CHAPTER ONE: THE RIFT BETWEEN US

Myla was caught between two hard, warm bodies, and she couldn’t tell where one man ended and the other began. Beck’s low groans filled her ears as she gave him everything he asked for, while Jared held her hips firmly from behind, his voice rough as he whispered praise against her spine. Their hands moved over her like they owned every inch of her, and the heat building inside her climbed higher and higher, until…

Myla jolted awake with a soft gasp, her heart beating fast and her skin damp even with the cool air from the AC.

She blinked rapidly at the ceiling, trying to shake off the last pieces of the dream, but her body was still trembling with the memory of it.

Though it had been a month since the pool incident, she was still dreaming of Beck and Jared.

Three long weeks since she'd watched her husband’s best friends lose themselves in each other while she hid behind the plants like a creep.

"I’m going to take my time with you until you’re begging me for mercy." She heard the words Jared had said to Beck that night echoing in her ears, and a fresh wave of heat rolled through her body.

Her hand slid beneath the sheets before she could stop it, and a soft hiss escaped her lips at the first touch. She caught herself, pulled her hand away, let out a shaky sigh, and pushed the sheets off her body.

What was wrong with her?

Dragging herself out of bed, she crossed the heated wooden floors of her room and stepped into the en-suite bathroom, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. The water was warm as she stepped into the shower. She tilted her head back, turned her face into the spray, and closed her eyes as she tried to wash away the remnants of the dream... the sound of Beck’s groans, the way Jared had gripped her hair, the feeling of being completely and utterly theirs.

Was she really so starved for touch that her body had started imagining her cheating on her husband? With his own freaking best friends?

Her stomach twisted with shame and guilt as she picked up her sponge, poured her shower lotion on it, and started scrubbing her skin thoroughly, like she was trying to scrub away her sins.

Her body and mind ached with want. She wanted to feel wanted again, to be worshiped and held and taken apart the way she used to be.

"It’s been so long since anyone touched me like a woman," she thought bitterly. "Of course I’m starting to lose my mind."

She shook the thought away, shoving it to the back of her mind, where she kept all the other feelings she didn’t want to deal with, the way she had been doing for the past year.

Just as she turned off the shower, she heard the soft hum of motorized wheels echoing from the hallway.

Her heart skipped a beat when the familiar mechanical whir of her husband’s wheelchair sounded closer and closer as it entered her bedroom.

"Are you done, dear?” his deep voice called out from the bedroom. “We need to move as soon as we can. Everyone will be gathering soon, and you know how much I dislike arriving after everyone else.”

Myla froze as a shiver of shame and heat rushed through her. Beck and Jared would be at that meeting.

She cleared her throat. “I’ll be fast, baby,” she called back, her voice coming out higher than she wanted.

She quickly stepped out, wrapped a towel around her body, stepped to the sink, and brushed her teeth.

She thought about Hayden and his recently developed pet peeve about lateness. She knew it wasn’t really about punctuality but about making sure no one pitied the man in the wheelchair. He hated the way people assumed that the man in the wheelchair was struggling and that they needed to wait for him.

And one thing Hayden Oakley hated the most was pity. He didn't accept it from anyone, not even her.

Myla looked at herself in the mirror above the sink, at her flushed cheeks and the stubborn spark in her eyes.

She let out a breath and muttered, "Forget it," under her breath.

She untied the towel, hung it on the drying rack, let her damp hair fall loose over her shoulders the way he liked it, and stepped out into the bedroom without a single thing on, her steps slow and confident and an inviting smile on her lips.

Hayden sat in his chair just a little after the door, dressed in a sharp black suit. His dark hair was combed back neatly from his face, showing off his strong jawline and perfect cheekbones. He was still so breathtakingly handsome. His blue eyes locked on her the moment she walked out.

For one second, she saw something flicker in them, and then it was gone. He gave her a look of indifference, not even letting his gaze drop below her face. “Well, hurry up,” he said simply, then turned the chair around and rolled out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Myla stood there with nothing on as she choked down the sharp sting of insecurity and shame that clogged her throat. She walked over to her vanity, blinking back tears. Was she no longer beautiful to him?

She looked at her reflection in the large mirror, at her full curves, her trim waist, and the soft swell of her hips.

No. She was still the same woman he used to be unable to keep his hands off.

She remembered how Hayden used to lose all his control around her. He used to grab her at any time of the day, lift her onto kitchen counters, onto the bed, onto any surface he could find, and have her right there like he couldn’t breathe without her. Even after two years of marriage, he would still drive home in the middle of the day just to take her back to bed.

But not anymore. Now he wouldn't even look at her with anything more than indifference or, on worse days, irritation.

The accident had taken more than his ability to walk. It had taken him... his warmth... his hunger and his love for her.

She jumped a little when his voice impatiently called out from the hallway. “I’ll be waiting for you in the car.”

She took in a deep breath, shaking away the melancholy, and quickly applied her lotions and some light makeup, then got dressed, slipped on her heels, and grabbed her purse.

Thirty minutes later, she closed the front door behind her and made her way down the wide marble steps. The customized black Lexus SUV waited in the driveway, and the soft purr of the running engine was the only sound in the quiet morning air.

She sighed in relief when she saw Hayden was already seated inside.

He hated when she saw him getting in, even though the car had been customized to have just two passenger seats and a large open space behind for his chair, which he could access with a portable ramp at the back of the car.

Their driver, Steve, opened the back door for her with a warm smile. “You look beautiful this morning, ma’am.”

Myla smiled faintly. “Thank you, Steve."

"Let’s move, Steve,” Hayden called out flatly.

She gave Steve an apologetic smile and climbed in.

Hayden didn’t even glance her way. His eyes and attention stayed glued to the tablet that was in his hands.

The SUV eased out of the driveway.

Myla leaned back in her seat, letting her gaze drift to her husband.

He was still gorgeous, and nothing about the accident had changed that. If anything, the accident had only made him sharper. He had a cold edge now that amplified the quiet power that other men envied.

There had been nights when she had lain alone in her bed with her hand moving beneath the sheets, imagining him in that very chair, commanding her to climb into his lap and take exactly what he gave her.

The man she had married would have done that, but that Hayden didn’t exist anymore.

What was left was a cold, closed-off stranger who wouldn’t even look her in the eyes or spend any time with her.

She turned her head toward the window, blinking against the sting in her eyes.

God knows she had tried to reach him, to pull him out of his self-isolation, and had begged him to open up to her and talk to her.

She honestly didn't know how long she could keep losing parts of herself trying to hold it all together.

Her mind flashed back to that terrible, awful day. The day that broke the body and soul of her husband.