He drops a kiss to my cheek before sliding out from beside me. Cool air touches my overheated back, and although a moment ago I was too hot, I immediately miss the warmth he provided.
I should get up.
It’s a weekday, and I need to get to work, but I can’t bring myself to pull away from Rowan.
Hell, I’m the boss. I can start anytime I want.
Asher curses under his breath, drawing our attention to where he’s scrolling through his phone at the end of the bed, his brows pinched together.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Rowan untangles himself from around me and reaches for his own phone, a string of profanities filling the room before both men are looking at me with pinched expressions.
Something’s wrong.
Something’s very fucking wrong for them to be looking at me like this.
“Where’s your phone, Hannah?” Asher asks.
“Why?” I whisper.
He hesitates for a moment, eyes flicking to Rowan before settling on my face. “The tabloids have shared some photos…of us,” he explains. “All three of us.”
I open my mouth to respond, but I don’t know what to say.
The fact that he’s hesitant to say anything else tells me that whatever photos are circulating don’t paint me in a good light, but do I really want to know how bad?
Bad as in them both touching me?
Or bad as in them both fucking me?
Without me having to ask, Rowan hands me his phone, and I scan the article, my stomach rolling at every word I read.
Hannah Malone, the granddaughter of business tycoon Jeffrey Malone, has found herself not one, but two men to warm her bed.
The best part? They’re related!
Rowan Cane was briefly married to Hannah’s mother but has clearly traded her in for the newer model. Ex-MMA fighter, Asher Cane, is the third member of this sordid affair, making the situation even more juicy.
When we reached out to Jeffrey about his granddaughter’s affair, he had some choice words for Hannah. “It’s clear her rebellious days aren’t behind her, but I trust she’ll see the true colors of the men she’s allowed to sully her reputation.”
I stop reading when tears fill my eyes, blurring the words together.
He did this.
This isn’t a random article. This is just another one of his tactics to force us apart.
The press has never reported on me before. Not once. I’ve appeared on red carpets more times than I can count, but my face is rarely recognizable enough to be printed. So why the sudden interest?
The photos are from our date night. Some while we were sitting at the table, others when Asher was helping me into the car, but the affection between us is obvious throughout. The familiarity of their hands on me would be hard to argue, and I wouldn’t want to.
In any other context, the photos are beautiful. The way my men look at me like I’m their entire world, how easily they take care of my every want and need, and how relaxed I look between them, like nothing matters because I know they’ll always keep me safe.
Rowan takes the phone from me as Asher pulls me into his arms, dragging a broken sob from my throat.
“I’m sorry, Little Doe,” he whispers against my hair, his firm hold making me cry harder.
“Why is he doing this?” I choke. “Why can’t he just leave me alone?”
