Inside Affair Book นิยาย & เรื่องราว

He was now dying of curiosity about what happened to Briana and Rosita today. "I'll fill you in on the details and make it short." George cleared his throat and continued, "All these times, Briana was having an affair with her stepbrother Jack behind our back. And she is currently pregnant with their baby. After she confessed the truth, of course, Rosita was outraged because she insisted that it was incest. So she insulted my daughter and called her bitch and slut over and over again, which got Briana mad, and she accidentally slapped Rosita on the cheek, and now my wife wants my daughter to leave the house because she can't stomach seeing her face every day."

I said. Owen hesitated, but he made the call. If she came for me right away, I'd forgive everything, the affair, the baby, all of it. One second, two seconds, three, and then the flat tone of a rejected call. They were already out of sight, but I kept staring in the direction they'd gone. Something hardened inside me in that moment, something I couldn't let go of. Owen looked at me but said nothing. "Call again." He dialed. She hung up again.

But hearing his breath turn heavy and shallow in the other side of the booth did something to me. My chest tightened. I remembered how handsome he looked yesterday, how rugged those broad shoulders were, how he didn't look like a priest at all. Suddenly, a wave of real heat pooled right between my thighs. I was getting wet. Real wet. And the realization only made me bolder. I leaned back on the bench, pulling my long dark skirt all the way up to my waist. I lifted my legs, spreading them wide in the cramped, dark space, resting my feet against the wooden walls.

I opened my browser and found the article. It was polished. It was almost elegant. It generously praised my medical accomplishments before quietly, systematically dismantling my character. Respected physician. Dedicated professional. Demanding schedule. Long hours. Emotional distance. It suggested—never outright stated, but heavily implied—that Marcus had spent years trying in vain to save a cold, lonely marriage. That two people had simply grown apart. That another relationship had naturally, innocently developed only afterward. The affair became a tragic afterthought. The financial betrayal disappeared entirely. In this impeccably crafted narrative, there was no Birchwood house. There were