Chapter 9
AVA
F or one night, I almost feel like myself again. Not the scorned wife. Just Ava.
Thanks to Scott, Amanda, and Kieron, I get a few hours of something close to peace. We eat. We laugh.
But when Scott and Amanda retreat to bed, that quiet ache creeps back in. It reminds me of another night. A party. A different life.
FLASHBACK
"These people need to fuck off home now," Roman murmurs into my shoulder, his lips pressing against my bare skin. I giggle, already half-drunk on his attention.
"'These people' are our family and friends, babe."
He smirks against my neck, arms coiled around my waist as I scoop up empty beer bottles from the patio table.
"I need to be alone with my wife."
I dodge him, laughing, making it to the trash just in time to toss the bottles. But he's already behind me, spinning me gently, pinning me to the wall. My heart stutters. For Roman, my husband, my person.
"Ro, you're?—"
He kisses me, slow and sure. The kind that makes your knees forget how to work. The buzz of wine still warm in my veins.
His mouth moves to my throat as I melt into him, the world shrinking down to just us.
"Sorry, what were you saying?"
"You're so bad," I murmur.
He grins, trailing a fingertip along my jaw before drawing me close. "It's your fault. It's the way you look at me. You're divine."
"It's because we're newlyweds," I tease.
He shakes his head. "No. It's because we're endgame."
PRESENT DAY
I snap back to the present, still raw from the memory of better times, when I thought everything was perfect and so easy to have.
That night, I thought we had everything.
Now I can't think of Roman’s name without choking on it.
"You okay?"
I blink, pulled from my thoughts by a voice that isn't Roman’s.
Kieron stands a few feet away, one shoulder against the porch column.
He's grown into himself since college—the lanky English boy transformed into a man with broad shoulders and quiet confidence.
His dark hair falls across his forehead in that careless way that would take most men an hour to perfect.
The kind of man who turns heads without noticing.
My best friend. The way he looks at me, like he told me years ago Roman was bad news, and if only I'd listened...
"No," I say.
He walks over and drops onto the bench beside me, quiet for a moment. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"He promised. He said we were endgame."
Kieron laces his fingers through mine and squeezes. "I don't doubt he meant it."
I glance at him in surprise—it’s not like him to defend Roman.
"Can I say something you might not want to hear?"
"Oh, go on then," I reply, my voice half groan, half challenge.
"It might explain a little from Roman's side."
That gets my attention. Kieron and Roman are complete opposites. For Kieron to entertain sympathy for my husband feels surreal.
"You remember Louise?"
"Your Oxford girl? Yeah." I frown. "I thought you were going to marry her."
He nods, jaw working. "I didn't. Because I cheated."
I stare at him, stunned. Kieron isn't like that. He isn't a fuckboy. He's handsome, in demand with women, but he isn't a cheater.
"I met someone else," he continues, eyes on the lake. "I didn't mean to. But she...she just got me. I told myself I was being selfish, that Louise deserved more. But I still crossed the line."
"So you slept with the other girl?"
He looks up at me, closes his eyes, and nods. "Once."
Like a punch to the stomach. "Jesus, Kieron."
"I was in love with her."
"But you were with Louise!"
"I know. As soon as I spent the night with Grace, I went to see Louise. I told her everything, and we ended it."
I sit in silence, watching ripples on the lake. I don't want to judge him—but it hurts to think even he's capable of that.
"I'm not defending Roman. But we all mess up. Sometimes in ways that break everything. It doesn't mean we don't regret it every day."
I close my eyes. "He has a child, Kieron. A marriage. And he still chose her."
"I doubt he ever gave her his whole self," Kieron comments, voice low. "He loves you."
I turn sharply. "Whose side are you on?"
"Yours. Always have been."
I swallow as he meets my eyes.
"Roman hates me, you know. Because I was in love with you."
The words land like a slap.
I blink, trying to make sense of what I just heard. My skin prickles and my ears ring. I search Kieron's face for some cheeky grin, a joke, a trace of sarcasm. But he gazes at me with a sincerity I cannot doubt.
"Kieron... don't ."
Because if he says one more word, it all changes.
And I can't handle another shift. My world has already cracked open—my marriage, my sense of self, the future I thought was solid.
And now this. Now my best friend—the one person who's never lied to me, never hurt me—is telling me there's a truth I somehow missed. Or ignored. Or didn't want to admit.
I stare out over the lake, my mind spinning.
Was it always there? In the way he looked at me when I laughed too hard at his jokes? Or how he always remembered how I took my coffee? How he hated Roman from the beginning, and I chalked it up to ego?
How blind was I?
I think about every long-distance message, every visit, every hug that lasted just a little too long.
How could I not have seen what this was doing to him?
Or worse—did I see it and pretend I didn't?
Guilt crashes through me, nearly knocking the air from my lungs. I press a hand to my throat.
He's the one person who's never failed me. Yet I'm the one who let him feel this way—silently, helplessly—for years. He never crossed a line. But now that I know... everything feels like a line.
"I'm sorry," I whisper pathetically.
What I want to say is: I'm sorry for not knowing—for not noticing.
And maybe—just maybe —sorry for how it makes something inside me shift now, too.
Kieron watches me. "You knew. Deep down."
I shake my head. "I didn’t. You were my best friend."
"I still am." He smiles, sad and real. "But I was also the guy who knew every version of you. Even the ones you didn't show Roman."
My heart twists.
He reaches for my hand again, thumb brushing over my knuckles. This time it feels different; more intimate. "I didn't come here to confuse you, Ava. I just needed you to know you're not broken. You're still you. The best person I've ever known."
I pull in a breath, slow and uneven.
What parallel universe have I slipped into where my husband is a lousy cheater and my best friend is in love with me?
Kieron's face hovers near mine, expression open. His eyes lower briefly, and I feel the shift between us. He's thinking about closing the distance. I don't stop him, not right away.
Being close to someone makes the hollowness in my heart easier to bear. It makes me forget I've spent the last week trying to breathe through pain. That I've felt invisible in the life I built.
Kieron sees the real me—he always has.
It would be easy to let it happen—to believe that being wanted might fix something that’s been unravelling for too long.
But I know what this is.
It's about needing something to hold onto while everything falls apart.
And that's not fair to him.
I step back. "We've had too much wine."
He nods once. "Yeah. Shit."
We both laugh awkwardly, tension softening.
"You're going to be okay, Ava. No matter what happens."
I nod, blinking fast. "Thanks for not being a total asshole about it."
He chuckles. "Yet."
We head back toward the house together, glancing at one another almost nervously.
It no longer feels like he's my best friend because something has shifted between us.
And I'm terrified to find out where it leads.
My head is a fucking mess. The pain of Roman's betrayal still rips the fickle scab from the deep wound he caused, but here beside me is someone who sees me; my gorgeous, caring best friend.
Someone whose desire and love is written plainly across his face, making me feel visible again when I've felt like a ghost in my own life.
But if he loves me…I cannot mess with his head. Because I already know I can never feel the same.
I should stop this; say something, anything. I should walk away.
But I don't.
And that says everything.
The space between us suddenly shrinks to nothing as Kieron moves closer.
The heat of his body is unfamiliar yet welcome.
My breath catches in my throat. His eyes never leave mine—dark, intense, filled with years of unspoken desire.
I can see the exact moment his restraint shatters, the precise second when he gives up trying to be the moral one.
"I've imagined this," he whispers, his voice rough with longing. "More times than I can count."
His hand slides up my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.
Every nerve ending in my body seems to awaken at once, hyper aware of his proximity, the scent of him—so different from Roman's, yet somehow just as intoxicating.
When his fingers brush the nape of my neck, I shiver, not from cold but from his touch.
Something reckless unfurls inside me. A voice whispers that this is wrong—that I'm using him, that I'll regret it, that I'm still Roman's wife despite everything.
But another voice, louder and more insistent, drowns it out: Roman chose someone else.
He betrayed me . Why shouldn't I take comfort where I can?
I'm so tired of hurting.
And here is Kieron.
The one Roman was always jealous of. The one looking at me like I'm the only woman in the world.
The way Roman used to look at me. Almost.
His eyes darken as they flick to my lips, then back to my eyes. I can see the battle raging behind them—years of restraint versus this moment of possibility.
"Fuck it," he mutters, and my heart leaps.
His hands cup my face, and suddenly, his mouth is on mine. The kiss is desperate, hungry, years of pent-up longing unleashed from him in an instant. His lips move against mine with an urgency that steals my breath. I gasp, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine.
I should push him away.
Instead, my hands find his shirt, fisting in the fabric, pulling him closer. A moan escapes me, a sound I barely recognize—it’s raw, needy, and desperate.
His hands slide into my hair, angling my head back as his mouth travels down my neck. His teeth graze my skin, and I shudder against him, my body arching instinctively into his.
"Kieron," I gasp, his name half plea, half warning.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his breathing ragged, his eyes almost black with desire. "Tell me to stop," he says, voice rough. "If you want me to stop, tell me now."
But the words won't come. All I can think about is how alive I feel in this moment, how the pain has quietened, just for a time.
I need more. I need to feel anything other than pain.
I answer his question by pulling his mouth back to mine, kissing him with everything I have—all my pain, my rage, my desperation.
His response is immediate, a growl rumbling in his chest as his hands grip my hips, pressing me against him so I can feel exactly what I'm doing to him. His dick presses against me, and I panic, wondering what the fuck I’m doing.
“Fuck, Ava…”
But still, our kisses grow more frantic and more demanding. His hands seem to be everywhere at once—in my hair, on my waist, sliding beneath the hem of my shirt to touch bare skin. Every touch burns, sending shockwaves through my body.
When we finally break apart, we're both panting. He rests his forehead against mine, his breath hot on my face.
"We should go inside," he murmurs, his voice barely controlled.
I nod, unable to form words. He takes my hand, and we stumble toward the house, pausing every few steps to press against each other, to kiss, to touch, as if staying apart for more than a moment is physically painful.
And maybe it is. Maybe this connection—raw and desperate and wrong as it might be—is the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.