by my own fears of hurting her. I notice how her eyes go soft when she’s around me, that crush growing quiet but strong, a secret she protects fiercely. Maybe it’s even deeper than a crush now. And if I encourage it, build it up, only to let it crash? I’d break her heart completely. Her family doesn’t give a damn about her, and that’s a big reason I quit being mean to her years ago, once I saw how deep it cut through her already empty life. Jessica needs real love, the kind that floods in full, from someone whole, not cracked like me. Fiona’s betrayal still has hooks in me, old pieces I can’t shake loose. My heart’s a total mess—twisted up in ways I can’t even sort out or explain without sounding like a loser. But one thing’s crystal clear: I’d protect Jess with everything I’ve got, even my life. In eight months, she’ll wrap college, launch into whatever wild dream she’s chasing (journalism, probably—exposing truths like she unearths mine without trying). She’ll move from this apartment, from me, and good for her. Maybe she’ll find someone who looks at her the way she wish I could. Until then, we’ll keep up this little game; the fake dating, the teasing, the banter that makes everything feel less complicated than it is. Let fate roll the dice, I’m dying to see where it lands. I pressed a soft kiss to the back of her palm, her skin warm and soft against my lips, then eased it down to rest on her stomach. I got back behind the wheel, opened a bottle of water she’d thoughtfully packed for us, and took a long gulp before starting the engine again. I pulled back onto the road, the manor just thirty minutes out now. Whatever waited there—family interrogations, Fiona’s taunting smile… I’d face it. For her. For us, even if it was pretend. ---------------- There are limited chapters to put here, click “learn more” to open App to continue reading (It will automatically jump to the book)

💕💕❤️❤️💖💖😍😍😘😘🥰🥰💕💕❤️❤️💖💖 Our story starts off at an annual neighborhood barbecue to kick off the warm weather. A pretty nice one too. You might think Jim's backyard looks like a landscaping company had been given a dangerous amount of money. But that would be a bad guess. The man actually spends an inordinate amount of time working in his backyard. The grass is clipped short enough to shame every other lawn on the street, even my own. There are raised planters along the fence, featuring herbs and little vegetables growing in tidy rows. A small gazebo sits near the back corner of the yard, strung with warm little lights even though the sun is still out. The whole place smells like charcoal, beer, sunscreen, and summer arriving in Scarsdale. I'm standing near the side of the deck with the boys, holding a paper plate in one hand and a beer in the other, listening to Ron explain why the Spurs are the most frightening young team in the league, as if he had been personally hired as hypeman by their front office. "You don't understand," Ron says, pushing his glasses up his nose. "That team is going to be a problem. A bunch of young guys with veteran pedigree." Ron has been my best friend since we were kids. Always been a big Black dude. Soft around the middle now, but still the same guy who once broke his wrist in a scuffle with some asshole who never gave up a chance to hurl insults at our crew. "I'm just saying," Theo says, leaning against the deck railing, "the Thunder have the MVP." "I'd take the alien any day of the week," Jim adds. "You guys know the Knicks are in the playoff this year too, right?" I ask. Theo lives in New York City now. Managed to end up a big-shot writer. Some actual books, interviews and literature festival shit. Still somehow finds time to come back and hang with us degenerates every summer. So proud of the guy. Jim is our host. Tall, white, and someone we have not known since high school. Doesn't matter though, would still put him down as my emergency contact. Mr. Reliable since the day we met. Honestly, I'm having a damn good time. Feels like one of those moments you don't appreciate enough while you're living it. Then we hear the lovebirds. "You should have told me!" Every guy in the circle looks toward the side gate. Charlie comes in first. Full head of steam. Kate follows right behind him. "You don't just buy a car without talking to your fucking wife first, Charlie!" Charlie turns halfway around, already red-faced. "You wanna do this here?" "No, actually, this would've been a fantastic thing to discuss before you actually bought the damn thing!'" Theo slowly lowers his beer. Ron whispers to me, "Uh oh." Charlie's alleged purchase, which he had been musing about non-stop for the past week, is probably that Nissan Altima he'd been obsessing over. Exactly the kind of car a man buys to announce to the world that his knees still technically work. "We'll talk later," Kate snaps. Charlie walks right into the group circle as if he didn't just stroll into the yard guns blazing. "Hey boys! What'd I miss?" There's a pathetic response of head nods around the group. Charlie has the confidence of a guy who looks like Chris Hemsworth, despite frankly looking like quite the opposite. Biggest gut in the neighborhood. Balding more aggressively than the rest of us thirty-year-olds. Not what you'd call attractive by any stretch of the imagination. "Women," Charlie says, snatching a beer Jim had set down a few minutes ago. "Am I right?" Did he genuinely expect us to back him on that? "Everything okay, man?" I ask. Charlie waves me off. "Yeah, yeah. She's pissed because I made a call without consulting the board apparently." "Marriage tends to involve that kind of communication," Theo mutters. Charlie ignores him. "End of the day," he continues, "I'm the man of the house bringing in the big bucks." Ron blinks. "Brother, you're a trucker who hasn't had a gig in months." Conveniently, it's at this point that Charlie takes a long, long swig from his bottle. Without warning, Lana appears to my left. And the entire atmosphere changes. She has a platter of hot dogs in her hands and this ridiculous apron tied over her clothes. One of Jim's many gag aprons, and this one was designed to look like a shredded female bodybuilder wearing a bikini. The problem was it's probably mean to be worn by a guy, and definitely has a... different effect when worn by my beautiful wife. "Fresh off the grill, boys," she announces. Then she steps a bit closer and wraps an arm around my back. Four years of marriage. She still bumps my heart rate every. Single Time. Lana is objectively gorgeous. Like that real-life, no-filter gorgeous. The kind that catches men mid-sentence, leaving them wondering where they were going with a thought. Her long brown hair spills over her shoulders. She glances up at me with big brown eyes that have this soft, innocent warmth to them that makes people trust her almost immediately. That made me fall in love with her almost immediately. She's got thick thighs from years of beach volleyball and jogging around the neighborhood, paired with a soft little waist. And her ass... Lord Almighty. Lana had the kind of ass that yoga pants were invented for. Full, round, and ridiculous in the most perfect way. Which is a long way of saying that Lana has the kind of body that looked incredible in absolutely anything, and positively insane in one of Jim's stupid sexy aprons. Her outfit underneath wasn't helping either. White t-shirt, little shorts, showcasing just enough of her sun-kissed skin. Normally, she'd be covered up a bit more, but the sun had different plans today. Charlie whistles. This guy. At least every other dude has the decency to steal a quick glance at the goods before grabbing a hot dog. "Damn Lana," he says. "I wouldn't be surprised if that's how you actually looked under there! Feel like taking a trip to a nude beach this year?" Lana's smile tightens. Jim and Theo looked mortified on behalf of all half-decent men. I'm thinking about how many years it's been since I've had a chance to try my left hook. Something... weird also stirs inside me, but I swallow that. "What?" Charlie asks defensively. "I'm joking. Wow. Can nobody take a joke around here anymore?" I should've said something. I know that. But the ugly truth? Some small part of me understands the reaction. Lana and I do get it everywhere. Maybe not as... crass as Charlie, but Lana just elicits reactions. Lana rolls her eyes. "I've already got a man Charlie, and he's the only one allowed to take a peek under the hood." That gets a couple barks of laughter out of the guys, mostly because nobody expected her to fire back like that. And honestly? I don't think she did either. I can tell immediately, spotting the emerging pinks in her cheeks. Lana's always been adorable like that. Gorgeous enough to make every head turn whenever she strolls into a room, but still somehow painfully innocent whenever anyone actually flirts with her. I've seen her actually duck her head more than a few times, laughs awkwardly, and escape the situation as fast as humanly possible. Lucky for me, she usually finds refuge in my arms. But this is Charlie. We've known Charlie for years, same with almost everyone here today. And I'm standing right beside her. So instead of retreating, Lana just keeps blushing while swinging the platter around to hand out the remaining hot dogs. Theo grabs one with this deeply impressed look on his face. "That was cold, Lana." Ron nearly snorts beer through his nose laughing. Meanwhile Charlie blows a raspberry, raises his hands in defeat, and walks toward the screen door of Jim's home. Before he leaves, I spy Lana shooting him a sharp side-eye. She gives me a nervous kiss on the cheek before heading back toward the gazebo where the wives are gathered. Becky is there already. Loud, blond, infectious energy condensed into human form. Been the same way since she was fourteen. Jim's wife and the real estate agent who landed Lana and me into the neighborhood. I am honestly forever grateful. Ron's girlfriend of two months, Maya is sitting beside her. Gorgeous, Black, and curvy in all the ways Ron described his perfect woman way back in Mr. Ventura's Math class. It was his favorite time to do so, because numbers and equations never really caught his eye in the same way a woman could. Theo's girlfriend Jackie wasn't around today, but honestly, the one time Lana and I met her, we both thought she could very well be a runway model. Kate's standing with the women now too, maintaining a death glare in Charlie's direction, even as he enters the back door of Jim and Becky's home. Honestly? Kate was pretty too, a girl-next-door type brunette with a cute face. But she had one of those shrill voices that made every sentence sound like the beginning of an argument. Or maybe living with someone like Charlie changes a woman into that. The party recovered a little bit after Charlie went to the washroom. Music none of the Gen Z's would recognize blaring over the speakers, beer magically disappearing, and Charlie talking about the new Altima way too much. You'd think he was stepping out on Kate and sticking his dick in the car muffler. "Alright everyone," Jim announces. "Game's starting." He looks toward the women. "You ladies good out here?" Becky waved him off immediately. "We're not watching sweaty dudes fight over balls for three hours." "That is a gross reductive take on the game of basketball, honey," Jim responds. "Love you!" Becky replies. The guys started heading inside. I glanced back once before stepping through the sliding door. Lana is laughing at something Maya is recounting. The backyard lights just turned on. Her skin looks golden, and her? Beautiful and happy. And somehow, mine. It's cliché, but many days I really do feel the luckiest guy alive. --- By the time we leave Becky's, the whole neighborhood smells like smoke and barbecue. It's a pretty pleasant smell. I'm holding Wayne's hand. He's been musing about basketball since we stepped onto the street. I understand maybe twelve percent of it. "So who do they play next?" I ask. "Probably the Pistons. But who knows, Cleveland's got a pretty explosive backcourt." That's a little confusing. "They... have bad gas?" Wayne laughs. "Thank you for pretending to care, baby." "I do care." "You care about me caring." "Exactly!" I stare up at Wayne and smile. My handsome guy. He isn't the type most women immediately notice. But that's part of why I fell for him. Tousled dark hair. Glasses, and a sweet smile. Pretty athletic for someone that sits behind a desk all day, thanks to his gym membership and history on various sports teams back in high school and college. He's someone people accidentally underestimate before they get to talking to him. We met in high school. We were each other's first loves. First everything, now that I think about it. I heard horror stories earlier from Maya about the modern dating scene, and every single one made me want to kiss Wayne right on the mouth for not being a raging psychopath. Pretty low bar to be honest, but he clears it pretty easily. After a minute, we're at our front door, and he's still talking about defensive matchups as I get the key in the door. I've mostly been watching his adorable face while he talks. He seems to notice now. "What?" he asks, tilting his head. "You're cute when you ramble." "I thought I was always cute." I giggle a little. When we step inside, he stretches and groans. "I need a shower. I smell like something fierce." I step closer. "Maybe I could... join you?" I place a hand on his chest. "You know I love the way you smell after a long day." That gets me the smile. A very real one. "Gross! You still like my musk?" "Always." We kiss. It's slow, warm, comfortable. "Alright, Lana, I'll meet you in the shower." He plants another gentle kiss on my forehead. "Oh, and can you grab towels from my office? I folded all the laundry yesterday after I got home. You left the basket in the hallway." I stare at him. "Marry me again." "No." "But why?" I look up at him and pout. "That shit was expensive, babe." I laugh and head toward his office, as I hear him sprint up the stairs. Wayne's office is... chaos. There are open books strewn everywhere, papers and important-looking documents covering most of the hardwood, and used coffee mugs lining his desk. I tiptoe around a stack of... everything towards the laundry basket near his desk and grab a folded towel. Then I notice the glow. His laptop is half-open. I should close it. But a part of me is curious. All these years and I always go out of my way not to even peek at his screen or his phone. Well, Wayne's not around now and I'm feeling a little naughty. I lift the lid. Just enough to read the title of the paused video: Cuckolding Wife drenches her Bull's Cock in front of hubby I stare. Then stare harder. I know it's porn. Honestly? The fact that Wayne watches porn doesn't shock me. Men watch porn. I don't, but I always assumed he did. But I've never heard these terms before. The paused video shows this gorgeous, fit blond riding a gigantic... thing while the cameraman is off to the side. That thing is... huge. Huge like I don't even know how she's fitting that inside of her. I feel something weird twist in my stomach. But I keep staring at the screen for another few seconds. The more I look, the more my stomach twists itself into nervous little knots. Maybe I'm misunderstanding something. Maybe it's one of those weird internet titles that doesn't actually mean what it sounds like. Maybe this is some bizarre ad that came up by accident while Wayne was browsing his actual porn? Honestly, that has to be it. Because the alternative makes absolutely no sense. Wayne loves me. When we're both home he practically follows me around the house like an affectionate golden retriever. There's no world where my husband secretly gets off on the thought of me sleeping with another guy. Right? I shut the laptop back to halfway. Then immediately open it again. My brain refuses to let it go. I don't know if I'm angry, or something I just don't understand yet. Wayne and I tell each other everything. Or... at least I thought we did. Sure, we don't sit around discussing his porn preferences over breakfast, but still. My chest tightens. Then another thought hits me. Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Is he unhappy? The idea lands so hard it physically hurts. I look down at myself. My body, my arms, my thighs. I'm pretty fit too, but the woman in the video looks nothing like me. Blond. Huge, enormous knockers. She also looks like she goes to the gym twice a day. I suddenly feel embarrassed standing alone in Wayne's office for reasons I can't fully explain. No. No, stop. This is Wayne. My Wayne. The man who still grabs my ass in the kitchen every time he walks by, like a kid in a candy store. The man who still gets flustered if I change in front of him too slowly. So what the fuck is this? I pick up the laptop. My heart is pounding now. I head upstairs at a brisk pace, anxiety creeping higher with every step. The second-floor hallway is dim except for the bathroom light spilling across the floor. Steam curls lazily through the cracked door. Wayne's inside humming to himself horribly off-key. For one stupid second, I almost turn around. Maybe I should just close it back up? Pretend I never saw it. But then another image flashes into my head. My husband is watching me. I'm on the bed with... that enormous thing from the video. What. The. Fuck. I push the door, striding in the bathroom with purpose. "Hey beautiful," Wayne calls from behind the shower curtain. "You ready to join me for some-" I cough, loudly. Then the curtain shifts. Wayne peeks out with wet hair hanging into his eyes and the easiest smile in the world. Until he sees the laptop. The smile dies. His eyes widen. Which tells me that whatever this is? It's his. He knows I've seen his porn. A horrible little pit forms in my stomach. I hold the laptop up slightly. My voice comes out calmer than I actually feel. "Wayne," I start. "What's a cuckold?" --- She caught me with my pants down. And everything else too, actually. That is the first dumb thought I manage after Lana leaves the bathroom with me standing in the shower, and her question hanging ominously in the rising steam. What's a cuckold? There are things I'd much rather be caught by my wife for. A bank robbery, maybe. A small-scale fraud scheme involving Canadian maple syrup. But not porn. And I don't mean regular porn either. Like the boring, forgivable stuff a man could shrug away. No. I think this morning I decided to dive into a more hardcore category to get a quick one off before heading over to barbecue. But I swear to God I at least closed the lid on that thing!? I turn the shower off and stand there for a few seconds, dripping onto the tile, listening to the house. Nothing. No slamming doors. No drawers being opened with violent purpose. Even after seeing my worst shit, Lana is still being the angel she is. I towel off with my old clothes and put on clean boxers and an old t-shirt I had grabbed before starting the shower. My brain keeps spiraling into catastrophe after catastrophe, each one somehow worse than the last. One minute I'm imagining Lana crying in our kitchen, the next I'm picturing lawyers dividing up furniture while I try explaining to Ron that yes, technically porn did end my marriage. The bedroom light is off when I step inside. Lana is in bed, lying on her side, facing away from me. The blinds are open just enough to let in the streetlights from outside. Thin orange bars cut across the wall and the dresser. Normally, our bedroom feels safe and warm. A little messy, of course. A little lived in. Tonight, it feels like a sterile, hospital waiting room. I stand near the doorway for far too long. Lana does not turn around. "Lana?" My voice comes out carefully. "I'm thinking, Wayne." Okay, right. I am in trouble. I get into bed as gently as possible, which is ridiculously futile because the creaky IKEA frame shifts noisily under me, and I knew it would do that. Lana's shoulders tense. I stare at the ceiling. A few minutes pass, and I hear a car drive by outside. Then another. Somewhere down the block, a dog barks once, settles his affairs, and stops. I fold my hands over my stomach. Unfold them. Fold them again. "Do you want a divorce?" she asks. The question punches the air right out of my lungs. "What? Absolutely not!" She still doesn't turn around. "Do you want to see other people?" "No, babe. I don't." "Sleep with other women?" "No. Lana, no." My voice cracks on her name. That finally makes her move. She rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling as well. Her face is in profile, mostly shadow, but I can see wetness in her eyes.

💕💕❤️❤️💖💖😍😍😘😘🥰🥰💕💕❤️❤️💖💖 Our story starts off at an annual neighborhood barbecue to kick off the warm weather. A pretty nice one too. You might think Jim's backyard looks like a landscaping company had been given a dangerous amount of money. But that would be a bad guess. The man actually spends an inordinate amount of time working in his backyard. The grass is clipped short enough to shame every other lawn on the street, even my own. There are raised planters along the fence, featuring herbs and little vegetables growing in tidy rows. A small gazebo sits near the back corner of the yard, strung with warm little lights even though the sun is still out. The whole place smells like charcoal, beer, sunscreen, and summer arriving in Scarsdale. I'm standing near the side of the deck with the boys, holding a paper plate in one hand and a beer in the other, listening to Ron explain why the Spurs are the most frightening young team in the league, as if he had been personally hired as hypeman by their front office. "You don't understand," Ron says, pushing his glasses up his nose. "That team is going to be a problem. A bunch of young guys with veteran pedigree." Ron has been my best friend since we were kids. Always been a big Black dude. Soft around the middle now, but still the same guy who once broke his wrist in a scuffle with some asshole who never gave up a chance to hurl insults at our crew. "I'm just saying," Theo says, leaning against the deck railing, "the Thunder have the MVP." "I'd take the alien any day of the week," Jim adds. "You guys know the Knicks are in the playoff this year too, right?" I ask. Theo lives in New York City now. Managed to end up a big-shot writer. Some actual books, interviews and literature festival shit. Still somehow finds time to come back and hang with us degenerates every summer. So proud of the guy. Jim is our host. Tall, white, and someone we have not known since high school. Doesn't matter though, would still put him down as my emergency contact. Mr. Reliable since the day we met. Honestly, I'm having a damn good time. Feels like one of those moments you don't appreciate enough while you're living it. Then we hear the lovebirds. "You should have told me!" Every guy in the circle looks toward the side gate. Charlie comes in first. Full head of steam. Kate follows right behind him. "You don't just buy a car without talking to your fucking wife first, Charlie!" Charlie turns halfway around, already red-faced. "You wanna do this here?" "No, actually, this would've been a fantastic thing to discuss before you actually bought the damn thing!'" Theo slowly lowers his beer. Ron whispers to me, "Uh oh." Charlie's alleged purchase, which he had been musing about non-stop for the past week, is probably that Nissan Altima he'd been obsessing over. Exactly the kind of car a man buys to announce to the world that his knees still technically work. "We'll talk later," Kate snaps. Charlie walks right into the group circle as if he didn't just stroll into the yard guns blazing. "Hey boys! What'd I miss?" There's a pathetic response of head nods around the group. Charlie has the confidence of a guy who looks like Chris Hemsworth, despite frankly looking like quite the opposite. Biggest gut in the neighborhood. Balding more aggressively than the rest of us thirty-year-olds. Not what you'd call attractive by any stretch of the imagination. "Women," Charlie says, snatching a beer Jim had set down a few minutes ago. "Am I right?" Did he genuinely expect us to back him on that? "Everything okay, man?" I ask. Charlie waves me off. "Yeah, yeah. She's pissed because I made a call without consulting the board apparently." "Marriage tends to involve that kind of communication," Theo mutters. Charlie ignores him. "End of the day," he continues, "I'm the man of the house bringing in the big bucks." Ron blinks. "Brother, you're a trucker who hasn't had a gig in months." Conveniently, it's at this point that Charlie takes a long, long swig from his bottle. Without warning, Lana appears to my left. And the entire atmosphere changes. She has a platter of hot dogs in her hands and this ridiculous apron tied over her clothes. One of Jim's many gag aprons, and this one was designed to look like a shredded female bodybuilder wearing a bikini. The problem was it's probably mean to be worn by a guy, and definitely has a... different effect when worn by my beautiful wife. "Fresh off the grill, boys," she announces. Then she steps a bit closer and wraps an arm around my back. Four years of marriage. She still bumps my heart rate every. Single Time. Lana is objectively gorgeous. Like that real-life, no-filter gorgeous. The kind that catches men mid-sentence, leaving them wondering where they were going with a thought. Her long brown hair spills over her shoulders. She glances up at me with big brown eyes that have this soft, innocent warmth to them that makes people trust her almost immediately. That made me fall in love with her almost immediately. She's got thick thighs from years of beach volleyball and jogging around the neighborhood, paired with a soft little waist. And her ass... Lord Almighty. Lana had the kind of ass that yoga pants were invented for. Full, round, and ridiculous in the most perfect way. Which is a long way of saying that Lana has the kind of body that looked incredible in absolutely anything, and positively insane in one of Jim's stupid sexy aprons. Her outfit underneath wasn't helping either. White t-shirt, little shorts, showcasing just enough of her sun-kissed skin. Normally, she'd be covered up a bit more, but the sun had different plans today. Charlie whistles. This guy. At least every other dude has the decency to steal a quick glance at the goods before grabbing a hot dog. "Damn Lana," he says. "I wouldn't be surprised if that's how you actually looked under there! Feel like taking a trip to a nude beach this year?" Lana's smile tightens. Jim and Theo looked mortified on behalf of all half-decent men. I'm thinking about how many years it's been since I've had a chance to try my left hook. Something... weird also stirs inside me, but I swallow that. "What?" Charlie asks defensively. "I'm joking. Wow. Can nobody take a joke around here anymore?" I should've said something. I know that. But the ugly truth? Some small part of me understands the reaction. Lana and I do get it everywhere. Maybe not as... crass as Charlie, but Lana just elicits reactions. Lana rolls her eyes. "I've already got a man Charlie, and he's the only one allowed to take a peek under the hood." That gets a couple barks of laughter out of the guys, mostly because nobody expected her to fire back like that. And honestly? I don't think she did either. I can tell immediately, spotting the emerging pinks in her cheeks. Lana's always been adorable like that. Gorgeous enough to make every head turn whenever she strolls into a room, but still somehow painfully innocent whenever anyone actually flirts with her. I've seen her actually duck her head more than a few times, laughs awkwardly, and escape the situation as fast as humanly possible. Lucky for me, she usually finds refuge in my arms. But this is Charlie. We've known Charlie for years, same with almost everyone here today. And I'm standing right beside her. So instead of retreating, Lana just keeps blushing while swinging the platter around to hand out the remaining hot dogs. Theo grabs one with this deeply impressed look on his face. "That was cold, Lana." Ron nearly snorts beer through his nose laughing. Meanwhile Charlie blows a raspberry, raises his hands in defeat, and walks toward the screen door of Jim's home. Before he leaves, I spy Lana shooting him a sharp side-eye. She gives me a nervous kiss on the cheek before heading back toward the gazebo where the wives are gathered. Becky is there already. Loud, blond, infectious energy condensed into human form. Been the same way since she was fourteen. Jim's wife and the real estate agent who landed Lana and me into the neighborhood. I am honestly forever grateful. Ron's girlfriend of two months, Maya is sitting beside her. Gorgeous, Black, and curvy in all the ways Ron described his perfect woman way back in Mr. Ventura's Math class. It was his favorite time to do so, because numbers and equations never really caught his eye in the same way a woman could. Theo's girlfriend Jackie wasn't around today, but honestly, the one time Lana and I met her, we both thought she could very well be a runway model. Kate's standing with the women now too, maintaining a death glare in Charlie's direction, even as he enters the back door of Jim and Becky's home. Honestly? Kate was pretty too, a girl-next-door type brunette with a cute face. But she had one of those shrill voices that made every sentence sound like the beginning of an argument. Or maybe living with someone like Charlie changes a woman into that. The party recovered a little bit after Charlie went to the washroom. Music none of the Gen Z's would recognize blaring over the speakers, beer magically disappearing, and Charlie talking about the new Altima way too much. You'd think he was stepping out on Kate and sticking his dick in the car muffler. "Alright everyone," Jim announces. "Game's starting." He looks toward the women. "You ladies good out here?" Becky waved him off immediately. "We're not watching sweaty dudes fight over balls for three hours." "That is a gross reductive take on the game of basketball, honey," Jim responds. "Love you!" Becky replies. The guys started heading inside. I glanced back once before stepping through the sliding door. Lana is laughing at something Maya is recounting. The backyard lights just turned on. Her skin looks golden, and her? Beautiful and happy. And somehow, mine. It's cliché, but many days I really do feel the luckiest guy alive. --- By the time we leave Becky's, the whole neighborhood smells like smoke and barbecue. It's a pretty pleasant smell. I'm holding Wayne's hand. He's been musing about basketball since we stepped onto the street. I understand maybe twelve percent of it. "So who do they play next?" I ask. "Probably the Pistons. But who knows, Cleveland's got a pretty explosive backcourt." That's a little confusing. "They... have bad gas?" Wayne laughs. "Thank you for pretending to care, baby." "I do care." "You care about me caring." "Exactly!" I stare up at Wayne and smile. My handsome guy. He isn't the type most women immediately notice. But that's part of why I fell for him. Tousled dark hair. Glasses, and a sweet smile. Pretty athletic for someone that sits behind a desk all day, thanks to his gym membership and history on various sports teams back in high school and college. He's someone people accidentally underestimate before they get to talking to him. We met in high school. We were each other's first loves. First everything, now that I think about it. I heard horror stories earlier from Maya about the modern dating scene, and every single one made me want to kiss Wayne right on the mouth for not being a raging psychopath. Pretty low bar to be honest, but he clears it pretty easily. After a minute, we're at our front door, and he's still talking about defensive matchups as I get the key in the door. I've mostly been watching his adorable face while he talks. He seems to notice now. "What?" he asks, tilting his head. "You're cute when you ramble." "I thought I was always cute." I giggle a little. When we step inside, he stretches and groans. "I need a shower. I smell like something fierce." I step closer. "Maybe I could... join you?" I place a hand on his chest. "You know I love the way you smell after a long day." That gets me the smile. A very real one. "Gross! You still like my musk?" "Always." We kiss. It's slow, warm, comfortable. "Alright, Lana, I'll meet you in the shower." He plants another gentle kiss on my forehead. "Oh, and can you grab towels from my office? I folded all the laundry yesterday after I got home. You left the basket in the hallway." I stare at him. "Marry me again." "No." "But why?" I look up at him and pout. "That shit was expensive, babe." I laugh and head toward his office, as I hear him sprint up the stairs. Wayne's office is... chaos. There are open books strewn everywhere, papers and important-looking documents covering most of the hardwood, and used coffee mugs lining his desk. I tiptoe around a stack of... everything towards the laundry basket near his desk and grab a folded towel. Then I notice the glow. His laptop is half-open. I should close it. But a part of me is curious. All these years and I always go out of my way not to even peek at his screen or his phone. Well, Wayne's not around now and I'm feeling a little naughty. I lift the lid. Just enough to read the title of the paused video: Cuckolding Wife drenches her Bull's Cock in front of hubby I stare. Then stare harder. I know it's porn. Honestly? The fact that Wayne watches porn doesn't shock me. Men watch porn. I don't, but I always assumed he did. But I've never heard these terms before. The paused video shows this gorgeous, fit blond riding a gigantic... thing while the cameraman is off to the side. That thing is... huge. Huge like I don't even know how she's fitting that inside of her. I feel something weird twist in my stomach. But I keep staring at the screen for another few seconds. The more I look, the more my stomach twists itself into nervous little knots. Maybe I'm misunderstanding something. Maybe it's one of those weird internet titles that doesn't actually mean what it sounds like. Maybe this is some bizarre ad that came up by accident while Wayne was browsing his actual porn? Honestly, that has to be it. Because the alternative makes absolutely no sense. Wayne loves me. When we're both home he practically follows me around the house like an affectionate golden retriever. There's no world where my husband secretly gets off on the thought of me sleeping with another guy. Right? I shut the laptop back to halfway. Then immediately open it again. My brain refuses to let it go. I don't know if I'm angry, or something I just don't understand yet. Wayne and I tell each other everything. Or... at least I thought we did. Sure, we don't sit around discussing his porn preferences over breakfast, but still. My chest tightens. Then another thought hits me. Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Is he unhappy? The idea lands so hard it physically hurts. I look down at myself. My body, my arms, my thighs. I'm pretty fit too, but the woman in the video looks nothing like me. Blond. Huge, enormous knockers. She also looks like she goes to the gym twice a day. I suddenly feel embarrassed standing alone in Wayne's office for reasons I can't fully explain. No. No, stop. This is Wayne. My Wayne. The man who still grabs my ass in the kitchen every time he walks by, like a kid in a candy store. The man who still gets flustered if I change in front of him too slowly. So what the fuck is this? I pick up the laptop. My heart is pounding now. I head upstairs at a brisk pace, anxiety creeping higher with every step. The second-floor hallway is dim except for the bathroom light spilling across the floor. Steam curls lazily through the cracked door. Wayne's inside humming to himself horribly off-key. For one stupid second, I almost turn around. Maybe I should just close it back up? Pretend I never saw it. But then another image flashes into my head. My husband is watching me. I'm on the bed with... that enormous thing from the video. What. The. Fuck. I push the door, striding in the bathroom with purpose. "Hey beautiful," Wayne calls from behind the shower curtain. "You ready to join me for some-" I cough, loudly. Then the curtain shifts. Wayne peeks out with wet hair hanging into his eyes and the easiest smile in the world. Until he sees the laptop. The smile dies. His eyes widen. Which tells me that whatever this is? It's his. He knows I've seen his porn. A horrible little pit forms in my stomach. I hold the laptop up slightly. My voice comes out calmer than I actually feel. "Wayne," I start. "What's a cuckold?" --- She caught me with my pants down. And everything else too, actually. That is the first dumb thought I manage after Lana leaves the bathroom with me standing in the shower, and her question hanging ominously in the rising steam. What's a cuckold? There are things I'd much rather be caught by my wife for. A bank robbery, maybe. A small-scale fraud scheme involving Canadian maple syrup. But not porn. And I don't mean regular porn either. Like the boring, forgivable stuff a man could shrug away. No. I think this morning I decided to dive into a more hardcore category to get a quick one off before heading over to barbecue. But I swear to God I at least closed the lid on that thing!? I turn the shower off and stand there for a few seconds, dripping onto the tile, listening to the house. Nothing. No slamming doors. No drawers being opened with violent purpose. Even after seeing my worst shit, Lana is still being the angel she is. I towel off with my old clothes and put on clean boxers and an old t-shirt I had grabbed before starting the shower. My brain keeps spiraling into catastrophe after catastrophe, each one somehow worse than the last. One minute I'm imagining Lana crying in our kitchen, the next I'm picturing lawyers dividing up furniture while I try explaining to Ron that yes, technically porn did end my marriage. The bedroom light is off when I step inside. Lana is in bed, lying on her side, facing away from me. The blinds are open just enough to let in the streetlights from outside. Thin orange bars cut across the wall and the dresser. Normally, our bedroom feels safe and warm. A little messy, of course. A little lived in. Tonight, it feels like a sterile, hospital waiting room. I stand near the doorway for far too long. Lana does not turn around. "Lana?" My voice comes out carefully. "I'm thinking, Wayne." Okay, right. I am in trouble. I get into bed as gently as possible, which is ridiculously futile because the creaky IKEA frame shifts noisily under me, and I knew it would do that. Lana's shoulders tense. I stare at the ceiling. A few minutes pass, and I hear a car drive by outside. Then another. Somewhere down the block, a dog barks once, settles his affairs, and stops. I fold my hands over my stomach. Unfold them. Fold them again. "Do you want a divorce?" she asks. The question punches the air right out of my lungs. "What? Absolutely not!" She still doesn't turn around. "Do you want to see other people?" "No, babe. I don't." "Sleep with other women?" "No. Lana, no." My voice cracks on her name. That finally makes her move. She rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling as well. Her face is in profile, mostly shadow, but I can see wetness in her eyes.