Chapter 1

~Sephora’s POV

It was the 29th of August and my most fertile day according to my period tracker app. I knew that Dominic had probably already checked to confirm because he had my app logged in on his phone as well. I had not seen him the whole day today, and thought he must have been working late again. I sighed thinking he was not going to make it this time.

I was in heat. I yearned for his touch really badly because I always wanted him every time I was ovulating. I bit my inner cheeks as I waited patiently wearing my best red nightie. I checked the time on my phone and it was 11:20pm, maybe he wasn’t coming home today afterall and I would have to cry myself to sleep again.

Suddenly, I heard the butler murmur a greeting and knew he was home. I immediately pretended to be asleep as I smiled lightly.

The doornob turned slightly and I could feel his presence in the room. He tossed his douvet aside lightly and I could tell when his eyes met my body. He gulped slightly and the corners of my lips lifted upward. I first felt him trace his fingers from my neck down to my spine and I shivered slowly… he kissed my neck. And then my back and then slowly he took off the nightie as I steered in bed. Before I could utter a word, he pressed his lips down into mine and kissed me foriously, I liked it. I kissed him back as our lips moved like the rhythm of the wind.

Soon his fingers were inside me as I moaned in sweet pain. I was already begging for him to enter fully inside me and he did. The pain was sharp and short but bliss enveloped me shortly after. I trembled beneath him, every nerve alive, my body responding instinctively even as my heart clenched with hope. Maybe tonight he wants me the way I want him.

He pressed closer, his warmth seeping into me, his breath uneven against my skin. I could feel the tension in him, I reached back, my fingers brushing his arm, encouraging him, silently begging him not to pull away this time.

A low sound escaped him soft, almost reverent and for a moment I believed it was my name he would say.

Instead, he murmured, breathless and intimate,

“Chelsea…”

The world stopped.

My body froze beneath him, the heat draining away in an instant.

“What did you just say?” My voice shook.

He stiffened, fear flickering across his face before hardening into irritation. “What are you talking about?”

“You said a name,” I whispered. “You said Chelsea.”

“You’re overthinking again,” he muttered.

“I am not,” I whispered. My chest felt tight. “You said Chelsea.”

He ran a hand through his hair and got off the bed.

The distance between us suddenly felt too wide for comfort.

“For God’s sake, Sephora,” he said sharply. “Can you not ruin one night?”

Ruin?

My fingers tightened around the sheets.

“Who is Chelsea?” I asked squarely.

He went silent, too silent for comfort.

Then he sighed dryly. “She works for me.”

My heart dropped.

“She works for you?” I repeated.

“My new executive assistant,” he said. “I hired her six months ago.”

Six months.

Six months ago.

That was around the time he stopped coming home early. Around the time he stopped eating the food I cooked. Around the time he stopped touching me unless my period app said I was fertile.

“Chelsea” I muttered again. Why did that name ring a bell?

I gasped.

It was her!

“I helped her,” I said slowly.

He didn’t respond.

I sat up in the bed. “Dominic… is she the same girl who begged outside the jewelry store a year ago? The one I had helped to secure a place in your company?”

His jaw tightened.

“Yes.”

The word felt like a slap.

I remembered that day clearly. She had looked desperate. Said she had no family. No support. I had felt sorry for her. I had begged Dominic to at least give her a junior position.

“She’s hardworking,” I had told him back then.

Now the room felt like it was closing in on me.

“Why would you call her name?” I asked again, softer this time.

He turned away from me.

“I didn’t,” he said.

“You did.”

He faced me again, eyes sharp. “Even if I did, so what?”

That hurt more than denial.

“So what?” My voice trembled.

He sighed deeply and walked to the window. He stood there for a long moment before speaking.

“You know, the board has been asking questions,” he said.

“What questions?”

“About succession.”

I blinked.

“They want to know who takes over after me. My mother keeps bringing it up and you know that. Investors too. Four years, Sephora.”

There it was.

Four years.

“I know,” I whispered.

“Do you?” he asked quietly. Not yelling. Just tired. “Do you know what it feels like to sit in a meeting full of old men asking about your heir?”

My throat burned.

“I’m trying,” I said. “You think I’m not trying?”

“I know you are,” he replied quickly. Too quickly. Then he looked away again.

That was the first crack.

He knew.

But knowing did not stop him from resenting me.

“I can’t keep looking weak,” he continued. “My mother thinks something is wrong with you. The board thinks I’m distracted. They say a man without a son cannot focus properly.”

“And what do you think?” I asked.

Silence again.

He didn’t answer.

That was answer enough.

I swallowed hard. “So now you call your assistant’s name in our bed?”

His shoulders stiffened.

“It was a mistake.”

“Why would her name even be in your head?”

He turned around sharply. “Because she gets things done!” he snapped. “She handles pressure. She understands what’s at stake. She doesn’t—”

He stopped himself.

I stood up slowly.

“She doesn’t what?” The tears flowing down my cheeks like a silent stream.

He looked at me.

“She doesn’t make me feel like I’m failing.”

The words settled between us like smoke.

I felt them sink into my skin.

“I make you feel like you’re failing?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer directly.

“You wouldn’t understand the pressure,” he said instead.

A bitter laugh escaped me. “I left my career for you. I cut off my family for you. I stay home so I can be ready every month for you. And I don’t understand pressure?”

His eyes softened for just a second.

Just a second.

Then the wall went back up.

“I’m tired,” he said flatly. “Let’s not do this tonight.”

He grabbed his robe and walked toward the door.

“Dominic,” I called.

He paused but did not turn.

“Did you sleep with her?”

The question hung in the air.

He did not answer.

Then the door closed. And the silent spoke more words than a confession.

I didn’t sleep that night.

I stared at the ceiling until morning, replaying every small change over the last few months.

The late nights.

The distance.

The mechanical way he touched me only during my fertile days.

The way he checked my period app more than he checked on me.

By afternoon, my chest felt hollow. The house keeper had come to check on me a few times and even brought me food but none of that interested me right now.

By evening, he still hadn’t come home. Then at exactly 7:45 p.m., I heard a car pull into the driveway.

Voices followed.

A female voice.

My heart began to pound. Was his mother back to scorn me about my childlessness?

The front door opened.

I stepped out of the bedroom slowly and walked toward the stairs.

Dominic stood in the living room.

And beside him…

Chelsea.

Her hand rested protectively over her stomach.

Her stomach that was slightly round.

My breath caught.

She looked at me with wide, pretending eyes.

“Madam,” she said smiling softly.

I looked at Dominic.

He didn’t look guilty yet resolved.

“We need to talk,” he said.

And in that moment, before he even opened his mouth again, I knew.

Everything was about to end.