When Katherine woke up tomorrow and realized she had been completely erased from the public narrative of his life, it would hurt and humiliate her more deeply than a private screaming match ever could.
Rosália looked at Sean, watching him effortlessly command the room, and a shiver traced its way down her spine.
I will always, always make sure I remain this man’s friend,she thought to herself.Because having Sean as an enemy must be the most terrifying thing in the world.
The heavy mahogany door of the penthouse suite clicked open, the electronic lock glowing a faint green.
Rosália stepped into the quiet, dimly lit room, dropping her small evening clutch onto the entryway table. David was practically stepping on the hem of her gown, following right on her heels. The door hadn’t even shut behind them before he started in again.
He hadn’t stopped talking for thirty minutes. The frantic, paranoid interrogation had begun the very second they stepped out of the grand ballroom and into the private elevator.
It had taken every ounce of Rosália’s self-control not to burst into a fit of vindictive, hysterical giggles during the rest of the party. After Sean had escorted her off the stage, she had returned to her table carrying a silver plate with a slice of the birthday cake. The look on Katherine’s face—the absolute, murderous glare the younger woman had shot her across the velvet-draped tables—had been a picture of pure, unfiltered devastation. It was glorious.
But David’s reaction was entirely different. He was spiraling.
Rosália walked across the plush carpet of the bedroom, ignoring the frantic cadence of her husband’s voice. She sat on the edge of the massive king-sized bed, reaching down to unbuckle the delicate straps of her heels. She tuned him out completely, letting his words turn into a dull, meaningless drone in the background.
“—and you didn’t even think to mention it to me,” David was snapping, pacing at the foot of the bed, running a hand aggressively through his perfectly styled hair. “A speech, Rose. In front of two hundred of the most powerful people in the state.”
Rosália kicked her shoes off with a soft sigh, massaging the arch of her foot.
Her utter lack of reaction made David snap. He closed the distance between them in two long strides, reaching downto grab her bare arm. His grip wasn’t bruising, but it was hard enough to demand her absolute attention.
“Why won’t you answer me?” David demanded, his dark eyes wide and frantic. “What exactly are you hiding, Rosália?”
Rosália slowly looked up at him. She let her gaze drop to his hand on her arm, holding the silence until he uncomfortably loosened his grip. She offered him a mask of perfect, bewildered innocence.
“What in the world are you talking about, David?” she asked, her voice calm and entirely steady.
“Since when are you so close with Sean?” he pushed, his jaw ticking violently. “Since when are you two sharing private jokes and holding hands on stages?”
“We are neighbors,” Rosália replied smoothly, seamlessly pulling her arm out of his reach. She kept her tone remarkably light, dismissing his panic. “We run into each other. We talk. We’ve become good friends, David, nothing more. I honestly don’t understand this bizarre reaction you’re having.”
David’s face darkened, his sophisticated veneer cracking to reveal an ugly, possessive core. “I don’t like it. I forbid this ‘friendship’.”
Rosália stared at him for a split second before a sharp, genuine laugh bubbled up her throat. The sheer, unadulterated hypocrisy of the man standing in front of her was staggering.
“You forbid it?” she echoed, shaking her head as she stood up from the bed. “David, you’ve gone completely crazy.”
“I’m completely serious, Rose—”
“I am an adult woman,” she interrupted, her voice hardening just a fraction. A normal, faithful husband having a sudden jealousy crisis might have been cute. It might have made her feel wanted. But coming from the man who had been violently thrusting into their neighbor on a carpeted staircase just days ago, it was pathetic. “I am perfectly capable of choosing my own friends.”
“You are my wife,” David hissed, stepping into her space, his chest puffing out in a desperate display of dominance. “And you should at least respect this wish of mine. Because I do not feel comfortable having other men dedicating entire speeches to you while I sit in the audience.”
Rosália rolled her eyes. The urge to slap him was a physical ache in her palm, but she pushed it down. She turned her back to him, reaching over her shoulder to find the hidden zipper of her gown.
With a smooth, fluid motion, she pulled the zipper down. The heavy, deep red silk slipped off her shoulders and pooled in a luxurious heap at her feet.
Behind her, David was still complaining. “You need to set boundaries with him. I won’t have my colleagues thinking my wife is—”
The words died a sudden, violent death in his throat.
Rosália turned around to face him.
Beneath the gown, she was wearing a set of intricate, deep red lace lingerie that perfectly matched the dress. It was breathtakingly delicate, the sheer fabric clinging to the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts, designed to be an absoluteweapon. The deep crimson color made her tanned skin glow in the dim light of the hotel room.
David completely froze. The anger evaporated from his face, instantly replaced by a stunned, heavy shock. His dark eyes dragged down her body, his mouth parting slightly.
