I turned off the water and stepped out, my skin still humming from the warmth. Grabbing a towel from the rack, I dried myself quickly, my breath unsteady as I walked to the mirror.
The towel slipped from my grasp, pooling at my feet. I stared at my reflection, running my hands over my bare skin. My breasts were full, swollen with a need that had long gone unanswered. My hips curved in perfect symmetry, a silent invitation—one that had never been accepted. I had the body of a vixen and the mind of a nerd. Two sides of a coin that never should have fit together. But it was those two sides that had made Adonis swoon. A wistful smile tugged at my lips. Adonis. He had never tried to suppress my fire. He had wanted me exactly as I was—brains, beauty, and all the chaos in between. I sighed, shaking the thought away as I reached for my phone on the dresser. My heart did a stupid little jump, hoping for a missed call or a message from Layden. Nothing. I groaned in frustration, tossing my phone back onto the dresser before slipping into a silk nightgown. The cool fabric kissed my skin as I padded toward the bed, where Andra lay sprawled out, breathing softly. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the city bleeding through the sheer curtains. The scent of vanilla and fresh linen filled the air, wrapping me in familiarity. A bookshelf stood against the far wall, cluttered with novels, old notebooks, and framed photographs from our college days. The bedside table held a lamp, a stack of magazines, and Andra’s ever-growing collection of half-used lip glosses. I paused, debating whether to wake her. But she was already fast asleep, one leg hanging off the bed, her arm thrown dramatically over her face. Shaking my head, I climbed onto the other side of the bed, tucking myself beneath the cool sheets. The moment my head hit the pillow, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, pulling me back to the very first day I met Sandra Latisha John. Westrum University, New York 2015 – Freshman Year. The campus had been a maze of towering brick buildings, sprawling lawns, and students buzzing with the energy of new beginnings. I had been hopelessly lost, clutching a crumpled map in one hand and a backpack stuffed with textbooks in the other. My hair was a mess, my face flushed from the late summer heat, and my nerves were frayed. I had been wandering in circles for what felt like hours, trying to find the humanities building, when she appeared. Sandra Latisha John. She was a whirlwind of confidence, her dark curls bouncing as she strode toward me, a smirk playing on her lips. She was wearing a cropped leather jacket over a band tee, ripped jeans, and combat boots that clashed with the preppy aesthetic of Westrum. Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief as she took in my frazzled state. "Need a tour guide, Snow White?" she had teased, her voice dripping with amusement. I had stammered something incoherent, and she laughed—a loud, unapologetic sound that made a few passing students turn their heads. Without waiting for a proper response, she grabbed my arm and pulled me along, launching into a rapid-fire commentary about the campus. "Over there’s the library—great for naps, terrible for studying. That building? Avoid it unless you want to get stuck in a conversation with Professor Hargrove about the 'philosophical implications of postmodernism.' And that," she said, pointing to a nondescript building, "is where they keep the good coffee. You’re welcome." And just like that, we clicked. When we found out we shared the same writing major, we became inseparable. She was the brawn, and I was the brains. She pulled me into trouble, and I pulled her out. We were opposites in every way, but it worked. Sandra was the kind of friend who made life feel like an adventure, even when it wasn’t. She dragged me to parties I never would’ve gone to, convinced me to skip class for spontaneous road trips, and once talked me into streaking across the quad at midnight. (We got caught, of course, but she charmed our way out of trouble with a story so outrageous the campus security guard let us go with a warning.) Layden had been different. We met in a debate seminar during my sophomore year. He was Westrum’s golden boy—tall, lean, with glasses that always seemed to slide down his nose and a perpetually serious expression. He was the kind of person who carried a leather-bound notebook everywhere he went, jotting down quotes from philosophers and poets like they were sacred texts. We were the academic power duo—winning debates, dominating essay competitions, ruling the intellectual battlefield. He was the nerdy genius at the top of the school board until I came along, and suddenly, Westrum had two prodigies. At first, it was more of a competition. We were constantly trying to one-up each other, our rivalry fueling late-night study sessions and heated debates. But over time, it became something else. We bonded over our shared ambition, our love for literature, and the quiet understanding that we were each other’s equals. Everything with Layden had felt right—safe, steady, predictable. He was my safe space, my anchor in a world that often felt chaotic. He was the kind of person who remembered my favorite tea, who noticed when I was stressed before I even said a word, and who always knew exactly what to say to make me feel better. But Adonis? He was chaos. The hot, rich, bad boy with a reputation, the temptation every girl was warned to avoid. I should have avoided him. I *tried* to avoid him. But fate had other plans. He was in his finals, and seniors in their finals were usually assigned to mentor a freshman on a research project. And by some cruel twist of fate—he was paired with me. I had known from the first moment I saw him that he was trouble. He was too attractive. Too charming. Too much. Everything he said made me blush. Every touch, every teasing smirk, every casual gift sent my pulse into a frenzy. And when he looked at me, it wasn’t with admiration or quiet respect—it was with raw, unfiltered want. I had never been wanted like that before. He was my first kiss and, in a way, my last. Layden had always called it the "bad boy effect"—a reckless infatuation, an illusion of passion. He believed Adonis was just trying to get into my pants. And maybe, in some ways, he was right. But Layden never knew who I had been paired with for the project. Not once did he ask. And even if he had known, I doubted he would have cared. Or maybe... he just never saw Adonis as a threat. But Layden didn’t understand. Adonis didn’t just flirt, he invaded. No matter how many walls I built, he always found a way in. And yet… I had chosen Layden. Because why settle for a heart-wrenching bad boy when you had someone who was a safe space? Choosing Layden had been the best decision. A nerd with a nerd—a classic love story. What could possibly go wrong? And in this love story, the good guy marries the good girl. The night before Adonis graduated, he had given me a bracelet—delicate emeralds set in gold—and an offer: one hot, wild, untamed night. "Because it matches your eyes," he had said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "And because you’re the best thing I'm yet to have." Yet to have? His words had sent a dangerous tremor through me. But I had known better. I had known his type. Still, I had kept the bracelet. Had he ever made it to my bed? No. Did I regret it?... That was a question I wasn’t sure I could answer. But Layden? He was love at first sight. He was my choice. And tomorrow, I would walk down the aisle and make that choice forever. I curled deeper into the blankets, my fingers absentmindedly brushing the bracelet still resting on my wrist. Sleep didn’t come easily that night. Not with the ghost of a masked stranger still lingering beneath my skin, stirring something I hadn’t felt in years. And definitely not with the unsettling thought that, for the first time in six years… I wasn’t so sure I had made the right choice. But I knew better. It was just pre-wedding jitters. I thought of my parents—of the empty seats they’d leave behind at my wedding tomorrow—and a tear slipped down my cheek, then another, until I was crying shamelessly into my pillow. I would walk down the aisle alone. No father’s arm to hold, no mother’s tearful smile. Just me. They were still mad—at me, at Layden. I had turned down a billion-dollar publishing contract when Layden proposed, and they never forgave me for it. Andra and my parents had been so proud. Their only child, finally achieving her dream. I was supposed to be the beginning of generational wealth, of legacy. All my days spent lost in Shakespearean tragedies and great American novels had finally paid off. And Layden? He had been my competition, my anchor, my inspiration. But they didn’t see him the way I did. They told me to focus, to build myself before thinking of marriage. But deep down, I knew—no one could love me like Layden. And if I couldn’t have the best of both worlds, I would choose my world. I chose him. To prove it—to him, to my parents, to the world—I walked away from my dream job. And since then, I hadn't picked up a pen, hadn't written a single word. But in the morning, when I stood before Layden, when I vowed to love him forever—it would all be worth it. Wouldn’t it? A fresh wave of tears spilled over. I had sent my parents an invitation last month, hoping, praying, that maybe—just maybe—they’d show up. That I’d see them sitting in the crowd, watching me with something other than disappointment. But the silence stretched. No calls. No texts. Nothing. Would they really miss their only daughter’s wedding? I squeezed my pillow tighter, muffling the sound of my quiet sobs. Whether they liked it or not, I was going to prove to them that Layden was worth it. That we were worth it. That his love for me was infinite and infinite was all I needed."Girl, wake up!" Andra yelled, shaking me half-haphazardly.I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow. "Nooo, Andra. What time is it?""It's 7 a.m.! You're going to be late for your own wedding!" she shrieked. "Wake up, Janice Felicia O'Brian!""Shit!" I cursed, jolting upright as panic surged through me. I was going to be late for my own wedding.Without sparing a second glance, I dashed into the bathroom, taking the fastest shower of my life. By the time I stepped out, Andra was already waiting, towel in hand. She helped dry my hair before sitting me in front of the mirror, her fingers already working their magic.I exhaled deeply, still catching my breath. "Thank you, Andra," I murmured sincerely.Finally taking a good look at her, I realized she was already showered, her makeup flawless, her hair done to perfection—though, true to Sandra fashion, she was still draped in her robe, no doubt savoring every moment before slipping into her dress."My mom and sister should be he
Layden's grip tightened on my hand, the warmth of his touch grounding me amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling in my chest. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only him and me, standing at the altar, surrounded by the whispers and stares of onlookers. But none of that mattered. Not now. I looked up at him, my heart racing. His eyes, those deep brown pools, were filled with so many things—love, hope, and something deeper. Maybe it was the promise of forever. Maybe it was a quiet reassurance, an unspoken vow that no matter what had happened, we were here. Together. "Do you, Janice Felicia O'Brian, take Layden Macarus James to be your lawfully wedded husband?" the officiant’s voice broke through the quiet, his words echoing in the church. I took a steadying breath, my heart pounding in my chest. This was the moment. The decision I had made. It was all leading to this. "I do," I whispered, my voice barely audible, but firm. The officiant nodded, then turned to Layden. "And do y
His hands were everywhere—rough, demanding, sliding over my skin as if they owned it. They gripped my breasts, fingers digging into the soft flesh, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp. My nipples were already stiff, aching under his touch, and when he pinched them between his fingers, rolling and tugging, a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through me. Heat pooled low in my stomach, my body responding to him as if it were wired to his every move. I didn’t waste time. My hands fumbled with his suit, yanking at the jacket until it slid off his shoulders and hit the floor with a muffled thud. His tie came next, loosened and tossed aside, followed by his shirt, buttons popping open as I dragged it down his arms. His chest was bare now, muscles taut and inviting, and I couldn’t resist running my hands over him, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palms. I pushed him back onto the bed, and he went willingly, his eyes dark and hungry as they raked over me. The way he looked at me—like he
I woke to the cold, empty expanse of the bed beside me, the sheets tangled and lifeless. The space where Layden should have been was hollow, the pillow untouched. My heart sank, a familiar ache settling in my chest. For a fleeting, desperate moment, I let myself wonder if last night had been a nightmare—if Layden had simply fallen asleep beside me, exhausted from the whirlwind of our wedding. But the silence in the house was deafening, that told me otherwise.I sat up slowly, the weight of the morning pressing down on me. My temples throbbed, and I rubbed them with trembling fingers, trying to push away the dull ache that had taken root in my chest. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the walls of the room were closing in. I swallowed hard, the metallic taste of regret lingering on my tongue. I wasn’t going to let this ruin us. We just needed to talk. To understand each other. And if words weren’t enough, I’d show him.I climbed out of bed, my feet sinking into the plush carpet as
After breakfast, I hurried upstairs to shower quickly before rejoining Andra. I slipped into a yellow sundress that ended mid-thigh and grabbed a pair of sunglasses—hardly the attire of a married woman, but then again, I was still a virgin, so it didn’t count. When I came back downstairs, Andra and I stepped outside and into her car. The drive to Chelsea felt like a slow descent into memory. The streets, wide and alive, pulsed with the energy of a neighborhood caught between its artistic roots and creeping affluence. Rows of red-brick townhouses stood tall and proud, their facades softened by ivy crawling up the sides, whispering of a past that refused to be erased. Gallery windows shimmered with abstract paintings, and boutique cafés spilled warm laughter onto the sidewalks, their tiny round tables crowded with people who had nowhere to be but everywhere to talk. But for me, Chelsea wasn’t the art or the boutiques—it was home. Andra drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, steal
The door opened, and I heard the smooth lilt of a woman’s voice before I saw her."Layden," she purred, her tone carrying the easy confidence of someone who knew she was welcome.Layden chuckled, his voice lighter than it had been with me all day. "Cassidy, come in."Then she stepped inside and everything about her set me on edge.She was tall—statuesque, even—with cascading blonde waves that framed a face too perfect to be real. Her scarlet dress clung to her curves like it had been painted on, dipping scandalously low in the front and ending dangerously high on her toned thighs. She smelled of something expensive, a floral perfume that carried through the air, seeping into my space as she glided toward me.Her eyes—striking blue, like shards of ice—swept over me, assessing, measuring. Then, she smiled, slow and knowing and extended a perfectly manicured hand."You must be Janice."I wiped my palms against my dress before taking it. Her grip was firm, lingering a beat too long."And
He noticed my silence and smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, it’s just work, babe. You know how it is." I wasn’t sure how to respond. My stomach churned as I forced myself to stay calm. The fact that Cassidy was staying the night, and he’d failed to mention it until now, stung. It’s just work, he said. But it didn’t feel like just work. Cassidy, oblivious to the growing tension, smiled brightly at me. "Don’t worry, Janice. It’ll be fun. We’ll keep it quiet, won’t we, Layden?" I clenched my fists at my sides, struggling to keep my composure. I didn’t want to make a scene—didn’t want to show just how hurt and betrayed I felt. But the thought of her here all night, so close to Layden, made my skin crawl. Layden caught my eye again, but this time his expression softened. "Jan, it’s really nothing to worry about," he said, his voice almost coaxing. Nothing to worry about? I could feel my frustration bubbling up, but I pushed it down, swallowing the bitte
The door opened immediately after they left, and I paused. Could that be Lay? Was he coming back for me? My heart leapt at the thought. He was way too in love with me to leave me like this, wasn’t he? I jumped to my feet, hastily wiping my tears, only to be met with Andra’s voice. “Girl, your husband is fineeeeee!” she called out, her tone teasing as she stepped inside. She tossed her purse onto the couch and made her way to the kitchen, her heels clicking against the floor. “And is it just me, or did Lay look different this morning? I bet marriage sex hits different,” she added with a chuckle, her laughter filling the room. But her laughter faded as she took in the sight of me—the broken glasses on the floor, the spilled juice staining the carpet, and me, standing there with red, puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. “OMG, are you okay?” she asked, her expression softening as she carefully stepped around the broken glass to get to me. I shook my head, unable to respond, fresh tea
The car coasted to a stop, and I blinked, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. We weren't in the heart of New York anymore. The city's chaos had been replaced with the scent of saltwater and the distant sound of crashing waves. I turned to Alessio, but he only nodded toward the door."We're here," he said quietly.I didn't question it. What was the point anymore? The world felt like it was spinning too fast for me to grasp onto anything. I just followed him, my feet dragging across the ground, my mind too clouded by everything to care.He led me up a stone pathway, the ocean breeze tugging at my hair. The path curved gently toward a secluded beach house, its whitewashed walls glowing in the late afternoon sun, shrouded by sea grass and weathered wood. When we stepped inside, my breath hitched.Warm light spilled through gauzy curtains, casting golden patterns on the honey-toned floorboards. The air smelled faintly of salt, like sandalwood and citrus. Worn linen couches framed a
“From both,” he said finally, the words gravel-rough, torn from somewhere deep. Like admitting it scraped bone.“I don’t care,” I snapped, my voice a lash in the air. “Andrés? Olthur? They weren’t in the family profile I was given. And yet—your uncle, your cousin? How does that even work?”His reaction was instant, visceral—a sharp inhale, a flicker of something almost primal in his gaze. For the briefest moment, I thought he might lash out. Instead, he steadied himself, like a storm barely chained."Some things," he said, voice cold as marble, "are better left unknown."He stepped back, adjusting the lapels of his suit like armor reforged. His gaze was an iron gate slamming shut.“And whatever you’re doing—stop.” His words were final, absolute. An executioner’s decree, not a suggestion. “Alessio will come for you in an hour. And don’t forget to dispose of your device.”He paused. Not out of hesitation, but detachment. His gaze slid right past me, like I was already out of the room, o
His hand closed around my wrist, warm and steady, and I froze."Jay-jay," he murmured, his voice low, like I was the last thing tethering him to this earth.But I was tired of this. Tired of the games, tired of my life crumbling over and over again because of the men in my life. I wasn't going to break again. No, not again."Don't," I whispered, my voice hoarse. I pulled away weakly, but his grasp wasn't rough - it was pleading, desperate. My chest tightened, a knot of fury and longing twisting deeper than I could bear.I forced myself to meet his eyes, and it nearly unraveled me. His grey orbs blazed, molten and wild, like he had been chasing me through storms and finally caught me."You think I haven't burned enough?" His voice splintered something fragile inside me. "You think I can survive the fire you leave behind?"What is he talking about?"Icarus-" I whimpered, his name cracking in my throat like a fracture that wouldn't heal.Then his mouth found mine.My breath seized, sharp
This was no longer about my reputation.This was about annihilation.Piece by piece, they were tearing my life apart-dissecting every decision, every moment, until there was nothing left but fragments of a person they thought they knew.I stared at the screen, my eyes burning. The headline cut deeper with every second.‘Corporate Climber or Common Slut?’The words pulsed like a wound.My temples throbbed. I forced my eyes shut, drew a breath that caught halfway down my throat, and held it there, like holding my own panic at bay. It didn't work.The bile still rose.I hadn't signed up for this.I never wanted this spotlight, this spectacle. I was supposed to build a career, not become tabloid fodder.And yet, there he was too-Icarus Adonis Sebastian-entangled in the scandal like a character in a story he himself had written. His name splashed across headlines, his face beside mine in every brutal frame.But he wasn't here.He wasn't here.Layla's voice broke through, measured but firm.
Andra slipped back into the room so silently I didn't hear her until she spoke."What are you doing?" she asked, her voice low, almost curious.I yelped, startled, slamming my laptop shut as if I'd been caught doing something far worse than research. My pulse thudded in my ears. "Nothing," I said quickly, too quickly. "You scared me.""Hmmm," she hummed, nonchalant, as she peeled off her dress in one effortless motion. The silk pooled around her ankles like liquid shadow. She reached for a robe, tying it loosely around her waist.I tried to sound casual, playful even, grinning like a child caught snooping through Christmas presents. "So... what have you and Alessio been up to? You've been gone for hours, and"—I tilted my head, teasing—"I heard you laugh."She chuckled, but the sound was thin, a little too nervous. "Oh, please," she waved her hand dismissively, though her cheeks were tinged pink. "Nothing scandalous. We just... had more wine. Talked. About family, mostly."Her eyes sof
I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my own brain. There I was, trapped in the damn car while Alessio and Andra had some kind of silent, sexually-charged staring contest that would put a telenovela to shame. The tension was so thick you could choke on it. Alessio's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his stupidly perfect jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. And the way his eyes kept darting to Andra in the rearview? Please. He might as well have had "I WANT TO KISS YOU STUPID" tattooed across his forehead. Andra wasn't any better. Miss Ice Queen herself was actually fidgeting. Fidgeting. Her fingers kept playing with the hem of her dress like she was contemplating hiking it up right there in the backseat. The silence was killing me. "Should I just jump out now," I said, "or are you two waiting for a more dramatic moment?" Alessio's grip tightened. "What?" Andra shot me a death glare, but her cheeks were pink. "Shut up, Jan." "Oh, so now you acknowledge I exist?" I
The ladies' room door slammed open before I could catch my breath.There you are!" Andra's voice cracked through the room like a champagne cork. She prowled toward me, her white dress liquid fire under the chandeliers. "I've been hunting you all night, and what do I find?" She braced one manicured hand against the marble counter beside me. "My best friend doing the devil's tango with Icarus Adonis Sebastian." Her smirk could have powered the city grid. "Do you need me to call a priest, or an exorcist?"I grabbed the chilled flute of champagne she was holding and pressed it hard against my burning cheeks. "I will murder you.""Oh no, darling." She plucked the glass from my grip and drained it in one swallow. "Let's review your crimes." She ticked them off on fingers adorned with razor-sharp gold nails. "One: You ghosted me the moment you arrived. Two: You're wearing that dress—which violates at least three international treaties. Three:" Her voice dropped to a purr as she leaned in, "Y
Icarus had been insufferable today—condescending, controlling, and, worst of all, completely unreadable. If he thought he could push me around without consequence, he had another thing coming. By the time we arrived, the high-end boutiques on Avenue Montaigne gleamed in the afternoon sun. I stepped out of the car with confidence, smoothing my dress and sliding on a pair of sunglasses I found in my purse. Alessio fell into step beside me, ever the gentleman. "Stay close," I told him lightly. "I might need an extra pair of hands.""Naturally, ma’am," he replied, amusement dancing in his voice. And so, the spree began. I moved through the stores with precision—silk dresses, designer heels, exquisite jewelry—each item swiped onto the black credit card with satisfaction. The attendants were eager to please, their tones hushed with reverence as they recognized the name on the payment method. Alesso trailed behind me, hands tucked casually in his pockets, his sharp eyes scanning th
I pushed into one of the stalls, closing the door behind me as I heard the soft shuffle of footsteps in the restroom. My breath hitched, my body stiffening instinctively.I couldn't let anyone see me like this.Not Layla. Not some stranger.Not even Icarus.Especially not Icarus.I pressed a hand over my mouth, swallowing down the emotions threatening to spill over. The tightness in my chest was unbearable, but I forced myself to stay silent, to breathe through it.Just a few minutes.Just long enough to pull myself together. Then I'd walk out of here like nothing had happened.The restroom door banged open, laughter spilling in like a cruel, creeping poison. I barely had time to stifle my breath before the voices followed."God, I still can't believe it," one of them sneered, her voice sharp, slicing through the quiet like a blade. "I mean, we knew she was shameless, but this? She's an actual slut."“Not even a high-class one,” another voice chimed in, dripping with mockery. “I mean,