Chapter 2

Ugh, the sun.

A sharp slice of morning light cut right through a gap in the thick, fancy curtains and hit me square in the eyes. It felt like a knife. I let out a low groan, the kind you can feel in your teeth. My head was just ... pounding. Not a sharp pain, but a deep, steady thump-thump-thump, like a bass drum was set up right behind my eyeballs. A world-class, five-star hangover.

The air in the bedroom was thick and gross. I could smell everything from last night all mixed together: dying flowers, champagne that had gone flat and sour, and that heavy, sweet smell of sex. It was all over the room, and it was all over me. My own skin felt sticky and used, and my bones just ached, a deep-down soreness that had nothing to do with sleeping wrong. I was sober now, and being sober felt like getting hit by a truck. It doesn’t apologize; it just leaves you broken on the pavement.

I rolled over, trying to be slow and careful, every muscle in my body screaming at me. Joe was still sound asleep. He just looked like a lump under the silk sheets, all peaceful and dead to the world, one arm thrown over his head. He was breathing that slow, steady breath of someone who has nothing to hide.

Then I saw my left hand, resting on the pillow near his face. The wedding ring, that heavy chunk of platinum and diamonds, looked like a prop from a movie. It felt cold, like a handcuff. A very real, very expensive reminder of the promises I’d completely shattered just a few hours ago.

And just like that, the memories hit me. Not a slow trickle, but a full-on tidal wave that slammed into me and knocked the wind out.

It started with the dance. The room was hot, packed with people. I remember the heat coming off everyone’s bodies. Then, the terrace.

Ethan had me by the arm, pulling me outside into the cool night air. “He doesn’t get it, does he?” he’d whispered, his voice low and rough. “He has no idea who you really are.” Before I could answer, his mouth was on mine. It was a demanding, angry kiss. It tasted like expensive scotch and ten years of things we never said. He was trying to possess me, to reclaim something he thought was his.

Then Nash was there. I don’t even know where he came from. He just stepped out of the shadows with a wild look in his eyes and a smirk on his face. He pushed Ethan aside, not hard, but with a clear message. “My turn,” he breathed, and then his mouth crashed into mine. It wasn’t angry like Ethan’s; it was hungry. His teeth grazed my bottom lip, and a jolt of pure, forbidden electricity shot straight through me.

Now, lying here in the quiet, a hot wave of shame washed over me. It was a gut-punch that made my stomach churn. I could still feel the ghost of their kisses on my lips, a faint tingle that was now mixed with the sick feeling of what I had done.

But even the memory of the kiss wasn’t the worst part. Not even close.

The part that was really gutting me, the thing that made me feel like my insides had been scooped out with a spoon, was what happened when we got back to the room. Right here, in this bed. Joe was inside me. My husband. And my body just went through the motions. It tensed up and shook, and I came, but it felt ... jagged. Broken. There wasn’t an ounce of joy in it. It was just a physical reaction, like a muscle spasm.

Because the whole time, my eyes were squeezed shut. And my screwed-up, mind wasn’t with my husband at all. It was somewhere else entirely.

My eyes are closed, but I’m not in the dark. I can see them. I can feel Ethan’s mouth on me, hot and demanding. I can hear Nash’s low growl in my ear. In my head, they’re both there. They’re taking me, owning me, breaking me in all the ways I secretly wanted. One is kissing me while the other...

My body was with Joe, but my head was with them.

That was the real betrayal. Kissing two guys on a moonlit terrace after too much champagne ... that was a moment of weakness. It was bad, but it was fleeting.

But this? Lying here with my husband, letting him think he was making love to his wife while I was using his body to get off to a fantasy of two other men? That was a whole other level of awful.

The guilt wasn’t just a feeling anymore; it was a physical weight pressing down on my chest, making it hard to take a full breath.

I am a disgusting person. An absolutely awful human being.

A fraud.

A whore.

And here’s the really sick part.

Underneath all that guilt, which felt like a pile of bricks on my chest, something else was stirring. It wasn’t a big, roaring fire; it was more like a low hum deep inside me. A hum of pure, unfiltered want.

My stupid, traitorous heart wasn’t aching with regret. It was aching with longing. It was beating way too fast, a desperate thump-thump-thump that was basically chanting their names. Ethan. Nash.

The memory of how they touched me, how they smelled, the raw hunger I saw in their eyes when they looked at me ... it was like a drug that had gotten into my system. And God help me, I wanted another hit more than I wanted to breathe.

I had to get out. Out of this bed, out of this room. I felt like I needed to claw my way out of my own skin.

“Joe,” I said. My voice came out as a rough croak, like I hadn’t used it in years. I shook his shoulder, probably a little too hard. “Joe, wake up.”

He mumbled something and swatted at my hand like I was a fly. “Five more minutes, babe.”

“No, now,” I said, my voice sharp. I pushed myself up to a sitting position, the room spinning a little. “Let’s go. Today. Let’s go to Scotland.”

He managed to pry one eye open. He looked groggy and completely lost. “What? Scotland? Honey, we’re not supposed to leave for two days. My parents are having that big brunch for us tomorrow, remember?”

“I don’t care about the brunch!” I snapped, a wave of pure panic washing over me. It felt like the walls were closing in. “I want to go now. I want to pack a bag and be on a plane. I want to be on our honeymoon.” And I want to run so far and so fast that these thoughts can’t catch up to me.

He sat up then, rubbing the sleep from his face. He finally got a good look at me, and I know he saw the wild, desperate look in my eyes. But he got it all wrong. He thought it was for him.

A slow, sweet, simple grin spread across his face. The kind of grin that just made me want to cry.

“Wow, okay,” he said, his voice warm. “Someone’s eager to get me all to herself, huh?”

I just stared at him.

“Alright, Mrs. Miller,” he said, and the new name sent a fresh jolt of shame through me. “If my wife wants to go to Scotland, then I guess we’re going to Scotland.”

The relief hit me so hard my knees felt weak. Escape. It was actually possible. I pictured the Scottish Highlands all wild, empty, and beautiful. Maybe there, I could reset. Maybe I could sweat this sickness out of me and forget the feel of their lips and the darkness in their eyes.

I could focus on Joe. I could learn how to be a good wife. I could take all these broken pieces of myself and try to glue them back into the shape of the person I was supposed to be.

I had to. I just had to.

The resort had some fancy Gaelic name Eilean a’ Chridhe. The brochure said it meant “The Isle of the Heart.” Pretty ironic, considering my heart felt like a black hole.

It was stuck out in the middle of nowhere on the Isle of Skye, this massive old fortress made of gray stone and sharp, modern glass. It looked out over a dark, moody lake, a “loch,” they call it here. The place was breathtaking, but in a harsh, almost brutal kind of way. You’d look up and see these sharp, jagged mountains scraping at a sky that was all bruised purples and grays. The hills were covered in this deep violet-colored stuff they called heather. The air was so clean and cold it felt like it was scouring my lungs, smelling of rain, wet dirt, and a little bit of salt from an ocean you couldn’t see.

It felt like we were at the edge of the world. The perfect place to hide from everyone, especially myself.

And for one day, it almost worked.

We pretended to be a normal, happy couple. We hiked along cliffs where the wind tried to push us over. We took a little boat out on the choppy, black water of the loch. We ate lamb stew and thick, crusty bread in front of a giant roaring fireplace in the main lodge.

I really threw myself into the part. I held Joe’s hand like I couldn’t get enough of him. I laughed at all his dumb jokes. And I listened, or at least I pretended to, while he went on and on, so excited about the future. He talked about his big new job at my dad’s company. About the huge house he wanted to buy us in Greenwich. He even had the number of kids planned out: two and a half. Seriously.

I just nodded and smiled and said, “That sounds wonderful, honey.” I felt like an actress in a terrible play. A hollow doll just performing all the right movements.

But then night came.

And in the absolute, dead silence of the Highlands, the memories came creeping back.

Joe was wiped out from the long flight and all the fresh air. He was asleep the second his head hit the pillow, his breathing slow and steady in the huge, empty-feeling suite. But I was wide awake. My brain just wouldn’t shut up, with thoughts twisting and turning over each other.

I couldn’t stand it. I slipped out of the warm bed, my feet hitting the ice-cold stone floor. I grabbed a thick cashmere robe from the closet and stepped out onto our private balcony, into the cold night air.

My brain just ... short-circuited. I felt a dizzying wave of vertigo, like the solid stone balcony I was standing on had just tilted sideways. It can’t be. It’s not possible. What were they doing here? How could they possibly be here?

I didn’t even think. My body just reacted. I spun around and ran back into the room, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I had to see them up close. I had to know if they were real, if my mind was finally broken. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely slip on a pair of flat shoes. I crept out of the suite, pulling the heavy door shut behind me without a sound.

I followed the winding garden path down toward an old stone archway, pulling my robe tight around myself. The air was colder down here, thick with the smell of wet moss and some kind of sweet night flowers. Every nerve in my body was screaming.

I turned a corner, and there they were.

Real. Solid. Standing there like they were waiting for me.

Nash was leaning against the old stone wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Ethan stood a few feet away, hands shoved in the pockets of his dark pants. They weren’t dressed for a hike in Scotland; they were wearing their usual expensive, dark city clothes. In the moonlight, they looked like predators.

“What ... what are you doing here?” I stammered. The words were barely a whisper.

“We followed you,” Ethan said. His voice was a low rumble that seemed to be soaked up by the night.

“You didn’t really think we’d just let you run, did you?” Nash added. He pushed himself off the wall and took a step toward me. His eyes were dark holes in the moonlight, and they ate me up my messy hair, my bare legs under the robe, my terrified face.

My mind was spinning, trying to catch up. “Followed me? How? Why?”

Ethan gave a little sigh, like he was talking to a child. “We have a jet, Hannah,” he said simply. “And as for why ... I think you know why.”

He closed the space between us, standing right in front of me. He reached out and gently tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. His fingers barely grazed my neck, but a shower of sparks shot straight down my spine.

“That kiss on the terrace,” he murmured, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “That wasn’t the end of something. It was the beginning.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered, but my body was a traitor, already leaning into his touch. “I’m on my honeymoon. I’m with my husband.”

“He’s sleeping,” Nash said. He’d moved like a cat, and now he was on my other side, trapping me between them just like before. The air got thick, charged with the energy coming off both of them. “And you weren’t thinking about him a few minutes ago up on that balcony, were you, Han?”

A hot flush of shame burned my cheeks. He’d seen me. He knew.

“We saw you,” Nash purred, his voice a low vibration right next to my ear. He leaned in, his lips brushing my skin. “Thinking about us. Wanting us. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“I...” I couldn’t speak. My throat was clamped shut.

Ethan’s other hand came up and cupped my jaw, his thumb stroking my cheek. “Stop fighting it, Hannah,” he commanded softly. “Stop running.”

And then he kissed me.

It was nothing like the other kisses. There was no anger, no frustration. This was slow, deep, and completely confident. He knew he’d already won. His mouth moved over mine with a certainty that was devastating, his tongue coaxing me to open for him. And I did. I just gave in, my mind finally surrendering to what my body had been screaming for.

As Ethan’s mouth owned mine, Nash’s hands slid inside my robe. His warm palms flattened against my back, pulling me tight against his body. His hands roamed up, his thumbs stroking the sides of my breasts. A low moan of helpless pleasure got lost in Ethan’s mouth.

Then Nash’s hands were on my ass, grabbing me, lifting me up against the hard ridge in his pants. At the exact same moment, Ethan’s hand slid down from my jaw, over my throat, and down the front of my open robe. His fingers found the thin silk of my panties and the wet, swollen flesh underneath. He pressed down, his middle finger finding my clit instantly, and started rubbing in slow, torturous circles.

My world just exploded.

The deep kiss, Nash’s hands all over me, Ethan’s finger right there it was too much. A blinding, white-hot orgasm ripped through me. My back arched, my head fell back, and a scream tore out of my throat, muffled by Ethan’s mouth. My whole body seized up in wave after wave of violent shudders. It was a full-blown, world-shattering climax from just a kiss and a touch.

When it was over, I was completely boneless, gasping for air, held up only by them. My legs were shaking so hard I couldn’t stand. Ethan finally pulled back from the kiss, his lips wet, his eyes black with victory.

“See?” he whispered, resting his forehead against mine.

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t think. All I could feel were the aftershocks, the slick wetness in my underwear, and their hard-ons pressed against me from both sides.

And then the cold, horrifying reality slammed into me. The full, disgusting truth of what I’d just done.

I had just come in the arms of my brothers while my husband slept a hundred yards away.

The thought was so vile it gave me a surge of strength. Pure panic.

“No!” I cried, shoving them away. I stumbled backward, clutching my robe tight as if it could hide my sin. “No, this is wrong! You have to leave! Just leave me alone!”

I turned and ran. I didn’t look back. I flew through the garden, my bare feet slapping on the cold stones, hot tears of shame and confusion streaming down my face. I burst back into the suite, heaving for breath, and slammed the heavy door, locking it.

Joe hadn’t moved. He was still sound asleep, the perfect picture of innocence in our toxic marriage bed.

I collapsed against the door, my body still trembling, my mind an absolute war zone. I tried to feel the guilt. I tried to hate myself. But it was impossible. One clear, terrifying truth screamed louder than anything else in my head.

I didn’t want them to leave me alone. I never wanted to be alone again.

The next morning, the phone screamed, ripping through the quiet of the room. Joe fumbled for it on the nightstand, his voice thick with sleep when he answered. I just lay there, my back to him, pretending to be dead to the world. I hadn’t slept for a single second.

“Dad? Yeah, hey ... What? ... Are you serious? ... The entire server farm? ... No, no, of course. I get it. It’s a huge contract.”

My stomach dropped. I knew exactly what was coming next.

Joe hung up the phone with a heavy sigh. “Hannah? Babe, you awake?”

I let out a little groan and rolled over slowly, blinking a few times to sell the whole “sleepy and confused” act. “What is it?”

“That was your dad,” he said. He had this look on his face half disappointed about us, half wired with excitement about work. “There’s a huge crisis. The servers for one of our biggest clients went down. He needs all hands on deck. He ... he needs me to fly back.”

I just stared at him. And there it was. An exit ramp. A choice, handed to me on a silver platter.

“You’re leaving?” I asked, keeping my voice perfectly flat.

“We have to, babe. This is a massive deal for the company. It’s my big chance to really prove myself to your dad.” He looked genuinely sorry, which almost made it worse. “I am so, so sorry. I know this is literally the worst timing in the history of the world.”

A cold feeling started to build in my chest. It wasn’t sadness or disappointment. It was pure, simple anger. It felt clean and hard, and it was so much better than the messy swirl of guilt and desire. Of course. The job comes first. Impressing Daddy comes first. I was just part of the deal, the prize he got for signing on. He was just like my father. In that moment, any tiny, leftover shred of loyalty I felt toward Joe just ... evaporated.

“So go,” I said. My voice was ice.

He looked completely thrown by my tone. “You’ll ... you’ll come with me, right? We can just postpone this. We’ll come right back as soon as it’s all sorted out.”

I laughed. It was a short, bitter sound. “No. I’m not going back. I just got here. I needed this vacation, Joe. I’m staying.”

His face changed then. The apology was gone, replaced by that look fathers give their daughters. Paternal. Condescending. “Hannah, be reasonable,” he started. “You can’t stay here all by yourself.”

“Watch me,” I said, swinging my legs out of bed. I walked over to the closet and started pulling things out. “You go be a ‘fine asset to the team.’ I’m going to have my fucking honeymoon. You can send for my things later.”

The finality in my voice shut him up. He tried to argue for a little while longer he pleaded, he tried to reason with me but it was like talking to a brick wall. My mind was made up. The anger felt good. It was like armor, protecting me from all the other messy, terrifying feelings underneath.

An hour later, he was gone. A taxi whisked him off to the tiny island airport, leaving me standing in the doorway of the massive suite.

Alone.

But not really alone. I knew they were still here.

Waiting.

A few minutes after Joe’s taxi disappeared, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from a number I didn’t recognize.

Our suite. 312. We need to talk. It’s important.

My heart started hammering against my ribs. A voice in my head, the last sane part of me, was screaming, No! Don’t answer! Block the number! Run! This is your chance!

But my body was already moving.

My hands, like they belonged to someone else, pulled jeans and a sweater out of the closet. The battle was already over before it really began. It felt like I’d just lost something crucial, but a sick, thrilling part of me felt like I’d just won everything that mattered.