Chapter 16: The Suite

Chris had another scheduled “business trip” coming up this weekend. Megan knew it was bullshit, and she knew Jalen knew it, too. Chris wasn’t flying out for work; he was meeting up with another woman.

Usually, the thought would leave her feeling hollow, suffocated by the sheer expanse of the empty mansion, but this time, it was different. This time, Chris’s absence meant freedom.

Later that afternoon, she was sitting in the quiet of the living room when her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her heart doing a sudden, violent flip when she saw a Facebook Messenger notification from Jalen.

She hadn’t checked Facebook in ages.

Jalen: “Hey. I want to take you out this weekend. Friday night, but not just anywhere. I want you to dress up. Wear something that makes you feel like the most beautiful and powerful woman in the world. I’ll handle the rest.”

Megan stared at the screen, the words blurring slightly as her breath caught in her throat.

Take you out. Dress up.

This wasn’t a stolen conversation in her basement. This wasn’t a tense, emotionally charged standoff hidden away in his apartment. He was asking her on a date. A real, public date.

The reality of what he was asking crashed over her. As a married woman, the wife of one of Atlanta’s most prominent lawyers, the logistics alone were terrifying.

What if one of Chris’s country club friends saw them? What if the estate staff noticed her leaving the house looking like a goddess instead of the quiet, compliant housewife she usually played?

But underneath the cold panic, a fierce, intoxicating thrill flared to life. For years, she had been an accessory, packed away in this massive house when Chris didn’t need to show her off.

Now, a real man, who actually saw her, was asking her to step into the light. He didn’t want her to hide. He wanted her to feel powerful.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she hovered over the keyboard. She knew that answering him meant there was no going back. She wouldn’t just be reacting to her miserable marriage anymore; she would be actively participating in its destruction.

She swallowed hard, briefly rubbing her wrist before typing back.

Megan: “Jalen ... what are you up to?”

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

Jalen: “Something Chris never has. Just trust me.”

She bit her bottom lip hard enough to taste copper.

Trust me.

She had trusted Chris, and it had cost her a decade of her life and her own identity. Trusting Jalen could cost her everything else—the prenup, her financial security, and whatever was left of her reputation.

But as she looked around the cold, pristine walls of her cage, she realized those things didn’t matter anymore. She wanted to feel alive, whatever the cost.

Megan: “What time?”

Jalen: “I’ll send you the time and address soon. Just be ready for me.”

Megan locked her phone, the screen going black, and let out a long, shaky exhale. With those two words, the shift was permanent.

She wasn’t just Chris Westward’s neglected wife waiting out another lonely weekend. She was Jalen’s date, and for the first time in ten years, she actually had something to look forward to.

Friday night arrived, and Megan followed his instructions to the letter. She stood in front of her vanity, applying her lipstick, making sure her freshly done hair cascaded in perfect waves down her back.

She slipped into a long, silky crimson-red gown with high side slits.

When she looked in the mirror, she didn’t see Chris Westward’s trophy wife. She saw Megan.

The address Jalen had sent her led to the Westin Peachtree Plaza in downtown Atlanta. As she rode the elevator up to the luxury suite, her stomach tied itself in nervous knots. She stepped out, walked down the quiet hallway, and stopped in front of the door. She took a deep, steadying breath and knocked.

The door opened, and Megan’s breath left her lungs.

Jalen stood there in a crisp black suit, clean-cut and impossibly sharp, paired with a deep red tie. He looked devastating, but it was the look on his face that made her pulse race. It was the way his eyes widened slightly, and his breath caught as he took her in.

“Hi,” she said, smiling nervously.

“Hi,” Jalen barely managed to respond, his voice thick.

He stepped aside to let her in, and as Megan’s golden high-heeled pumps clicked softly against the hotel floor, she stopped dead in her tracks.

The suite was breathtaking, boasting floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the glittering Atlanta skyline. But it wasn’t the luxury or the view that brought a sudden, overwhelming sting of emotion to her eyes. It was the details.

The lights were dimmed, replaced by the soft, warm glow of dozens of candles. A trail of deep red rose petals led from the entryway toward a beautifully set dining table, and further back toward a plush king-sized bed.

Smooth, soft jazz drifted from a speaker, blending perfectly with the rich, mouth-watering aroma of garlic and Italian herbs drifting from the kitchen.

Two glasses of dark, ruby-colored Muscadine wine—a rich and sweet southern favorite—sat waiting on the table.