Chapter 3

Lydia’s POV

“Lydia! Where the hell are you?" Julian’s voice echoed down the hallway, his heavy footsteps clicking sharply against the marble, drawing closer to the terrace.

My heart violently hammered against my ribs. I tried to pull away, but Zane’s large hand remained wrapped around the nape of my neck, his thumb tracing my jawline with terrifying calmness.

"Let go," I choked out in a panicked whisper. "He’s coming."Zane didn't flinch. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "We still love you, Lydia. We never stopped. Not since years ago."

Before I could even process the heavy words, the three of them vanished into the darkness of the garden like shadows, leaving the terrace empty just as Julian stepped through the French doors.

"There you are," Julian snapped, his eyes scanning the space with deep irritation. "The investors are leaving. Get to the front door right now."

As I turned to follow him, I felt a sharp edge press against my palm. Zane had fiercely slid a sleek, matte-black business card into my hand before disappearing. I tried to drop it onto the terrace floor, whispering a fierce, "Damn it, I don't want this. I never want to see you again."

But Cassian’s shadow seemed to briefly loom from the edge of the stairs, a low growl whispering through the wind. "You'll keep it."

I shoved the card deep into the pocket of my velvet dress, my fingers trembling as I walked back into the house.

At the front foyer, Zane, Kian, and Cassian stood waiting, their expressions perfectly masked under the bright chandelier lights. Julian practically bowed to them, offering a pathetic, sycophantic handshake.

"Thank you again, gentlemen. This contract saves my life," Julian cheered.

"We look forward to a very... thorough partnership, Miller," Kian murmured, before the three of them walked out the heavy oak doors closing behind them.

The moment they were gone, Julian didn't even look at me. He turned on his heel and marched straight up the stairs, completely ignoring my existence.

I stood in the quiet foyer for a long minute, the suffocating weight of the last twenty-four hours crushing my chest.

I turned away from the stairs and walked down the long, carpeted corridor toward the nursery.

I pushed the door open softly. The nightlight cast a warm, gentle glow across the room. There, sleeping soundly under a blue blanket, was our three-year-old son Leo who is turning 4 in a month.

The sight of his innocent, chubby cheeks broke the last of my defenses. Tears instantly spilled over my cheeks, hot and bitter. I slumped against the doorframe, a quiet, agonizing sob tearing through my throat.

I was crying for him. I was crying because his father was a monster who had brought his own lesson teacher into the bed right above this room just yesterday.

I wiped my face aggressively, hardening my heart. I couldn't let my life fall apart. I had to fix this. I had to save my family.

Hours later, the house was dead silent.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror in the guest room, staring at my reflection. I had washed my face and put on a revealing, crimson silk nightgown the sexiest piece of lingerie I owned.

My skin still ached from the fierce touches of the three billionaires last night, a heavy, throbbing guilt eating me alive.

I will make Julian love me, I thought desperately, my hands tightening around the sink basin. I will fuck him so hard tonight that he won't look at another woman. I'll drown the guilt. I'll fix my marriage.

I took a deep breath, walked out of the room, and stepped into the dimly lit hallway. I glided toward our master bedroom, my bare feet making no sound against the hardwood floors. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of yellow light spilling out onto the floor.

I reached out, pushing the door open with a soft smile on my lips. "Julian, I” The words froze in my throat, turning into a choking gasp.

The mattress was groaning violently. Julian’s broad back was glistening with sweat as he ruthlessly pinned a blonde woman against the headboard, his hips slamming into her with a savage, breathless rhythm.

She was screaming his name, her fingers clawing at his shoulders. It wasn't the first time I had caught him. I had found texts, smelled cheap perfume, and seen the traces of his infidelity for years. But now? Yesterday it was the teacher. Tonight it was another random whore.

He had completely turned our matrimonial bed, the sacred space of our marriage, into a public brothel.

Julian glanced over his shoulder, his eyes locking onto my crimson nightgown. He didn't stop his frantic thrusts. He didn't even look surprised.

"Close the door, Lydia," he growled out between heavy breaths, his voice completely devoid of shame. "Go back to the guest room. I'm busy."

Something inside my soul shattered into a million jagged pieces. The naive, hopeful girl who wanted to be loved died right then and there.

I turned and ran. I bolted down the dark hallway, my breath coming in ragged, hysterical gasps as tears blinded my vision.

I threw myself into the guest room, slamming the heavy door shut and locking it with a sharp click. I sank to the floor, my back sliding against the wood, my chest heaving with a dangerous, volatile mix of heartbreak and pure, unadulterated rage.

“I am fucking done”.

I reached blindly for the velvet dress I had discarded on the armchair earlier. My trembling fingers dug deep into the pocket until they clamped around the sleek, matte-black business card.

I pulled it out under the dim moonlight, staring at the bold, gold lettering. One phone number.

I snatched my phone off the nightstand, my hands shaking so violently I nearly dropped it.

I punched in the numbers rapidly, pressing the phone against my ear. It rang once. Twice.

The call connected with a soft beep. The line was completely silent for a second, but I could hear the deep, heavy breathing of the man on the other end.

"Lydia," Zane’s deep, commanding baritone vibrated through the speaker, completely calm, as if he had been waiting by the phone the entire night.

A wild, unhinged laugh escaped my lips, tears streaming down my face as I gripped the phone with a white-knuckled vice.

"I'm coming," I shouted into the receiver, my voice raw, sharp, and dripping with venom. "Come get me! Fucking take me and fuck me like a whore!"

On the other end of the line, a low, dark, and thoroughly satisfied growl rippled through the speaker.

"Let the fucking game begin”, I murmured.