Chapter Three Title: The Night I Was Broken. 

Jennifer’s POV.

“You shouldn’t be down here. If Deric comes home—”

“Deric isn’t coming home for hours, Jennifer,” Bradwin interrupted, his voice dropping low.

He closed the distance between us, boxing me in. He placed his hand flat against the wall beside my head, leaning in until I could smell the intoxicating mix of the wine he’d been drinking and his familiar, woodsy cologne. “And even if he did, why would he care? He made it very clear tonight that he’s entirely occupied with his blonde parasite.”

“Bradwin, please,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut to block out his handsome face. “Don’t do this. You shouldn’t even be talking to me. Not after what I did to you and Brymo. Not after that letter.”

Bradwin let out a quiet humorless laugh. That letter,” he murmured. I felt his warm breath feather against my ear as he leaned closer, his lips mere inches from my jaw. “The letter where you told us you never loved us. A very dramatic exit, Jennifer. Almost believable.”

My eyes snapped open. “It was the truth.”

“Liar,” Bradwin breathed.

He moved so fast I didn’t have time to react. His free hand shot out, his long fingers tangling in the severe bun at the back of my head. With a sharp tug, he pulled the pins loose, letting my long hair cascade wildly over my shoulders.

I gasped, my hands flying up to push his chest uselessly.

“You ran because you were scared,” Bradwin stated, eyes blazing with five years of unrelenting obsession. “You ran because you thought you were saving Brymo and I. But you didn’t save us, Jennifer. You just left me bleeding.”

“Let me go,” I choked out, a tear slipping down my cheek.

Bradwin didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned his forehead against mine, the anger in his eyes morphing into a raw, burning hunger that terrified me more than anything else.

“I wanted to hate you,” Bradwin whispered, his thumb slowly wiping the tear from my cheek. “I spent five years trying to hate you. And then I walk into this house, and I see you serving tea to your husband’s mistress.”

“Bradwin, I’m not comp—”

“Deric is a fool,” he cut me off, his voice dropping to a lethal, seductive whisper. “I heard a very interesting rumor in the city tonight, Jennifer. A rumor about the terms of your marriage. Is it true?”

My heartbeat quickened, “What… what are you talking about?”

Bradwin’s smirk returned, undeniably knowing as he leaned in. “I heard you both are in an open marriage,” Bradwin whispered against my lips. “Which means… you’re fair game, Mrs. Kennedy. And this time, I’m not going to let you run.”

“I… I..”

My traitorous body betrayed me. Starved of affection and aching with a desperate, humiliating loneliness, I found myself leaning toward him without realizing it. For one terrifying second, I wanted to close the tiny distance between us, grab the lapels of his open shirt, pull him down, and let the tempest consume me all over again.

Then reality came crashing back.

I wasn’t a toy to be passed from one man to another. I wasn’t a pawn for men to claim simply because my husband treated our vows like a disposable napkin. I was worth more than that, even if I’d almost forgotten it.

I placed both of my hands firmly against Bradwin’s hard chest and shoved him with every ounce of strength I had left. He was so surprised by the sudden violence of my rejection that he actually stumbled a half-step backward, his wine sloshing dangerously near the rim of his glass.

“I am not a game, Bradwin,” I hissed, voice trembling. “And I am certainly not yours to claim just because my husband is an asshole.”

Bradwin quickly regained his composure, the playful amusement in his dark eyes disappearing in an instant. His gaze swept slowly over me from head to toe.

“I never said you were a game, Jennifer,” he said, his voice losing its teasing edge. He took a slow step back, giving me the space I so desperately needed. “I said you were fair game. There’s a difference.” His eyes held mine. “You’ve spent years burying yourself alive in this mausoleum. I’m just letting you know… I brought a shovel.”

I didn’t have a response to that. I couldn’t formulate a single coherent thought while he was standing there looking like a dark, fallen angel in my hallway.

I spun on my heel and practically ran down the corridor. I didn’t stop until I reached my room, slamming the door shut and locking it. I collapsed back against the wood, sliding down until I hit the floor.

That night, after my bath, I didn’t sleep a single wink. Bradwin’s words from the dark hallway “fair game” echoed in my mind relentlessly.

As the early morning hours crept in, the terrified, submissive wife I’d been playing slowly dissolved, leaving behind a cold, hard clarity.

It was 5:00 AM, the only time of day Deric was ever truly quiet, the only time his mind wasn’t entirely consumed by billion-dollar mergers and corporate warfare.

I decided I was going to walk into that master bedroom, sit him down, and firmly tell him that letting the Sterlings stay in this mansion wasn’t a good idea with tangible reasons… gosh.

I pulled my silk robe tightly around my waist and walked barefoot down the long corridor toward the master suite.

But as I approached, ready to knock on the door, a sharp, breathless sound stopped me dead in my tracks, sending an unwanted shiver down my core.

“Ahhhnn… oh God… Deric… you’re driving me insane.”

Vanessa’s high-pitched, ecstatic moan echoed through the thick wood, followed immediately by the loud, rhythmic “thwack” of flesh slapping against flesh. I even heard the headboard banging violently against the wall.

A sickening knot formed in my stomach, but I was entirely paralyzed, completely unable to pull myself away.

“Ouu, mmm, Ahhh… does Jennifer ever fuck you like this, Honey?” Vanessa panted breathlessly. “Does she ever make you feel this good?”

The silence that followed was agonizing, broken only by Deric’s deep, guttural grunts as he kept banging his mistress.

“Don’t talk about her,” Deric growled roughly. “That bitch could never.”

The words hit me hard.

I clamped my hand tightly over my mouth to stifle the raw, humiliating sob clawing its way up my throat.

My entire body physically ached. For months, he’d starved me of affection, of touch, of pure, unfiltered pleasure, while I kept holding onto the pathetic hope that my loyalty would eventually earn his respect. And this was my reward. He was degrading me to his mistress while fucking her hard.