assume he’s in his office, but I push the button for the penthouse on impulse.
The 31 illuminates, and my breath catches. As the elevator begins its climb to the top floor, I consider pressing 30 and stopping by his office first. But curiosity holds me immobile.
Why is his penthouse unlocked? He’s either there or the passcode he gave me unlocks it. I’ve had that code for four months.
I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.
Excitement buzzes through my veins, eradicating any lingering nerves. I love this man and his perplexing, mysterious ways. I love him, and I can’t wait to tell him. And kiss him. And… Holy shit, I’m totally getting laid tonight.
When the elevator opens on the penthouse floor, my thighs clench, and my blood hums wildly. I step out and breeze past the kitchen, dining room, and living room, searching, craning my neck, and starting to sweat. There’s no sign of him, and the silence is unnerving.
I enter the hallway, and the end is illuminated by the light in his bedroom. Maybe he’s in the shower. Maybe he’s waiting for me in bed, naked, and fully erect.
Grinning like a fool, I quicken my gait. The click of my heels sound my approach, but that’s not the only thing I hear as I reach the open door.
Heavy breaths.
A low moan.
My heart freezes in my chest, and I stumble on the threshold.
The bed is perfectly made and vacant, but I know he’s in here, and he’s not alone.
Sharp pain ignites behind my eyes as I follow the panting sounds to the sitting area by the fireplace.
Bent over the arm of the couch is a woman with long dark hair, her face pressed against the cushion and her hips skyward, held in place by the man standing behind her.
The man I chose.
The one I love.
Agony stabs my chest, ripping the air from my lungs and shaking my knees violently. I grip the door jamb to keep myself upright, frozen in horror, nauseous beneath waves and waves of horrendous pain.
He’s arched over her, his chest covering her back and his trousers around his thighs. They’re angled toward the door, both wearing suits, with her skirt ruched to her waist. I can’t see his dick, but it’s clear he’s buried inside her. He’s not thrusting, not moving. Because he’s staring right at me.
I thought he was detached before…
It’s like I’m looking at someone else. There’s no expression on his face. Nothing. No scowl. No hint of lust. Just…emptiness.
How could he do this? Everything he said was lies. He’s just a player. A liar. And I fucking fell for it. Hard.
I cover my mouth as heaving breaths break free from my lungs.
The woman stirs, wriggling her hips against him as she lifts her head and brushes the hair from her face.
The flawless face of Marlo Vogt.
Her eyes find mine, and she gasps. Her complexion pales. She reaches back to shove at him, her other arm yanking her skirt down. Embarrassed.
Not as embarrassed as I am. My skin burns with humiliation, disgust, and anguish.
I hurt so badly blackness dots my vision and strangles my throat. My feet stumble backward, carrying me ungracefully into the hall, turning, and running toward the elevator.
I feel like my insides are tearing, separating, and bleeding out. Like I’m grieving.
Like the day that destroyed my world in the most irrevocable way.
Chapter Seventeen
TWO YEARS AGO
“He’s retiring when he gets home.” I twirl around Bree in the dance studio, sliding seamlessly through the steps I’ve been practicing for the past year. It’s my coping mechanism. I might be falling apart inside, but I keep moving, keep dancing. “I just need to be patient.”
And trust him. I trust Cole more than anyone on the planet.
“I don’t understand why he couldn’t retire before he left.” Bree crosses her arms and stares at the ceiling. “It’s the silence that concerns me the most.” She sighs. “Danni, you must be asking yourself… What if he doesn’t show up for the wedding? It’s only a week away.”
I lose my footing, but she doesn’t notice. Her eyes are closed, as if that could hide the worry on her face.
“Can you at least try to move through his steps?” I grip her shoulders and wait for her gaze to find mine. “I want our first dance to be perfect.”
“I’m not the one who needs to practice. Even if he showed up today, how will he learn this routine in a week?”
He was supposed to be home a month ago.