Chapter Three

Marie's POV

My feet stopped dead on the welcome mat. I stared at the screen, my hands starting to shake so badly I almost dropped the phone. I'm not even going to guess how he got my number. Anger surged through me first, hot and sharp, because how dare he? After everything he'd done tonight? But underneath that anger was something worse, a rush of arousal that made my stomach flip, mixed with pure fear.

His voice from the gala echoed in my head once more: "Miss me, wife?"

Just the memory made my thighs clench involuntarily, a traitorous heat pooling low in my belly despite everything. I hated my body for reacting like that. Hated him for the fact that even though we met just once and spent only a month together, he still had this effect on me after all this time.

I hovered my thumb over the delete button, telling myself to erase it, block the number, pretend tonight never happened. Mark's hurt face flashed in my mind, his gentle kiss on my forehead, the way his voice had cracked when he asked if I was married. He didn't deserve any of this. But I couldn't delete it. Instead, my fingers flew across the screen.

"Leave me alone, Andrea. I'm with someone now. Delete my number."

I hit send before I could second-guess myself, then shoved my keys into the lock and pushed the door open. The apartment was dark and quiet, just how I'd left it this morning when everything felt normal. I kicked off my heels and tossed my clutch on the table, heart still hammering.

My phone rang instantly. The same unsaved number flashed on the screen. I shouldn't answer. I knew I shouldn't. Mark was probably home by now, replaying everything in his head, wondering who I really was. Answering this call would only make me a bigger liar. But my thumb swiped across the screen anyway.

"What the hell do you want?" I hissed into the phone, keeping my voice to a harsh whisper even though I was alone.

I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, trying to steady my breathing.

"Do you have any idea what you did tonight? You ruined everything. Mark saw all of that your little performance in front of everyone. Who do you think you are?"

"Well, for one thing, I'm one of the major donators to the charity he's affiliated to," he said sassily.

"Is this what tonight was about? A show of power? He didn't even recognize you when you came in."

Andrea's voice came through the line again, calm and smooth.

"I want my wife back, Marie. Two years, Marie. I haven't forgotten a single second of the month we spent together, the way you moaned my name, the way your body begged for more. I want that back. I want you back."

I felt my body shiver in both annoyance and want. I pushed off the door and started pacing my living room, barefoot on the cool hardwood floor.

“That was a deal, Andrea! All of it, you know that better than I do. I took the money and I left. That's what we agreed on, no strings, remember? You were very clear about that. I have a real life now with a man who respects me. He doesn't play games or show up out of nowhere calling me wife like some obsessed stalker. And also, stop calling me that!"

I could hear him breathing on the other end, steady and unhurried. It only fueled my frustration. Why wasn't he yelling back? Why did he sound so damn sure of himself?

"There has to be a reason you were looking for me all this time," I continued, my voice rising as I paced faster, circling the coffee table. "Men like you, millionaires with women throwing themselves at you every day don't get stuck on a month of pleasure, especially not one that happened years ago. So you're lying about missing what we had. You probably just hate that I walked away first. But you know what? I don't even care why you're here. It doesn't matter."

"Marie," he started, but I cut him off, my emotions boiling over.

"No, listen to me. Forget everything you just said about wanting me back or whatever fantasy you've built up in your head. Mark is good to me. He's attentive, successful, and he actually cares about building a future without all the chaos and drama. I don't want to ruin what I have with him. So please, Andrea, stay away from me and my life. Delete my number for real this time and go back to whatever world you came from."

There was a pause on his end, longer this time. I stopped pacing near the window, staring out at the city lights without really seeing them. My chest felt tight, guilt gnawing at me for even having this conversation. Mark had been so patient tonight, even after I dropped the bomb about the fake marriage. He'd brushed a tear from my cheek like I was still worth comforting. And here I was, on the phone with the man who'd just blown it all up.

"Marie, just listen for a second," Andrea said finally, his tone shifting to something more serious, less playful. "Forget everything I just said about the past for a moment. I seriously need to talk to you. It's not just about us or that week. There are things you don't know—"

I didn't let him finish. "I don't want to talk to you, Andrea. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever. Goodbye."

I ended the call, my finger jabbing the screen harder than necessary. My heart was pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. For a few seconds, I just stood there, phone gripped tight in my hand, breathing like I'd run a marathon. Part of me felt powerful for hanging up. The other part, the stupid, traitorous part, wondered if I'd just made everything worse.

The phone started ringing again almost immediately. Same number. I stared at it, watching it vibrate in my palm. Andrea's name wasn't saved, but I could picture his face perfectly. I let it ring until it went to voicemail. Then it rang again. I silenced it and tossed the phone onto the couch, crossing my arms over my chest as if that could stop the whirlwind inside me.

Guilt hit me harder now. I sank down onto the couch, pulling my knees up. Mark's words from the car echoed in my head: "It feels like I don't even know you." He was right to doubt me. I'd kept this huge secret from him, thinking the past was dead and buried. But Andrea showing up proved it wasn't. And the worst part? That quick flash of heat when he'd called me wife tonight. I pressed my thighs together, trying to ignore it, but the memory of his voice on the phone, "the way your body begged for more" it made my skin flush.

I picked up my phone again, ignoring the missed calls, and opened my messages to Mark. "I just want to say again that I'm so sorry about tonight," I typed, then deleted it. Tried again: "Thank you for being understanding. Can we talk tomorrow?" It felt inadequate. Everything felt inadequate. I sent a simple heart emoji instead, then set the phone down. He deserved better than late-night texts after the night we'd had.

A notification pinged a minute later. Not Mark. It was Andrea again. I opened it against my better judgment.

The message contained an address, a five-star hotel downtown. Below it was another message, "Come by noon tomorrow. It's important, Marie. Don't make me come find you again. Because I will."

I read it twice, my stomach twisting. Important. What could be so important after two years? Part of me wanted to believe it was just another lie, another way to pull me back into his orbit. Men like Andrea didn't chase unless there was something in it for them, money, power, or ego. But the way he'd said it on the phone, that shift in his voice... it planted a seed of doubt. What if there really was more?

Don't kid yourself, Marie. It's not like he's falling in love with you, I scolded myself.

But has he...?

I stood up, shoving the thoughts away and pacing again, as I ran my hands through my hair. The dress from the gala suddenly felt too tight, too reminiscent of the night everything changed. I unzipped it and let it pool at my feet, then changed into an oversized t-shirt and shorts. I poured myself a glass of water and drank it standing at the sink.

Mark was my safe haven, he listened when I talked about my day, planned thoughtful dates, and never made me feel like I was just a conquest. With Andrea, it had been fire and intensity, the kind that burned bright but left scars. I couldn't go back to that. I wouldn't.

I rolled over, facing the wall, and whispered to the empty room, "Stay away, Andrea. Just stay away." But even as I said it, I knew deep down that the pull was still there, and I feared the traitorous part of me would give in.