I'm no Fool

Wren

My eyes burned as I left the office to my boyfriend's place. Raphael’s apartment always felt safe and warm. And had this noce manly smell, but tonight the atmosphere felt suffocating. I dropped my keys on the entryway counter, my hands still faintly trembling from the chaotic whirlwind of the day.

The memory of Leander’s hand tangled in my hair and the brutal, humiliating arrogance of his kiss burned on my lips. I scrubbed my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to erase the lingering trace of cedarwood and whiskey, desperate for the familiar, comforting anchor of Raphael’s arms.

"Raphael?" I called out, pushing open the bedroom door.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the pale blue glow of his laptop screen. Raphael sat at his desk, but he wasn't alone. Vivienne stood beside him, leaning over his shoulder, her designer perfume cutting sharply through the air. As I stepped into the doorway, they pulled apart with a calculated, unhurried ease that felt entirely unnatural.

"Wren," Raphael murmured, leaning back in his leather chair with a faint, lazy smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You're home late. Did the great and terrible Voss keep you late grinding the corporate axe again?"

"We had floor evacuations," I said flatly, my gaze shifting between them. "What is she doing here, Raphael? And why were you looking at those ledger sheets?"

Vivienne turned slowly, her lips curling into a smile that was equal parts pity and predatory triumph. She smoothed down the front of her silk blouse, her diamond tennis bracelet catching the dim light. "Don't be so provincial, Wren. Raphael and I were just reviewing some shared portfolio adjustments. After all, someone has to keep track of the real assets in this city, rather than just typing memos for men who treat their assistants like interchangeable office supplies."

A cold knot formed in my stomach. "Shared portfolio? You two barely tolerate each other at charity galas. What business do you have looking at his financial records?"

"Business that concerns our collective future, darling," Vivienne purred, stepping past me toward the door with deliberate slowness. She paused at my shoulder, her voice dropping to a low, mocking whisper. "You really should pay closer attention to what your boyfriend signs away. Ignorance might be bliss, but it’s remarkably expensive in the long run. Good luck keeping up."

She brushed past me, leaving the scent of heavy jasmine in her wake. The front door clicked shut a moment later.

I turned my fierce gaze back to Raphael, my heart pounding against my ribs. "What was that about? What did she mean by your collective future?"

Raphael stood up, walking over with a calm, practiced grace that only made my skin crawl. He reached out to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin with an insincere tenderness. "You're stressed, babe. Vivienne is just being dramatic—you know how her family is obsessed with old money and estate leverage. She was just looking over some advisory notes for a client account. Nothing for you to worry your pretty head about."

"She mentioned shared portfolios, Raphael," I pressed, stepping out of his reach. "And why are you even working with her behind my back? You know how much tension there is between our circles."

His eyes flashed just for a fraction of a second—with a cold, calculating annoyance before he masked it with a soft, dismissive chuckle. "You're letting Leander's office bleed into our home life. I love you, Wren. You know I do. Why would I ever keep secrets from you?"

He pulled me into an embrace, wrapping his arms around me tightly, resting his chin on my head. But as I stood there pressed against his chest, the warmth I used to feel was entirely absent. I noticed the subtle stiffness in his posture, the way his fingers tapped a restless rhythm against my spine, and... for the first time, the chilling realization that his apologies weren't comfort; they were management. He wasn't reassuring me because he cared; he was managing me because he had something to hide.