Rosália’s breath hitched. She wanted to run back inside. She wanted to lock the heavy glass doors and hide in her empty, quiet house where the illusion was still intact. But her feet were planted to the slate patio as Sean closed the distance between them.
He stopped right in front of her, the heat radiating off his large frame. He tapped the screen, opening a file, and held the phone out.
The bright, harsh glow of the screen illuminated the dark terrace.
Before her eyes could even focus on the image, the audio hit her. It was a sharp, breathy moan, followed immediately by the wet, rhythmic slap of skin against skin.
Rosália’s eyes dropped to the screen.
It was security footage, crystal clear and horrifyingly intimate, angled down a sweeping, modern staircase. It was Sean’s house.
Lying back against the carpeted stairs, her blonde hair spilling over the steps, was Katherine. And kneeling over her, his hands gripping her bare hips with bruising, territorial force, was David.
Rosália couldn’t look away. It was like staring into the sun. David was thrusting into the younger woman non-stop, his pace frantic and entirely selfish. His head was thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut, and a low, guttural grunt tore from his throat.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,”David groaned on the video, his voice echoing from the phone’s small speaker, vibrating straight into Rosália’s chest.“So fucking hot. The tightest I’ve ever had... I couldn’t even go a few hours without having you again.”
Katherine whimpered his name in response, her hands tangling in his dark hair.
The world tilted violently on its axis.
The color completely drained from Rosália’s vision. A rush of cold, clammy sweat broke out across her forehead, and a violent, sickening wave of nausea hit her stomach like a freight train. She couldn’t finish the video. She couldn’t watch another second.
She violently shoved Sean’s hand away, turning sharply to the side. She dropped to her knees beside a large terracotta planter, gagging, and vomited the expensive wine and her untouched dinner directly into the dirt.
She choked on a sob, her entire body shaking as she retched.
Instantly, a large, warm hand gathered the loose strands of her hair, pulling them gently away from her face. Another heavy, incredibly warm hand flattened against her spine, rubbing slow, soothing circles between her trembling shoulder blades.
Sean didn’t say a word. He didn’t rush her, and he didn’t pull away in disgust. He simply knelt beside her in the cold, holding her steady while her entire world shattered into a million jagged pieces on his shoes.
When the violent heaving finally stopped, Rosália slumped forward, gasping for air. Sean reached into his pocket, pulling out a clean, folded handkerchief. He gently tipped her chin up and wiped the corner of her mouth.
“Come here,” he murmured, his deep voice an anchor in the storm. He gripped her arms, effortlessly helping her up from the cold slate and guiding her to the plush outdoor sofa. She collapsed against the cushions, burying her face in her hands.
“Stay here,” Sean ordered softly.
He disappeared through the glass doors into her house. A minute later, he returned, the ice clinking softly in a glass of water. He sat down beside her on the sofa, pressing the cold glass into her trembling hands.
“Drink,” he coaxed gently. “I’m sorry I had to show you that, Rosália. Truly. But I needed you to believe me.”
Rosália nodded numbly, taking a slow, shaky sip of the icy water. The cold water washed away the bitter taste of bile, but it couldn’t wash away the sound of David’s voice.
“Fuck, you’re so hot.”
The memory struck her with lethal force. The heavy glass slipped from her fingers, thudding onto the table as a fresh, agonizing wave of horror washed over her.
She turned to Sean, her eyes wide, glassy, and completely shattered.
“He called me hot,” she whispered, her voice cracking, tears finally spilling over her lashes and tracking hot and fast down her pale cheeks. “A few nights ago. He came home late... he wouldn’t even look at my face. He put me on my hands and knees and he... he called mehot.”
A broken, devastated sob tore itself from her throat. “He kept saying it over and over. Just like he did to her. He was imagining her, Sean. He was closing his eyes and using me to fuck her.”
Sean’s jaw locked, a muscle feathering violently under his skin. The compassion in his eyes hardened into pure, unadulterated fury on her behalf.
Without a word of hesitation, he reached out and pulled her into his chest.
Rosália collapsed against him, her hands fisting desperately into the thick fabric of his black sweater. She buried her face in his neck and started to cry uncontrollably. The damhad completely broken. All the loneliness, all the rejection, the agonizing dinner, the years of silent suffering—it all poured out of her in ragged, tearing sobs.
