Every time I tried to have something with a man, I couldn’t seem to let go.
I never felt safe enough.
Never trusted.
Then I met Hunter.
One look was all it took.
I felt the weight of his attention from the other side of that party, and my body reacted before my mind had the chance to interfere.
We talked.
He kissed me.
And for the first time in my life, I stopped fighting myself.
I stopped thinking, stopped worrying.
I simply let myself feel.
And after that first time, staying away from him became impossible.
With every stolen moment, every kiss and every touch, I sank deeper until I no longer knew how to find my way back out.
And now I stand between the Wardgrave men and mourn.
I mourn whatever existed between Hunter and me.
I mourn the possibility of what it could have become.
And, maybe, I mourn myself too.
Because Hunter finally got what he wanted.
The truth.
Now he knows who my husband is.
I’ve been sleeping with my husband’s son.
Who does that?
I close my eyes.
The guilt, the fear, and the self-loathing are simply too much.
And it’s all for Hunter.
Because it’s not as though I’ve destroyed some great love story between my husband and me.
I’m just trapped.
And it’s not as is he’s faithful to me.
He isn’t.
Yet somehow, when the woman does it, it becomes a stain on the man’s honour.
