[3rd POV]
The air was thick with the stench of lust, a heady cocktail of sweat, pheromones, and desperation. Hannah’s fingers trembled as Vincent shoved the bouquet of peonies into her hands, those delicate fucking petals brushing against her skin like the whisper of a lover’s touch. She barely had time to register their softness before they were ripped away, scattered like discarded innocence across the hotel floor.
Vincent was on her like a starving animal, his hands tearing at her clothes with a ferocity. His mouth went straight to her neck, his teeth sinking into her soft flesh with a growl that sent shivers down her spine. Hannah moaned, her hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, her nails scratching at his chest as she tried to rid him of the last barrier between them.
“Damn it,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need.
Vincent chuckled, his breath hot against her skin as his hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips like he owned them. He lifted her like she weighed nothing, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the bed.
He dropped her onto the mattress, the springs groaning in protest as he climbed on top of her, his cock already hard and straining against his pants. Hannah’s hands went to his belt, her fingers fumbling with the buckle as Vincent’s mouth found hers, his tongue invading her mouth like he was claiming her, marking her as his.
“I need to leave before eight,” she managed to say between kisses, her voice breathless and broken.
Vincent pulled back, his lips curling into a smirk as he looked down at her, his eyes dark with hunger. “Oh, baby,” he purred, his hands sliding down her sides to grip her thighs, spreading them wide. “We’ve got so much time.”
***
Abigail
I couldn’t stop shaking.
My hands trembled as I clutched the edge of the table, knuckles white, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The weight of Evie’s words settled into my bones, sinking deep into my chest like lead.
I had known something was wrong.
I had felt it in the pit of my stomach, sensed it in the way Vincent spoke to me, in the late nights, in the distant kisses, in the moments he made me feel like I was losing my mind. But hearing it out loud, knowing it was real, shattered something inside me.
He cheated. Not once. Not twice. But repeatedly.
The humiliation, the sheer rage burned through me, hotter than any fire I’d ever known. I had given him everything. I had defended him. I had convinced myself that I was being irrational, that I was just another paranoid wife, hormonal from pregnancy.
But I wasn’t crazy.
I wasn’t paranoid.
I was right.
And now, I was done.
Evie’s voice was cautious, careful, like she was afraid I might break apart right in front of her. “Aby, maybe you should sit down. Breathe. Just—”
I straightened, inhaling sharply. My fingers curled into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. “I’m fine,” I said, my voice too calm. Too composed.
Evie didn’t believe me. I could see it in the way she studied me, her brows furrowed with concern. “Are you sure talking to him right now is a good idea?”
I nodded stiffly. “I just need to see him.”
“I don’t know if—”
“Evie.” I looked her dead in the eyes, the mask still in place. “Please. Just let me handle this.”
She hesitated, but eventually, she sighed, nodding. “Okay. But I swear to God, if you need anything, call me.”
I forced a small smile, a poor attempt at reassurance, before I turned away.
The second the door closed behind her, my entire body went cold.
My limbs felt detached, like I was moving on autopilot, but my mind was eerily clear. I grabbed my phone, my fingers steady as I dialed his number.
It rang. Once. Twice. Then—
“Baby, I’m still at the office. I’ll be there soon.”
His voice was smooth, casual—like he wasn’t lying through his goddamn teeth.
A bitter laugh rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down. My fingers tightened around the phone. I forced myself to respond, my voice even, detached. “Take your time.”
Then, I hung up.
I stood there for a moment, staring at nothing, my mind empty, my heart pounding so violently I thought I might be sick.
Then, without a second thought, I turned and walked to his office.
I pulled open the drawer—the one he thought I didn’t know about.
My fingers wrapped around the cold steel of the shotgun inside.
I wasn’t crazy.
I wasn’t paranoid.
And I wasn’t going to be his fool anymore.
I threw on my coat.
Then, I walked out the door.