جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 20

Elena"The coffee is strong, Elena. Don't let it go cold while you're staring a hole through the floor." I look up from the kitchen island, the steam from the mug curling into the air between Maya and me. She’s sliding a plate of eggs and thick-cut bacon toward me, her eyes tracking my every move with a mixture of pity and concern. My head feels like it’s being squeezed in a vise, a dull, throbbing reminder of the three sleep aids I swallowed last night to drown out the sound of my own thoughts. "I don't think I can eat," I whisper, my voice sounding like it’s been dragged over gravel. "My head is killing me." "You need the fuel. You cried for hours straight, El," Maya says, leaning against the counter. She hesitates for a second, tapping her manicured nails against the marble. "Your husband was here last night. After you slept."The fork in my hand stops midway to the plate. A traitorous spark of hope flares in my chest, a desperate, pathetic part of me wondering if he came here t

Jaxon"Get it together, DeLuca. You’re acting like a fucking amateur."I growl the words to the empty, shadowed space of my home gym, the iron weights still humming from the session I just finished. My muscles are screaming, a dull, throb of physical exhaustion that usually manages to quiet the noise in my head, but tonight, it isn't working. The memory of my disastrous call with Elena, is playing on a loop. I was unprofessional. I had to be clinical during the session, to the point of cruelty because I could feel the control slipping through my fingers.When she walked into that office today wearing that emerald blazer, my heart did a violent roll in my chest. The same color as the dress she wore at Iron & Ink. Was it intentional? A calculated move to remind me of the way her skin felt against mine in the dark? Or was it just a coincidence? I have no idea, and that’s the problem. I’m a man who lives on data and psychological profiles, but with her, it’s like I’m reading fucking tea l

Elena"I think the Maldives would be perfect for the summer, Marcus. Or maybe a week in Tuscany? We haven't been to Europe since the honeymoon."I’m leaning across the candlelit table at The Belvedere, tracing the rim of my wine glass with my fingertip. It’s been four days since I left Maya’s guest room and returned to the house, and to his credit, Marcus has been a different man. He’s been attentive, present, and almost obsessively focused on my comfort. He’s had our private chef prepare every single one of my favorite meals—shrimp scampi, truffle risotto, braised short ribs. We’ve gone on three dates in four days.Even the bedroom has seen a change. We’ve had sex twice since I’ve been back. It’s still the same mechanical, brief, and entirely focused on his finish—but at least it’s happening. At least he’s touching me again. I’m trying to convince myself that this is the progress I promised Maya I’d find."Marcus? Are you even listening to me?"The silence from across the table final

Jaxon"I’m only here to pass time away, Annabel. Don't make it a thing."I adjust the cuff of my Tom Ford jacket as the valet takes the keys to my Aston Martin. I had zero intention of showing up to the "L.A. Excellence Awards" tonight. These gala events are usually nothing more than a circle jerk for the city’s elite to pat themselves on the back for being born into the right zip code. But then I saw the private guest list sent to my encrypted email this morning. Marcus Vance’s name was right there at the top of the "Most Influential" nominees. And if Marcus is here, his wife is here.Annabel clings to my arm like a wrap-around candy, her manicured nails digging into the expensive wool of my sleeve. She’s a model I’ve hooked up with a few times. And casual, no strings, and mostly silent when I need her to be. I needed a warm body for the red carpet to keep the persistent socialites away, and she was available when I called."Jaxon, you’re being so cold tonight," she pouts, her voice

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