Catty
I spent three years being the perfect wife. Three years of silence, of soft smiles, of putting his coffee exactly how he liked it while he was buried inside my sister.
Then one night I opened the wrong door.
“Harder, Gabriel… fuck, say my name.”
Hannah’s voice. My husband’s name. My sister’s body arched under him on the sheets I had bought for our anniversary. Three years of lies collapsed in a single moan.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I walked out, locked the door behind me, and made a new promise to myself: if they could take what was mine without mercy, I would take everything they never saw coming.
I didn’t know the stranger who pulled me into the dark that same night was Alexander Hale—the richest, most dangerous man in the city. I only knew that when he looked at me and said, “Tell me what they did to you… and I’ll make sure you never feel small again,” something inside me finally stopped apologizing.
This is not a story about forgiveness.
This is the story of how I learned to moan someone else’s name louder than my sister ever moaned my husband’s.
147