Chapter 4-The Same Apartment

I knocked twice the following evening, glancing around anxiously. I had lied to Silas and told him I was staying at my parents’ house. The apartment sat in a remote area where almost no one passed by. I had taken a cab so I wouldn’t leave any traces. Honestly, I still wasn’t sure what I had come here to do, but I was here anyway.

The door opened. Tristan stood there as if he had been expecting me. He wore loose sweater pants and a simple vest. My eyes dropped for a second to the clear shape of his body before I forced them back up. A strange mix of discomfort and something sharper passed through me.

“You’re welcome,” he said, holding the door open.

“Thank you.” I stepped inside slowly.

“You can have a seat.”

I sat down, still feeling out of place. The house was large and quiet. I didn’t know what to say. When he handed me a glass of wine I took it, sipped once, and set it on the table.

“Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

“No,” I answered quickly.

“Alright. Do you mind if I show you around?” He seemed to be looking for something to fill the silence. I followed him upstairs. The house was spacious and well-kept.

“Nobody really knows about this place,” he said as we walked. “I rarely come here, and I don’t bring people here. As far as I know, Nova hasn’t set foot in this apartment in years, so you don’t have to worry about anyone showing up.”

I looked down, my fingers tightening around each other.

He stopped in the doorway of the bedroom and turned to face me. “Mrs. Valarie… you can still walk away,” he said quietly. “I can see the discomfort and the distance in you. We don’t have to do this.”

He was right. Part of me still wanted to leave. But then the images of the park, the necklace, Nova sitting in my chair, and their hands under the table rushed back all at once.

“No,” I said, cutting him off.

Before I could second-guess myself, I stepped forward and kissed him. There was no rhythm at first, just the sudden press of my mouth against his. Then I pulled back, breathing hard.

“I don’t want to leave,” I said, trying to steady my voice.

His eyes searched mine. “Are you sure? Because once we start, there’s no turning back.”

I nodded.

That was all he needed. He closed the small space between us, one hand settling firmly on my waist. I flinched at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. He lowered his head and kissed me properly this time—deeper, surer. At first it felt strange. Then the skill in it wiped every other thought from my mind. The mental pictures of Silas and Nova kissing disappeared as if someone had erased them.

My arms rose uncertainly and wrapped around his neck. His hands stayed on my waist as he guided me backward through the doorway until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I sank down. He followed, bracing himself above me, and pulled the vest over his head in one motion. The hard lines of his stomach and chest came into view. My thighs tightened instinctively.

He came back down and kissed me again, rougher now, while his fingers worked open the buttons of my shirt. I helped, pushing my pants down and kicking them away. When his palm covered my breast I let out a low sound I barely recognized. I couldn’t remember the last time Silas had touched me like this , like he actually wanted to.

He circled the sensitive skin with his thumb, then lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth. The wet heat of it made my back arch. My fingers drove into his hair, holding on as if I might float away. At the same time his other hand slid between my legs and found me already wet. He rubbed slow, firm circles over my clit while his mouth kept working my breasts. The dual sensation tore a broken moan from my throat. I bit my lip hard, trying to stay quiet, but it was useless.

When he finally pulled back, I was trembling. He pushed his pants down. His cock sprang free—thicker and longer than what I was used to. For a split second I understood why Nova had risked everything. Then he was guiding himself to my entrance.

“Is this okay?” he asked, voice low and a little strained.

I nodded again.

He pushed inside in one slow, steady stroke. The stretch burned in the best way. I gasped, fingers twisting in the sheets. He held still for a second, letting me adjust, then began to move—short thrusts at first, then longer, deeper ones that built a relentless rhythm. Every stroke dragged against places that had been ignored for years. Goosebumps raced across my skin. I could already feel something coiling tight low in my belly.

“You can make noise,” he said, breath uneven. “No one will hear you.”

I hadn’t realized I was still trying to muffle myself. The next moan left me freely. He groaned in answer and snapped his hips harder. The bed creaked. My legs wrapped around him of their own accord.

Suddenly he pulled out. Before I could protest he sat back against the headboard and guided me onto his lap. I sank down onto him, taking every inch, and the new angle made my vision spark. His hands gripped my hips, helping me find a rhythm. I rode him with growing desperation, chasing the pressure that was building too fast. His thrusts met me from below, sharp and deep.

The coil inside me snapped.

My thighs locked, my back arched, and a helpless cry tore out of me as the orgasm crashed through every nerve. It was so strong it bordered on painful—waves of release that left me shaking and gasping. For the first time in years the deep, hollow ache was gone, replaced by a heavy, liquid satisfaction.

I collapsed forward against his chest, still pulsing around him. He finished with a rough groan a few seconds later, arms banded tightly around my back.

For a long moment neither of us moved. My body felt loose and sated in a way I had forgotten was possible. At the same time guilt crept in, cold and sharp. I had just done the very thing I hated them for… and part of me already wanted to do it again.

Tristan’s breathing was still heavy when the tablet on the nightstand suddenly lit up and chimed. He reached for it with a frown. “Who could be at the gate?”

I used the distraction to climb off him, grabbing the nearest towel and tossing another in his direction. He caught it absently, eyes fixed on the screen. Then he let out a short, disbelieving sound.

“What is it?” I asked, clutching the towel around myself.

He turned the tablet toward me. The camera feed showed two familiar figures standing outside the gate. Nova. And beside her, Silas. They were punching different codes into the keypad, growing increasingly frustrated when each one failed.

My entire body went still.

Tristan stared at the screen, his brows drawing together in disbelief. “Wait…” He looked from the screen to me, then back again. “All this time…” His voice dropped. “This is the apartment they’ve been using?”

My stomach dropped.

We had just shared the same bed where Silas and Nova had been having their affair.