Chapter 11
As we touched down in the Maldives by seaplane, staff from our private villa greeted us with champagne and garlands of fresh flowers. Sloane's hand clasped mine tightly, her chest brushing my arm as she leaned close, smiling flawlessly for the photos she had arranged.
I forced a smile for the cameras, though all I wanted was to collapse into bed.
Adjusting my sunglasses, I let Sloane pull me slightly closer.
Her grip was just a little too tight, her smile just a little too sharp.
"You know," she whispered against my ear, her lips grazing my skin.
"You should keep up the act." She bit my earlobe before pressing a kiss against my cheek, her expression that of a doting wife—perfect for the cameras.
"Can't we just go to the villa first, please?" I whispered back. "I feel dizzy." My head throbbed, and the heat of the Maldives only made it worse.
She glanced at me but said nothing, turning back to the staff, laughing and chatting with them as though nothing was wrong. I stayed silent, eyes heavy, pressing my fingers tighter against hers just to stay grounded.
Finally, she paused, then smiled politely at the staff. "If you'll excuse us, my wife and I will enjoy our honeymoon." The men carried our luggage toward the overwater villa. I offered them a subtle bow and a faint smile before following.
"Thank you," Sloane said as they placed the bags inside and handed us the keys. The moment the door closed behind them, she released my hand.
I dropped onto the couch, tossing my head back against the cushion with my arms spread along the headrest. One leg crossed over the other. "What's wrong with you?" Sloane asked sharply. "Did you forget there were cameras? Didn't I tell you to keep up the act? One wrong move, and our strategy—"
"Sol." I removed my sunglasses, tossing them aside. "Can we not do this right now? I just need to rest."
"That." She jabbed a finger at me, standing over me like a judge delivering sentence. "That is why your empire's collapsing. You don't care about what people think. You make yourself vulnerable. No wonder they've taken advantage of you."
I groaned, rolling my eyes, sinking deeper into the couch. "I've been in this business longer than you, Sol. Spare me the lecture."
She scoffed, eyes narrowing. "Your biggest mistake is getting too comfortable. You thought you could control everything—look at the result. Lost fortune, lost standing. If your grandmother and mother were alive, do you think they'd be proud of this?"
Her words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. Humiliation burned under my skin. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to my feet. "Fine," I said, standing slowly to meet her gaze. "It's my fault. My mistake. Happy? Now, can I rest?"
The knife twisted sharper because she wasn't wrong. She knew exactly where to dig, how to break me open. And I hated her for it. I hated how much I still wanted her despite it.
Turning away, I was headed toward the bed when I stopped short. My brow furrowed. "Wait. Why is there only one bed?"
"Why don't you tell me?" she retorted, arms crossed, a brow arched. "You're the one who booked it, Ro. Forgot to check?"
I fumbled for my phone, pulling up the reservation. The confirmation glared back at me. My stomach dropped. Covering my mouth, I whispered, "Shit."
Sloane snatched the phone from my hand, scanning the screen. Her lips twitched as she clicked her tongue. "Really, Aurora?" She shoved the phone back at me, glaring.
"Okay, okay." I raised my hands in surrender. "My fault. You take the bed, I'll take the couch. Problem solved!"
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Forget it. Just sleep on the bed too."
I raised a brow. She raised hers higher. "You can't sleep properly on that couch. You'll get cramps. Just take the bed. Besides..." she shrugged, brushing past me. "We're legally married anyway."
She brushed past me, but I caught her wrist, pulling her back.
"Aurora!" she hissed, trying to pull away, but I tightened my grip, holding her close. "What the hell do you want now?"
Her hazel eyes burned into mine—shifting shades of brown and green, like they always did depending on the light, the weather, the mood. The same eyes I had spent years longing for, chasing in memory.
I swallowed hard, lifting her chin with trembling fingers. "Sol..." I whispered, before leaning in to press my lips to hers. I kissed her. It was meant to be quick, but the moment our lips met, I couldn't let go. When I pulled back, something flickered in her eyes. Hope. Or maybe danger.
I cupped her cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She didn't move. She only swallowed, staring back at me. My heart thundered, and before I could stop myself, I kissed her again—deeper this time, desperate. She was my wife now, no matter how twisted the circumstances.
Sloane's arms slid around my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as she kissed me back. I grabbed her waist, guiding her toward the bed, stumbling in our haste.
I laid her down gently, straddling her as my fingers brushed her cheek. She pulled at the hem of my shirt, yanking it over my head and tossing it aside.
A knot tightened in my chest as I looked at her. Twelve years. Twelve years of shadows, twelve years of suffering alone, only to end up here again. Sol... just one chance. Please.
I bit her lip, drawing a sharp gasp from her. Sliding her strap down her shoulder, I kissed along her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. She arched into me, tugging my hair. My hand slipped down her thigh, tugging away her underwear. Her hand fumbled at my waistband, sliding inside.
"Shit..." she hissed, head thrown back as her grip tightened around my bulge, stroking with deliberate pressure—gentle, then rough. My head spun.
She groaned, suddenly pushing me onto the mattress, straddling me with a sharp look. In one motion, she pulled down my trousers and boxers. A smirk curved her lips. "What now, Ro? Losing your touch after being celibate for more than a decade?"
I clicked my tongue, meeting her gaze. "Oh? Try me, Sol."
Her hand wrapped around me, stroking with slow, deliberate strokes. I reached for her dress, yanking it up and tossing it aside. Positioning herself, she lowered her core over the tip of me. I swallowed hard, pulse racing.
Her eyes never left mine as she sank down, her warmth engulfing me inch by inch. Despite the cool air of the villa, my body flared hot. My head still pounded, but I couldn't stop. I shifted us quickly, taking control once more.
Sloane's fingers grazed my abdomen as my hand gripped her waist. I thrust into her, bracing my free hand against the headboard. My rhythm built—forward, back, deeper each time—pulling whimpers and groans from her as she bit down on her lip.
Sweat slid down my spine as I stared at her, raw and desperate. I didn't want to lose her again. I wanted her mine. The truth pressed heavy on my tongue—no lies, no walls—but I swallowed it back, clinging to the steady rhythm of us.
"Sol," I groaned, driving deeper. I could feel her tighten around me, the heat, the wet sound of each thrust, her moans spilling free. The way she licked her lips, parted them with a gasp, arched her back—God, she was undoing me.
"Fuck it, Sol," I hissed, grinding into her harder.
She gasped and flipped us with startling force, riding me now, kneeling on the mattress as she rose and fell. Her hands gripped my shoulders, her head thrown back, hair spilling. I cupped her breasts, moving with her, groaning as she took me rougher, faster.
The wet slap of her body against mine filled the room, blending with her moans and my growls. I felt her pulsing around me, trembling with each surge.
I sat up, bracing one hand against the mattress, the other gripping her waist. "Damn, Sol. You're fucking perfect," I rasped against her shoulder, biting down.
She grabbed my face, forcing me to meet her eyes. "Isn't that the same line you used to say every time you fucked me back then?" Her cheeks flushed, but her movements never faltered. "You used me back then, and now look—here I am, letting the same person rail me again."
A lump caught in my throat. I wanted to protest, deny, explain—but before I could, her mouth crashed against mine. Not soft. Not tender. Possessive, punishing. Her tongue slid against mine, her arms locking tight around me as she ground down harder.
I held her close, moving with her, lost in her wet heat, her body wrapped so tight around me. After all these years, I could finally feel her again. I had missed this—missed her.
Sloane's body trembled against mine, her release pulsing around me as my own climax tore through, spilling deep inside her heat.
A shudder ran down my spine as my length throbbed, the sensation overwhelming.
She clung to me, arms locked tight around my neck, and I stumbled back onto the mattress with her still wrapped around me.
Our breathing came ragged, hearts thundering together. Her face buried into my shoulder as I kissed her skin softly, stroking her back, her hair. Her body shook against mine, fragile in her aftershocks. I held her close, my hands moving slowly over her back, steadying her, anchoring her to me.
"You alright, Sol?" I whispered, my lips brushing her shoulder.
She gave a small nod but didn't lift her head. I didn't press. I simply held her, letting her stay where she was, wrapping her up in my arms and heat.
She's mine. Sloane is mine. My wife. At last. And I wasn't letting go.
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Curling into the mattress, I frowned as a soft voice called my name. I groaned in response, unwilling to open my eyes. Shifting, I pulled the blanket over my face—only for someone to tug it away.
"Ro, wake up. We're going to be late for the exclusive party." Sloane's voice carried irritation.
I groaned again, rolling onto my stomach. "Let's skip it, Sol," I mumbled, clinging to the last threads of sleep.
She clicked her tongue and pulled me upright. "Come on. Wake up. Don't tell me you're too weak to stand beside me, Ro." Her tone teased, but there was steel beneath it.
With a heavy sigh, I sat up, letting the blanket pool at my waist. Rubbing my eyes, I blinked until my vision adjusted—and froze. She was standing in front of me in a blazing red dress. My throat tightened.
"Are you going to stare all night?" Sloane's voice snapped me back. I cleared my throat and rose, tightening the robe around my body.
"Let me just pick something—" My words stalled. On the edge of the bed lay a white silk dress, its cut eerily similar to hers.
"Just wear that," she said with a shrug. "Picked it up myself. Come on, Ro. Don't make me wait."
"Right. Just a few minutes." I hurried into the bathroom. The mirror reflected back a pale, tired version of me. Twisting the faucet, I splashed water onto my face again and again until my skin tingled.
"You look like a ghostly creature, Ro," I whispered to myself, droplets running down my cheeks. I rinsed with mouthwash, spat it out, and turned off the tap.
When I stepped out, fresh undergarments clinging to me, I found myself staring at the silk dress. My lips curved faintly as my fingers brushed its smooth fabric. Shedding the robe, I slipped into the dress and slid my feet into the sandals nearby.
In the mirror, the soft glimmer of the gold necklace around my neck drew my hand. I lifted the locket to my lips and pressed a kiss to it before lowering it gently.
I combed through my hair, smoothed serum into it, dabbed lipstick across my lips, and spritzed perfume at my throat and wrists.
When I looked up again, Sloane was there—leaning against the doorframe, watching me through the mirror. She hummed, pushing herself upright as she walked toward me.
"Still the same size," she murmured.
I turned, brow raised, as she tilted her head. A sigh slipped from her lips as she cupped my face, pulling me slightly down to meet her gaze. "Is it just the lighting, or have you really gone paler?"
I scoffed lightly. "Maybe. Haven't seen much sun. Been busy." My eyes flicked to the marks along her neck and shoulders—my marks. My voice faltered. "Are you sure you're going to...?"
She laughed, a sound rich and real. "What's there to hide? It's not like I got them from some stranger. They're from my wife." She shrugged and released me. "Now, are you done?"
Her words hollowed me out. My wife. She called me her wife. My throat tightened as I grabbed my watch from the nightstand and buckled it onto my wrist. "Y-yeah. I'm done," I whispered, my voice cracking.
She gave me a small smile and extended her hand. "Then let's go to Subsix."
We walked out of the villa hand in hand, side by side.
I couldn't stop myself from stealing glances at her.
Every time I looked, I had to fight the urge to pull her closer—until finally I did, sliding my arm around her waist. She didn't pull away or make a remark.
She simply let me. As if giving me permission.
By the time we reached Subsix, the underwater nightclub, the bass was already thrumming through the glass walls, pounding in time with my heartbeat.
Neon lights fractured across the room, colors bleeding into one another while schools of silver fish swam lazily just beyond the tinted glass, as if they too were pulsing with the music.
We settled into our reserved table for two. My gaze drifted to the dance floor, then back to the dampness on my neck. Sweat again. I groaned softly, stretching my neck and reaching for the rim of my champagne flute.
I sipped, watching Sloane pick delicately at the food before her. Men's eyes tracked her across the room, moths drawn to flame, though she seemed oblivious—or perhaps she simply didn't care.
"Ro," she said, her voice pulling me back. She lifted her fork, offering it to me. "Here."
My eyes lingered on hers, then on the fork. Slowly, I leaned forward and took the bite of pesto pasta. I chewed deliberately, swallowing hard, never breaking my gaze. To anyone watching, we probably looked in love. Let them think it. I wasn't going to correct them—not when, legally, she was mine.
I cut into my own dish, slicing a piece of meat and placing it on her plate. She paused, looking at me in surprise.
"Figured you'd like that," I said with a shrug before spearing a piece from my plate and holding it out to her.
Her eyes searched mine for a moment before she leaned in and took the bite. She chewed, covering her mouth slightly, and swallowed with a smile. "It's tender. Juicy."
I found myself smiling back.
Dinner slipped by in a haze of champagne and glances. Then she rose from her chair.
"Where are you going?" I asked, my voice tight.
"Washroom," she said simply, slipping away.
I exhaled, turning back toward the glass. The fish shimmered under the shifting lights. My fingers traced their outlines across the glass—until a reflection interrupted them. A man stood beside me, smiling.
"Uh... can I help you, Monsieur?" I asked cautiously.
He rubbed the back of his neck, still grinning. "I was hoping I might ask you for a dance?" He extended his hand toward me.
I opened my mouth to decline, but Sloane's voice cut through.
"Careful."
She was back, sliding into her seat. Her hand slipped over mine on the table, claiming. She raised her champagne toward the man. "She's already spoken for," she purred, lifting her hand just enough to display the wedding ring, then pointing to mine.
The man's eyes widened. He muttered an apology and vanished into the crowd.
I shook my head with a small smile, but when I looked back at Sloane, her eyes were locked on mine. Studying me.
She sipped her champagne. I tilted my head toward the dance floor.
"Sloey," I called softly. The glass stilled against her lips as she looked at me. "Dance with me."
Her lips curved, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course, Ro."
I stood, offering her my hand. She set her glass down, slid her hand into mine, and rose. Together we walked to the dance floor, surrounded by laughter and beats pounding like a second pulse. Her hands pressed against my waist, fingers digging in as though to remind me who controlled this moment.
I swallowed hard, my hand resting on her back, pulling her closer.
We moved together, bodies brushing, heat bleeding from her into me. "Sol," I whispered against her ear, shutting my eyes and breathing in her scent.
"What is it?" she asked, her body molding to mine, her warmth wrapping around me.
"Twelve years ago..." My eyes opened, meeting hers. She waited. "The truth is..." My breath hitched. It wasn't true that I only used her. I loved her—deeply, madly. That was the truth. "Sol, the reason I broke up with you is because I'm d—"
My words were stolen.
In the strobe-lit chaos, another body slipped into the space where I should have been. A man—tall, broad-shouldered, faceless in the fractured colors.
"Hey—" I started, but the word died in my throat.
Sloane's hands were already on him. Bold. Deliberate. Sliding down his chest, curling into his shirt as though she were claiming him right in front of me.
I froze. My feet rooted to the floor. My chest hollowed. What...?
The world slowed, every beat of the music dragging like a cruel reminder. Sloane wasn't just dancing with him—she was devouring him. Her lips grazed dangerously close to his jaw. Her body pressed flush against his. Their movements in sync, too intimate, too intentional.
It was as if I didn't exist.
Her gaze found me. Not a glance—no. A strike. Hazel darkened, locking on mine through the shifting crowd. Satisfaction glimmered there, sharp and merciless, making my chest ache as though a thousand needles pierced it all at once.
Every brush of her hands across his body cut me open. Every sway whispered the same truth: This could have been yours. But you ruined it.
My pulse roared in my ears, louder than the music. My legs weakened. Heat surged through my face, my chest clenching tighter, tighter. Is this what she felt before?
For a moment, I thought I might collapse right there, the room watching me unravel while my wife pressed herself against another man's mouth.
But no.
I forced a laugh, shaking my head. I wouldn't break—not here, not now. I wouldn't give Sloane that spectacle.
With a sharp exhale, I turned, stumbling toward the exit. My heels rang unsteady against the glass floor. The music dulled into a muffled echo down the corridor. My hand clutched at my throat, words burning to be spoken, but I swallowed them back.
Silence was my safest option. Silence was mine.
"Damn it, Sol..."