At first glance, everything appears perfect. The throw blanket draped neatly over the stark white couch. The coffee table books are stacked with surgeon-level precision. It all screams Chloe, practiced, staged.
Then my gaze snags on the armchair.
A suit jacket. Navy pinstripe. Tossed over the back.
Next to it, a pair of leather shoes.
My stomach knots. I scan the room again.
A bottle of wine on the counter. Her favorite. The one I stored in her fridge. Two glasses. One with a crimson lipstick stain. And the other…
The flutter in my chest nosedives into my stomach, turns to stone. Itsinks further, cold and crushing. Confusion collides with denial. Fear tangles with fury.
The jacket. The shoes. The wine.
The groceries slip from my arms. The flowers tumble out next. I move down the hall where sounds bleed from the bedroom in a rhythmic, intimate, and unmistakable echo.
My head spins, desperate for an explanation, or a lie I can cling to, but one truth barrels through the noise?—
I know exactly what I heard.
My hand lands on the doorknob. Ice-cold. It creeps up my arm as I brace for the moment that ends everything.
I push the door open.
My world detonates.
Naked. Straddling…is that…
Jackson Butler?
My boss’s nephew?
Fucking hell.
The woman I’ve been building a life with for the past twelve months is ripping it apart one moan and thrust at a time.
Her auburn hair tumbles over her bare skin as she grinds on top, her gasps drifting throughout the room.
The betrayal is instant. Atomic. My blood ignites, rage blazing under my skin. My fists tremble, jaw locked so tight my teeth ache. Every instinct demands I break something. Him, preferably.
He looks up. Casual as hell. “What’s up, man?”
My head tilts. Did he just?—?
“Nolan,” Chloe stammers, grabbing for the sheet. Jackson doesn’t even bother. His dick is at full attention as he smirks that smug, punchable smirk.
I gape at her, pleading without words, begging for an explanation. Something.Anything.
“I thought you were out with the Kenyon Group,” Jackson says.
Bitter laughter escapes me. I ignore him. My eyes lock on Chloe. “And I thought you were finishing a deposition. And having a drink with a friend.”
“I—I did,” she stammers. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
My voice is low, level. “Then what is it?”
My eyes bounce between Chloe and Jackson. Thatfuckingsmirk.
