Chapter Three: The Sinner in the White Dress

The diamond band on my finger feels like a shackle, cold and heavy enough to drag me through the floorboards. I stand in the center of the master suite of the Reynolds mansion, surrounded by the scent of expensive lilies and old money.

I am Zola Reynolds now. The wife of a billionaire.

But seeing Ethan here makes everything worse. 

I never told Arthur that I was once a stripper, a life I led out of pure survival to fend for myself and bury my debts. Arthur believes I am just a struggling girl who lost her mother to the same medical bills I spent my nights dancing to pay off.

My stomach twists. Will Ethan tell him? He has been a silent shadow since our introduction yesterday, watching me commit this ultimate fraud with those storm-grey eyes.

The door behind me clicks shut.

"Arthur?" I turn, a practiced, gentle smile on my face. "I was just starting to—"

The smile dies. The blood in my veins turns to slush.

It isn’t Arthur.

Ethan is leaning against the heavy oak door, his arms crossed over a chest that I know far too well. He’s ditched his tuxedo jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned at the throat to reveal the tan skin I bit into only a month ago. He looks at me - not as a son, not as a relative - but as the man who paid for my screams.

"The white is a nice touch," he says, his voice a low, jagged blade. "It almost covers the scent of the club. Almost."

"Ethan, please get out," I whisper, my hands trembling as I clutch the silk of my skirts. "Your father is just down the hall. If he finds you here—"

"If he finds me here, he’ll find me welcoming my new mother to the family." He moves then, a slow, predatory prowl that leaves me no room to breathe. 

"Tell me, Zola. Does he know? Does he know that while he’s planning a honeymoon, I’m still tasting you on my tongue?"

"Stop it." I try to bolt past him, but he catches my arm, his grip a familiar, bruising vise. He spins me around, slamming my back against the wall. The framed photos of the Reynolds ancestors rattle against the plaster.

"You think this ring makes you untouchable?" He leans in, his face inches from mine. I can smell the expensive Scotch and the dark, familiar heat of him. 

"You think you can just play the saint and erase the nights I had you pinned to that desk? The nights I thrust into you so hard you screamed my name until you were hoarse?"

"I did what I had to do!" I hiss, my eyes stinging. "I had debts, Ethan. Arthur helped me. He’s a good man—"

"He was deceived by a pro." Ethan’s hand slides up my throat, his thumb pressing just hard enough against my windpipe to make my pulse jump. "And you’re a parasite. You’re a little bird who found a gilded cage, but you forgot one thing."

He leans down, his lips brushing my ear, his breath hot and terrifying.

"I’m the one who keeps the keys."

He shifts his weight, pinning my lower body with his own. Through the layers of my expensive wedding dress, I feel the hard, unmistakable evidence of his desire. 

It’s a betrayal. My body remembers him. My skin hungers for the very hands that want to break me.

"My father is old, Zola," he murmurs, his hand sliding down to the lace at my waist. "He wants a companion. He wants someone to hold his hand while he falls asleep. But you... you have needs that an old man can’t meet."

He reaches down, his fingers finding the hem of my dress, slowly inching upward, trailing a path of fire along my legs to my thighs. "I’m going to let you play your little game for him. You can be his saint in the light. But the moment the sun goes down, you’re mine to consume."

The sharp slap of his hand against my wet clitoris, hidden beneath the silk, makes me cry out. It’s the same sting from the club, the same mark of ownership.

"Say it," he commands. He shifts my panties aside, his palm meeting my slick skin with a stinging slap that makes my knees weak. 

His eyes are dark with a terrifying, obsessive fire. "Tell me who you belong to, Stepmother."

"I... I belong to Arthur," I sob, even as my body arches into his touch, betraying my words.

Ethan’s smile is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen. "We’ll see how long that lie lasts."

A heavy knock sounds at the door. "Zola? Sweetheart, are you in there?"

It’s Arthur. His voice is muffled by the thick frame of the door, but it sounds like a death knell.

"Zola? Are you alright, dear? The guests are asking for the cake cutting."

My heart is a trapped bird, battering itself against my ribs. Ethan’s hand remains buried in the expensive silk of my skirts, his fingers curled possessively against my core; a hot, branding iron that tethers me to my past while my future waits on the other side of the wood.

Ethan doesn't move. He doesn't look afraid. He looks hungry. He watches me with a cruel, dark amusement, waiting to see if I’ll be the one to break.

"Answer him," Ethan breathes against my neck, his voice so low it’s barely a vibration, yet it cuts through me like a razor.

I swallow the bile rising in my throat, fighting the urge to shatter. I have to find my voice. I have to find the "Saint" Arthur thinks he married.

"I’m… I’m here, Arthur," I call out. My voice cracks, and I have to clear my throat to steady the frantic tremor. "Just… just fixing my veil. It got caught on the lace."

Ethan’s thumb strokes a slow, deliberate circle against my most private heat, right through the damp silk of my panties. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s testing my limits, pushing me to the jagged edge of a scream just to see if I’ll slip.

"Do you need help, my love?" Arthur asks from the other side. I hear the handle jiggle.

My blood turns to ice. The door is locked, but Arthur has the master key to every room in this mansion. If he walks in, he won't just see his son. He’ll see his son’s hand buried under his wife’s wedding dress. 

He’ll see the ruin and the shame written across my face.

"No!" I shout, the word exploding out of me a second too fast. I force a small, fake laugh that feels like glass in my throat. "No, I’ve almost got it. Give me two minutes. I’ll meet you at the top of the stairs."

"Very well. Don't be long. I miss my bride."

I listen to the retreating thud of Arthur’s footsteps, each one representing a second of borrowed time. The moment the sound fades, I shove Ethan with every ounce of strength I possess. He lets me go, but only because he chooses to. He steps back, his hands raised in a mock gesture of surrender, a dark, cruel smirk playing on his lips.

"He misses his bride," Ethan mocks, his voice dripping with venom. "If only he knew his bride was still damp from the spanking I gave her a week ago."

"You’re a monster," I hiss, smoothing my rumpled dress with trembling hands. "He loves you. He raised you. How can you do this to him?"

Ethan’s face shifts. The amusement vanishes instantly, replaced by a cold, glittering rage that makes the air in the room feel thin and lethal. 

He steps back into my personal space, pinning me against the wall with his stare alone.

"I’m doing this because I know exactly what you are, Zola. You’re a high-priced leech. You saw an old man with a soft heart and a massive bank account, and you swooped in to play the martyr."

He reaches out, his fingers catching a loose strand of my hair and tugging it sharply. I wince as he leans in.

"But here is the new rule of the house," he growls. "You want my father’s money to pay your debts and live this luxurious life? You want the Reynolds name? Fine. But you pay the tax to me."

"The tax?" My voice is a ghost of a sound.

"Every night my father goes to sleep early - which is, of course, every night - you come to my room. You’ll do exactly what I say. In exchange, I keep my mouth shut. My father stays happy in his delusion, you live your life of luxury, and I get my satisfaction. It’s a win-win situation."

He walks toward the window, looking out over the sprawling estate that will one day be his by birthright.

"If you miss a single night... if you so much as hesitate... I’ll show him the footage from The Velvet Room. I’ll show him the VIP receipts with my signature on them. I will watch him throw you to the street in the middle of the night. He’s a proud man, Zola. He would punish you for this lie, and his punishment would be far worse than anything you've felt from me."

He turns back to me, his silhouette dark and imposing against the afternoon sun.

"Do we have a deal, Stepmother?"

I look at the diamond band on my finger. I look at the door where my "savior" just stood. I am trapped in a house of glass, and Ethan Reynolds is holding a handful of stones.

"Yes," I whisper, the word tasting like poison on my tongue. "We have a deal."

"Good." Ethan walks toward the door, pausing as he passes me. He leans in, his lips grazing my jaw, his scent overwhelming my senses. 

"Go cut the cake, Sapphire. Smile for the cameras. But don't get too comfortable in that bed. I’m expecting you at midnight. Wear your finest nightwear."

He unlocks the door and vanishes into the hallway, leaving me alone in the suffocating, silent ruins of my wedding day.