Chapter 4

Devin's Pov 

The villa hummed with the faint chatter of the last stragglers from dinner heading home. I had barely shaken off the sting of my father’s words when…

“Oh, this is my boyfriend, Marcus.”

“Marcus, this is Devin. Devin, Marcus.”

Adrian announced with all the flair of a showman introducing his co-star.

“Marcus here is my better half, though he likes to claim otherwise.”

Marcus gave a polite smile and a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, forcing something resembling a smile. For reasons I couldn’t put into words, the words boyfriend and better half cut deeper than they should have. I excused myself quickly, leaving them to their scotch and company. I retreated into the villa before either of them could read the shift in my expression.

By then, it was night already, the corridors glowed with warm lamps. The air smelled faintly of roses from Stella’s obsession with floral arrangements. I pushed open the door to my room, loosening my tie, only to find glowing arrows pointing to another door ajar further down the hall.

‘What is going on here?’ 

Curiosity tugged at me until I followed.

It took less than a couple steps. I cracked the door open to see it was our wedding suite. 

In some other life this would have been the highlight of my day. Stella was there, perched like temptation draped in fine linens, her hair falling over one shoulder. The sight froze me. She looked up, her lips curling with a grin as she crawled slowly across the bed toward me, eyes locked on mine.

“Finally,” she teased, as her fingers tugged at my tie before I could speak. She pulled me closer until our faces almost touched. Her breath brushed my skin, cosy and warm. “I was beginning to think you’d run off on me. On our wedding night no less.”

I swallowed hard. My body should have answered hers, the exhaustion should have melted from my bones. They used to… not anymore. 

Everything on my mind weighed heavier than lust. I kissed her once, gently, then pulled back. “Stell, I can’t tonight. I’m drained.”

She was about to push, when I said. “Star Shopping.”

It was our safe word.

Her expression faltered. Disappointment flickered but was quickly masked by a soft chuckle. “Big man can’t handle a little tradition?”

She gestured for me to sit, and turn around as she pressed her thumbs into my shoulders, kneeling behind me on the mattress, working at the knots of tension. “Fine. I’m beat too. The girls practically pushed me into this dress with chants about wedding night duties. I felt obliged."

Her words, light and playful, eased the guilt gnawing at me. I laughed, leaned back slightly into her hands, and let the comfort carry me. 

“Thanks babe.” I sighed.

Soon enough, we collapsed onto the bed together. Sleep found us quicker than it usually did. We really were spent.

When morning crept in, I woke to the weight of her arm draped around me, her breathing slow and warm against my back. I slid away carefully, pulling on my pants and making for the bathroom to take a piss.

I was over the seat, just about to let the liquid free and experience sweet sweet relief.

And for a couple precious seconds, that was the case…

“Nhghhhh. What the fuc—”

It felt like my piss was replaced with boiling water.

No

It felt like my insides had been doused with acid. Every attempt to piss came with a sting sharp enough to make my eyes water. I gripped the sink, staring into the mirror as sweat dotted my forehead. “What the hell?” The whisper sounded foreign in the tiled silence. My reflection stared back, mocking, as realization carved into me.

No. It couldn’t be.

Within the hour I was at a private clinic, pacing the sterile halls until the doctor returned. He handed me a clipboard with the test results. A name glared up at me.

The doctor spoke with an accent. “You have an STD… sir. Specifically ***”

I burned with shame and rage. My first thought wasn’t the doctor’s lecture about antibiotics. It was Adrian.

By the time I returned to the villa, the sun was high. My pulse hammered as I searched the halls, until a muffled clink of glass led me to a side room. Adrian was there, crouched by a cabinet, lifting a bottle of champagne with a satisfied smirk.

“Well, well,” I said, slamming the door shut behind me.

He looked up, eyebrows rising with faux innocence. “Caught me. Want a glass?”

“Cut the crap. What the hell did you give me?”

Adrian blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” I stepped closer, chest heaving. “You gave me something.”

For a moment he just studied me, his smirk twitching at the edges. Then laughter burst out of him. He set the bottle down and clapped his hands once.

“Give you… what are you talking about?”

I pulled out my phone and slammed it into his chest. The image of the results stared back at him for a couple seconds. As he muttered something under his breath.

“You have an STD? Why are you going around fucking people without telling them about your history?

The realization hit him. “No wayyyy. No way you're saying I gave you that.”

“I refuse to stand here and listen to this bullshit, Devin.” Adrian started.

Even now, he couldn't help but be annoyingly sarcastic. He spat curses, after slur, after profanity at me.

When his mouth dried from all the cussing. He took a sip of the champagne he had just stolen and picked up where he left off.

I stiffened. “I’m serious, Adrian. Don’t play games.”

“I got what you’re talking about. But damn, Devin, do you go around accusing people willy nilly? If anything, maybe you gave me something.”

My fists curled. “That’s rich, coming from you and your boy toy.”

Adrian’s eyes narrowed, his grin widening into something wicked as he tilted his head slowly.

“Oh hoh hoh,” he drawled. “Don’t you dare.”