003

~Sandra’s pov~

I sat there and said nothing, because there was nothing to say to that.

Ryan knew! Somehow, he knew what my husband was doing tonight, and worse than that, he knew far more, and for far longer than I had.

Eight months. He had known for eight months, and he had sat across from me at Liam's birthday dinner three months ago and ate my food but never said a single word. He had just watched me act like a foolish dumb housewife who was stupidly fawning over a lying, cheating husband that didn’t give a shit about her!

He must have laughed at how stupid and dumb I was. God! I’d never felt so dumb and humiliated in my life!

"Does anyone else—does anyone else know about this?" I asked, wondering how many other people had been laughing behind my back.

But Ryan shook his head. "Not that I know of," he said.

That didn’t make me feel any better.

I quickly picked up my bag and stood up, because the alternative was bursting into tears in front of Ryan, and I would rather walk into traffic than let that happen.

"Thank you for the information," I said, with all the dignity I could manage. "Goodnight."

Before I could leave, his hand shot out to block me.

"You're furious," he said, looking at me with a dangerous attention. "That's reasonable. But you cant go home to a man who's been fucking someone else for the better part of a year and I'm not sure what your plan is from here, but I'd like to offer you a better one."

I froze and looked at him in confusion, then I sighed and shook my head.

"I don't want anything from you."

"I know," he said, and something in his voice shifted just slightly, dropped half a register. "But let's be honest about what you came here for tonight. You didn't just want sex. You wanted proof. Proof that the problem with your husband wasn't you. Proof that you're not the sexless, boring wife he's been making you feel like for the last two years."

My mouth turned bitter and he let that sit there between us for a second. "I can give you that proof. Better than your escort could have." He paused. "And I guarantee I know how to make you feel that pleasure in every possible way."

Then he looked me up and down. “Have you ever even had an orgasm before?” He asked genuinely and the bluntness of it was so extreme it knocked the breath out of me.

He held my gaze and didn't look even slightly apologetic about it, and I felt heat crawl up my throat that I was absolutely not going to let him see.

I couldn’t believe he had just said that to me.. but then again, Ryan Hale was very famous for the amount of models and female celebrities that were heard screaming in pleasure from his bed.

And now, he wanted me to join that list of women. Never!

"You're disgusting," I told him.

"Probably," he agreed, cheerfully.

"I would never — I would not touch you if you were the last man in this city."

"Sure, sweetheart." he said, with that infuriating tone.

I stood up again, sneered at him in disgust, and I stormed toward the exit without looking back, and I had almost made it —when his voice came across the room.

"Sister in law, You forgot your wedding ring on the bar."

I stopped.

"You want me to send it to Liam? Or do you want to keep it as a souvenir, for when he finally dumps you for one of the women he is fucking?"

I froze at that, then turned around slowly. He was leaning against the edge of the booth, the ring sitting in his open palm, with that smile on his face like he had all the time in the world and he had always known I would turn around.

Before I knew what I was doing, I stormed back to him, and my hand connected with his cheek in a very loud slap.

The crack of it cut through the music and Ryan's head turned slightly with the impact, and I stood there breathing hard, my palm stinging, my heart hammering, watching him bring his gaze back to mine with an expression that had changed in a way I couldn't entirely read.

The silence stretched.

"Why," I heard myself say, in a voice that didn't sound like mine, "should I trust you to help me?"

Ryan smiled. And it was a different smile this time… not the mocking one, or amused one. Something beneath it was colder and older and entirely serious.

"Because your husband deserves worse," he said. "And only I can help you give it to him."