Page 57

Fine. Something uncomplicated. No commands, no possessive assholes, no men who sign my paychecks.

Then Jace's wicked grin flashes as I ride him and damn near climax.

“Oh, fuck you!” Frustration finally wins. I switch off the vibrator and fling it onto the carpet.

I run a hand through my hair, annoyed, because I could finish right now if I stopped fighting where my imagination keeps taking me. But I'll be damned if I let those three invade my bedroom after spending the entire week avoiding them.

The hatred I try to summon feels hollow. What fills me instead is exhaustion. My hands cover my burning face, but they can’t block what comes next. Another voice that cuts through everything

Preston.

My lungs constrict as the bedroom walls shimmer and fade, reality giving way to memory.

The memory isn’t just a thought; it’s a place.

I’m back in that apartment, the one with the bay view I said we couldn’t afford but he convinced me to sign for anyway. The one where I’d quit my job because he said a proper wife didn’t need one, and he wanted to take care of me.

Puzzle pieces, he’d called us.

Fated.

I see now the only piece I was meant to be was the one he could put back in the box when he was done playing.

The final crack in that box was a sound I’d never forget.

THREE YEARS AGO…

I’d just gotten back from brunch with Trey, two mimosas past responsible and still carrying the rare feeling of being myself again.

He was the only friend Preston hadn’t managed to drive completely out of my life.

I pushed the apartment door shut with my hip, dropping my keys into the dish by the counter. The place was quiet, too quiet. Preston was supposed to be at work, so I figured I had a few hours to myself. I slipped off my coat, tossed it over the back of the sofa, and headed for the bedroom.

That's when I heard it.

A soft giggle. High, feminine. Floating down the hallway.

I froze mid-step, my pulse hammering in my ears. Another sound followed; low, throaty, unmistakable. A moan.

Coming from our bedroom?

My chest constricted as I stormed down the hall, each step landing hard enough to rattle the framed photos on the wall.

Ther was no hesitation. No pause. Just fury propelling me forward.

The moan came again, louder this time, and bile burned the back of my throat as I pushed the door open.

Preston was sprawled across the sheets, his bare chest slick with sweat, hands clamped around his assistant's hips as she rode him. Her head was thrown back, the wet slap of their bodies echoing through our room.

I stood frozen in the doorway, the air punched out of my lungs. Preston's eyes finally flicked open mid-thrust, and the second they landed on me, his rhythm stuttered.

"Sloane!"

He shoved her off like she was nothing, grabbing for the sheet like modesty mattered now. The girl froze beside him, cheeks flushed, hair wild, clutching at the sheets.

“Baby…” he stammered. “It's not what it looks like.”

I laughed. The sound came out wrong. Too sharp. Too empty.