Chapter Three

The road back to the city should have taken about an hour. Twenty minutes after we left the villa, the sky opened.

Rain hammered the windshield so hard I could barely see the road ahead. Callan slowed the car, his attention fixed on the flooding stretch of highway in front of us.

"This wasn't in the forecast," he muttered.

Water was already pooling across the lanes, and somewhere in the distance I heard something crack, maybe a tree, I couldn't tell over the sound of the storm slamming against the windows. The car lurched as the tires lost grip for a second.

"There's a hotel about half a mile up ," Callan said, checking the location with his phone, pulling over as far as the flooding allowed. "We won't make it in the car. Road's already blocked ahead."

"We'll walk its better than sitting here." He was already unbuckling. "Come on."

The wind nearly tore the door out of my hand the moment I opened it. Rain hit me sideways, soaking through my clothes in seconds but it couldn't wash away the pain in my heart. Callan grabbed my hand without asking and pulled me forward through water already climbing past my ankles, the world narrowed down to wind and his grip, the only steady thing in the chaos.

By the time the hotel's lights appeared, I was shaking so hard my teeth had started chattering.

"One room left," the woman at the desk said apologetically. "A suite. Storm's brought half the road in early."

"We'll take it," Callan said, without hesitating.

The suite had one bed, a small kitchenette against the far wall, a narrow window rattling in the wind. I stood dripping onto the floor, arms wrapped around myself.

"Bath first. I'll get food and something dry for you to wear."

I only nodded before watching him walk away.

The hot water helped, but even after long minutes under it my body wouldn't stop trembling. When I stepped out, a set of clothes waited on the counter, plain, too big, but dry, and I pulled them on gratefully.

Callan returned a few minutes later with a tray of soup still steaming, he was wearing dry clothes too. I managed a few spoonfuls before my stomach turned violently, and I ran to the bathroom.

When I came back out, pale and unsteady, my hair damp and sticking to my neck. He was waiting, his expression tightening the moment he saw me.

"You look bad." He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. "You're burning up."

Immediately his cold hand touched my hot body I felt my body finch

He guided me to sit, then found a towel and handed it to me to dry my hair but I was too weak so he did it himself.

Then the thought hit me: what would someone think seeing you alone in a room with your cheating husband's uncle. But I couldn't care less.

"I'll be back," he said after he was done. "Don't move."

He returned with medicine after a few minutes, handed me the pills and a glass of water, and waited until I'd taken them.

"Go to sleep," he said afterward.

I lay down, and the last thing I remembered before the fever pulled me under was him pulling a blanket over me and settling into the chair across the room.

I woke sometime near midnight, the fever finally loosening its grip, and became aware of two things. The first was hunger. The second was that his eyes were already open, and he was watching me.

I didn't know what to make of the way he looked at me in that moment, something unreadable, as if he could see my soul.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"A little cold." I hesitated. "Hungry. But it can wait until morning."

"It shouldn't be because of the medication in you." He was already standing. "I'll get you something."

I noticed it then, how he'd done all of this without a single complaint, without once making me feel like a burden he was managing. It unsettled me more than the fever had.

Everyone always said Callan Whitefield was a cold blooded devil but the man in front of me taking care of me didn't seem like that, he might look expressionless but still cared.

He'd barely reached the door when the room went dark, the storm outside finally taking the power with it. Thunder rolled hard enough to rattle the window, and my chest tightened before I could stop it. I'd been afraid of storms since I was a child, worse when I was alone, and something in me refused to be left in this room by myself with the dark pressing in and the thunder circling overhead.

I reached for my phone and switched on the flashlight, my hand not quite steady.

"I'll come with you," I said. "I can hold the light."

I know I should avoid him, stay away from him and maintain distance but, staying alone here was a no.

If he noticed the tremor in my voice, he didn't mention it. "All right, he replied."

The kitchenette was small, lit only by the thin beam I held. I watched him move through it anyway, finding what he needed to make noodles . My heart kept pounding softly,the darkness around us making me aware of him.

At one point he reached past me for something on the counter, close enough that I stepped back instinctively, my shoulder catching the edge of a cabinet. My foot slid on something wet on the floor and I felt myself tipping .

His arm caught me at the waist before I hit anything, I found my footing again. My breath had quickened without my permission, my heart pounding hard enough that I was certain he could hear it in the dark. I stepped back the second I could, quickly, saying nothing about it.

I'm usually sensitive when it's dark. I thought, this must be it.

I tried as much as possible to keep the space between us as I watched him make the noodles.

Throughout that moment I tried hard not to show how tense I was, my mind pushed back to Corin wondering what he was doing with Bianca now, what his reaction would be finding out that his wife was alone with his Uncle right now in one room.

Few minutes later he served the noodles, lucky me getting to eat noodles made by Almighty Callan Whitefield.

Then I slept off thinking about what to do about Corin, one thought was easy and possible something someone like me would do. But the second thought was stupid, but perfect for revenge, I tried so hard to push it from my mind.

By morning the storm had passed. We sat across from each other eating breakfast.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"Divorce him," I said.

"Hmm."

I looked up. "That's it?"

"What else would you want me to say?"

"I don't know." I set my cup down. "Anything."

"You don't need my permission to leave him."

"That's not what I meant." My voice caught, frustration rising faster than I expected. They can't get to walk away from this clean. They can't get to keep their reputation with just a divorcee and Corin would tell everyone our marriage just didn't work out, and move on with his play"

Callan watched me for a long moment silent. "So what do you actually want?"

I kept quiet for a few seconds before deciding to move with my second thought

"I want him to feel it," I said finally. "I want them to understand what it's like to watch someone you trusted cheat , I want them to understand the betrayal." Something shifted behind his eyes, though his face gave little away. "And how do you plan to make that happen?"

I gathered my courage before saying

"Why don't we return the betrayal they gave us, Join them in their game."

Let's cheat back on them.

His expression hardened.

"No." He said it plainly, without a second thought. "This isn't a small thing, it's not something someone like you could do, you don't know what you're asking."

"I know what I'm asking."

I know it was stupid of me to say this to my Husband's uncle but I cared less right now, I've thought everything through

"You're hurting. That's not the same as knowing what you want."

I held his gaze. "I've thought about this all night, giving Corin a divorcee is letting him easy.

He studied me for a long moment, something working behind his composure that I couldn't name. "Eat up. I'll drop you off at home to calm down," he said, standing.I stood up immediately. "I know what I'm doing, Callan."He stopped on his track and faced me. He simply walked closer, and I found myself stepping back without deciding to, until the wall was there behind me and there was nowhere left to go. My heart started pounding softly as I felt him so close, the way he stared into my eyes something I couldn't explain."Alyssa, you need to think about this," he said calmly, as if trying to control some emotion in himself.

"I know what I'm doing. Corin is a bastard who deserves to experience something worse than what he did to me. They both do, you and I know that."

I could feel his breath fanning across my face as he looked at me, he made to say something, but the words never came. For a second neither of us moved, the space between us gone narrow and charged, his eyes dropping once, briefly, to my mouth before finding mine again.I could see it then, the doubt he wasn't saying out loud, That I was only hurting, not thinking. That I didn't know my own mind. I needed him to see that I did, that this wasn't grief talking, and there was only one way to prove it that would leave no room for argument. I stood on my toe and kissed him.

He went still beneath it, and for one unbearable second I thought he might pull away entirely. Then his hand came up, resting against my hair, not opening up to the kiss. He closed his eyes as if fighting against the urge to kiss me back.I pulled away for a second and looked into his eyes. I'm not a kid Callan. I know what I'm doing, I'm very sure about this. I said kissing him again. This time around he opened up sucking into my whole lips not giving me a chance as if telling me there's no going back.