CHAPTER 3: Wild Hickeys

Monica slowly opened her eyes, squinting at the bright room. Her head pounded. She sat up quickly and yanked the sheets off—relief hit when she saw her clothes were still on.

This wasn’t her room.

She looked around, confused. Nothing was familiar. Her chest tightened.

Where was she?

The last thing she remembered was drowning in alcohol after finding out her husband cheated on her—with her baby sister.

Did she go home with a stranger?

She grabbed her heels from the floor and tiptoed to the door. Peeking out, she saw a hallway—clean, fancy, and quiet. Whoever lived here had expensive taste.

She slipped back into the room, searching for her phone. It was nowhere to be found. Her chest tightened. Had she left it at the bar?

Grabbing her bag and shoes, she made her way downstairs. Halfway down, she froze.

A soft whistle floated from the kitchen. A man’s voice.

She followed the sound and peeked around the corner.

A shirtless man stood at the stove, flipping pancakes. He was calm, whistling like it was just another morning.

She didn’t know who he was—or what she’d gotten herself into. But as she stared at the bare back, with just the apron string tied behind his neck, she couldn’t help but think of those steamy scenes in K-dramas.

Her eyes wandered down without permission.

This man looked fit. Like he lived in the gym.

His skin was tanned, back toned and sculpted. Broad shoulders, strong arms, messy blond hair, and a teasing dip at his lower back.

He turned suddenly, like he could feel her stare.

She froze, holding her breath.

Part of her wanted to see his face.

Storm-gray eyes locked with hers. A slow smirk curled on his lips.

“Good morning, Monica,” he said, dropping the pan as he shot her a flirty smile.

Her heart skipped. She stumbled back, eyes wide, throat tight.

“Spencer?” she choked out.

“Hello, sister-in-law,” he murmured, eyes lighting up.

“I’m happy you still remember me.”

“No. No, no—what happened? Did we—God, tell me we didn’t do anything!” she panicked. “I wouldn’t have followed you. Not you!”

"Hey.."

She closed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. “Anybody but you. It can’t be you.”

Spencer stepped away from the stove, his face cold. “You got drunk and passed out outside the bar. I brought you here so you wouldn’t freeze on the sidewalk. Don’t act like I took advantage of you.”

Monica opened her eyes and stared at him, still shaken. “No one saw us together… right?”

Spencer scoffed, clearly annoyed. “Wow. You really hate being seen with me that much.”

That shut her up. She stepped back. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, I know you did,” he said with a small, sharp smile. “Of course I’m Spencer McKenzie. The family’s shame. Dad’s little accident. Half-brother to your perfect husband. The one blamed for the fire that killed your grandfather-in-law. The guy no one talks about at dinner. Trust me—I get it.”

Monica shook her head. “I didn’t mean—”

“I’m not judging. Honestly, I’m used to it.”

His icy look made her stomach twist. “We didn’t… do anything… right?”

His eyes flicked to her neck. He hesitated. “Well…”

Her heart dropped. She spun to the mirror near the dining table.

Her breath caught.

Hickeys—dark, messy, wild—scattered across her neck like a signature.

She turned back, eyes wide with rage, and stormed toward him. “You bastard!” she shouted, slapping him hard. “You said nothing happened!”

He didn’t flinch. Just looked at her with that same calm, smug face.

“Touch you?” he said slowly, a small smile crept on his lips . “You threw yourself at me. Kissed me. Gave me a fucking hard-on and I had to jerk off. I didn’t take it further—even when I was dying to. You should be thanking me.”

He stepped toward her with unhurried ease, like a predator who knew the prey had nowhere to run. She moved back until her back met the cold wall.

He stopped just in front of her and placed his hand above her head.

“I showed restraint, Monica,” he murmured, “when I should’ve fucked you till you begged for more. Don’t I get some credit?”

Her breath hitched. “Spencer… you’re too close. And don’t say stuff like that to me.”

He leaned in, fingers ghosting up her throat to the hickey just below her jawline. She flinched—not away, but into the contact. Her lashes fluttered.

“Stuff like what?” he asked against her skin. “Fuck you?” His breath was warm. “Liam does it better, huh?”

“Don’t,” she whispered.

His hand slid to her waist, slow and deliberate. “Your husband cheated on you with your sister. What’s a better revenge than moaning under the one man the Walters pretend doesn’t exist?”

She swallowed hard. Her body trembled—betraying her. Her pulse drummed in her ears. Her thighs clenched.

Why was she feeling this way? So out of breath. So overwhelmed. She has never been turned on like this.

“I could make you feel so good,” he whispered, letting his thumb trail the line where her top ended. “You look sex-starved.”

“I would never sink that low,” she breathed, but her voice betrayed her.

He tilted his head. “Then why are you shaking?”

She blinked fast. Her hands twitched at her sides.

“You’re burning up, Monica,” he said darkly, “and I haven’t even touched you properly yet, I could take you to cloud nine.” he touched her hair. "I could make you feel so good, the way could Liam could never."

Her heart slammed in her chest. She hated the way her body leaned closer before she caught herself.

She shoved him, breath shaky. “Where’s my phone?”

She needed space. Air. This wasn't her.

He didn’t answer. His expression dimmed. “We need to talk.”

She pulled away as he reached for her. "We have nothing to talk about."Still a bit flushed.

“I didn’t start that fire,” he said suddenly. “I didn’t kill my grandfather.”

She froze for a moment—but only a moment.

Then she spotted her phone charging on a side table. She snatched it and moved for the door.

“Monica, wait,” he called.

She turned, voice brittle. “If you’re innocent, tell the police. I don’t want any part in this.”

Then she left.

She hailed a taxi and headed home, dread curling in her stomach. She didn’t want to face Liam. Or her sister. But she had to—eventually.

"I hope I don't run into Spencer again."She sighed.

Thirty minutes later, she walked into the mansion

Memories crashed into her. She stepped into the living room—then stopped dead.

Her blood ran cold.

Spencer was there.How did he get changed and arrived so fast?

She gasped. “What the hell, Spencer? What are you doing here?”

He stood slowly, that devilish smile playing on his lips.

“We sinned,” he said. “I came to ask for mercy, Monica.”

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