006 - The Hasty Exit

SCARLETT

The phone's shrill ring sliced through the quiet like a knife.

I shot upright, heart slamming so hard it hurt. The room was dim, golden afternoon light slanting low through the blinds. For one dizzy second I forgot where I was.

Then I saw him.

Ryder lay on his side, facing away from me, breathing slow and deep. The sheet had slipped to his waist.

His back rose and fell steadily. One arm tucked under the pillow. He looked peaceful. Safe.

I felt anything but.

Panic flooded me—cold, sharp, immediate. I scrambled out of bed, legs tangling in the sheets.

My bare feet hit the cool floor. I grabbed the phone before it could ring again. Ethan's name glared on the screen.

I darted into the hallway, pulling the bedroom door almost closed so my voice wouldn't carry.

I answered on the fifth ring, pressing the phone to my ear like it might burn me.

"Where are you?" Ethan's voice came out low and furious, barely controlled.

"I've called six fucking times Scarlett. We need to be at my parents' house in less than two hours. You were supposed to be ready an hour ago."

I glanced at the clock on the wall.

Five o'clock.

My stomach plummeted.

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered. "I fell asleep. I lost track of time."

"Fell asleep?" He laughed once—short, ugly. "With him? That guy from the party? Don't insult me, Scarlett. I know exactly what you've been doing all afternoon."

My free hand pressed against the wall to keep me upright. My knees felt liquid.

"I'm coming home right now," I said. "I'll be ready."

"You better be. And fix yourself up. My mother will notice if you show up looking like you've been rolling around in someone else's bed all day. Don't embarrass me tonight."

He hung up without another word.

I stood there in the hallway, phone still clutched to my ear, breathing too fast. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a band around it and pulled.

Behind me the bedroom door opened quietly.

Ryder leaned against the frame, sheet knotted low on his hips. Hair messy. Eyes sleepy but sharp. He studied me for a second—really looked—and something soft flickered across his face.

"Has your husband told you to come back?" he asked gently.

The question hit like a slap.

I couldn't meet his eyes. Couldn't face the kindness there after what we'd just shared. After I'd let him see parts of me Ethan had never bothered to notice.

I bent down fast, scooping my clothes from the floor. Jeans. Sweater. Bra. Panties. I dressed with frantic, jerky movements, back turned to him.

"How much should I pay?" The words came out flat. Automatic. Like I'd rehearsed them.

He went completely still.

I pulled two hundred dollars from my wallet—crumpled twenties and a fifty. I held them out without looking at him.

"Is this enough?" My voice cracked on the last word. "I have to go. Call me if it's not."

Silence stretched so long it hurt.

I risked one glance.

Ryder hadn't moved.

I set the money on the dresser with shaking fingers.

"Thank you for your time," I whispered.

The words tasted like ash.

I turned and walked out before he could speak.

The hallway blurred. The elevator ride down felt endless. I kept my head down in the lobby, avoiding the doorman's eyes.

Outside I flagged a cab instead of waiting for the car service. I couldn't risk Ethan tracking me.

The whole ride home my mind replayed every second in Ryder's apartment.

His hands—slow, careful, learning me like I mattered.

His mouth—patient, reverent, kissing places Ethan had ignored for years.

The way he'd whispered my name against my skin like it was something sacred.

The way I'd felt safe. Wanted.

It had been a mistake.

It had to be.

But why did it feel like the first honest thing I'd done in five years?

When I pushed open the front door, Ethan was waiting.

He stood in the living room, arms crossed, face tight and sour. Whiskey glass in one hand. Eyes narrowed to slits.

"Where the hell have you been, wife?" he asked quietly. Too quietly.

I didn't answer.

I walked past him toward the bedroom.

He followed.

"You smell like him," he said behind me. "Cheap cologne. Sex. Sweat. You didn't even shower, did you?"

I shut the bathroom door. Locked it.

Leaned against the sink and stared at my reflection.

Lips swollen. Cheeks flushed. Eyes too bright. Hair tangled in a way it hadn't been in years.

I turned on the faucet. Splashed cold water on my face until it hurt.

It didn't wash away the memory.

Every time I closed my eyes I felt Ryder's fingers tracing my spine. Heard his low groan when I moved against him. Felt the way he'd held me afterward—not possessive, not demanding—just there. Steady.

A mistake.

But God—it had felt like success.

Like breathing after being underwater too long.

I dried my face. Concealed the bruise.

Changed into the navy dress Ethan's mother always approved of—modest neckline, knee-length, expensive. The perfect daughter-in-law costume.

When I stepped out, Ethan was by the door, keys in hand.

"Let's go," he said.

"And remember—no talking about the open marriage. My parents don't need to know our private business."

I nodded.

We got into the car.

The drive to the estate was tense. Streetlights flickered past. Ethan gripped the wheel too hard.

After ten minutes of silence he spoke.

"They'll ask about kids again. They always do. Let me handle it. Don't say a word. Just smile. Nod. Be the wife they expect."

I stared out the window.

My mind wasn't on his parents.

It was on Ryder's bed.

The way he'd kissed the spot Ethan had bruised.

The way he'd asked if I was okay—and actually waited for my answer.

The way I'd felt safe enough to fall asleep in his arms.

Ethan glanced at me. "You listening?"

"Yes."

"Good. Because if you slip up tonight—if you give them any reason to think something's wrong—your mother pays the price. Understand?"

I nodded again.

Inside my chest, something shifted.

Not broke.

Shifted.

I wasn't going to cry anymore.

I wasn't going to beg.

I wasn't going to shrink.

I'd tasted something different this afternoon.

And once you taste real want—real care—even for a few stolen hours, you can't un-taste it.

We pulled up to the gates.

Lights glowed from every window. Perfect lawn. Perfect house. Perfect family waiting to ask why we still hadn't given them grandchildren.

Ethan parked.

Turned to me.

"Smile," he said.

I forced one.

It felt like a lie.

But the memory of Ryder's touch lingered under my skin.