ANMELDENElenaThe ceiling is unfamiliar.That’s the first thing I register before my eyes are even fully open — the ceiling is the wrong color, the wrong texture, and the pillow under my head smells like someone else’s home. I reach my hand out slowly, feeling the cool expanse of sheets beside me, and then I sit up.Too fast. The pain behind my eyes detonates immediately and I press my fingers against my temples and breathe through it.Okay. Where the hell am I?I look around the room. Clean. Minimal. It looks like a guest room. Dark curtains. A glass of water on the nightstand that I didn’t put there.And then it comes back. Not all at once — in pieces. The shots. Maya and those two men at the bar. The music. The hands on my waist. The face.Jaxon.I kissed my therapist at a club and then asked him to take me home and he did and then he — oh my god. Oh my god. He got on his knees and — I press both hands over my face and make a sound into my palms that has no name.My therapist. My actual li
Jaxon For some reason I had agreed with Prez when he said going to the club was a good idea. I got in the car and regretted it all the way to the Red lotus club. There was loud music, those annoying changing lights. And women…. Everywhere. Prez takes us to his usual booth, because I guess he’s a regular here. What an idiot. Immediately we sit down someone brings a bottle and a couple of other things. I’m scouring everywhere when my eye catches a familiar figure. Is that…? No fucking way. “Excuse me,” I mutter to Prez as I make my way downstairs. “Where are you going to man? We just got here?” “Yeah, and you might leave without me. Toss me the car keys.” I ask him. “Fuck no! Call your driver to come get you.” He scowls and looks away. Sometimes I think this man is just a baby in a grown man’s body. I wonder how he’s ever serious. “I don’t have a driver. You do!” I remind him. “We just got here, how much have you had to drink already?” He shrugs before tossing me the keys
Elena“Maya.” My voice breaks on the single syllable.“What happened, El?”“It’s- it’s Marcus,” I cry uncontrollably “That son of a bitch! I’m on my way.”She doesn’t ask questions. That’s the thing about Maya — she never needs them. Twenty minutes later she’s at my door, still in her bonnet, coat thrown over her pajamas, and the moment I see her face I fall apart all over again.“He’s been sleeping with Kristen.” The words taste like poison leaving my mouth. “And now, she’s pregnant, Maya.”The silence that follows is the loudest thing I’ve ever heard.“Pregnant.” Maya repeats it slowly, like she’s turning the word over, checking it for exits. “Marcus got that woman pregnant.”“Yes.”She sits down next to me on the couch and for a moment she just looks at me, really looks at me and I watch something move behind her eyes before she locks it down.“You can say it,” I whisper. “I told you so. Say it.”“Elena—”“You warned me. You’ve been warning me for years. Say it.”“You’re hurting.”
Marcus"But Marcus, you had a vasectomy! You told me you couldn't have children!" My mother’s laughter erupts, a sharp sound that cuts through Elena’s hysterical sobbing like a blade. It’s a harsh, mocking cackle that fills the foyer, bouncing off the marble walls I paid for. I watch Elena’s face—the raw, ugly grief etched into her features—and I feel a strange sense of detached power. She looks so small standing there, clutching at straws that I burned years ago. "Kristen, darling," my mother says, ignoring Elena’s breakdown as she turns to the woman carrying the Vance legacy. "Go upstairs and rest. Choose any room you like. The master guest suite has the best light, but feel free to explore. You need to keep your strength up for my grandson." Kristen hesitates, her eyes flickering toward Elena with a practiced bit of false modesty. "Marcus? Is that... okay?" "Go," my mother insists, her voice brooks no argument. "The help will bring up your bags. Marcus and I need to handle thi
Elena"Is this some kind of sick joke, Marcus?"My voice is a whisper, but it echoes in the cavernous silence of the foyer. My eyes are glued to the door as Kristen walks in, her heels clicking with a rhythmic, sickening confidence. She isn’t wearing the high-collared, structured lace that Marcus always insists makes me look better.She’s wearing a fitted, knee-length silk gown in a shade of soft blush that radiates an effortless glow. As she walks, she ignores me completely, her eyes locked on Greta with a familiar, intimate smile.“Oh there she is! Welcome home my sweet girl.” Greta says and hugs her. I look back and forth between the three of them, my mind struggling to process the visual data. "What is going on here? Marcus? Why is she in our home?"Greta doesn't wait for her son to find his spine. She steps forward, her chin tilted at a triumphant angle. "She’s going to be living here now, Elena. It’s time we stopped pretending this arrangement was working."I scoff, “Arrangem
Elena"Marcus, have you seen my black pumps? I left them by the door yesterday."I don't wait for an answer as I zip up my tailored trousers, my mind already running through the morning's conference calls. I glance at the clock—it’s nearly eight, but when I turn around, I’m surprised to see Marcus leaning against the bedroom doorframe in a cashmere sweater and dark jeans. He isn't dressed for the office. He isn't even wearing his watch.I don't ask why. A part of me is still mad about being ditched at a restaurant. We haven't spoken about that night since he walked back through the door three hours later with a half-baked apology. I decided then that I wouldn't bring it up, if I did, I’d have to confront the fact that I spent the rest of that night on the phone with Jaxon, letting his voice make me cum. I move past him into the kitchen, my movements efficient and cold. I pull bread from the toaster and start assembly for a quick sandwich, the silence between us stretching like a thin







