Chapter 6
Rosália
The back terrace of the house was a sprawling expanse of slate and manicured hedges, swallowed entirely by the deep, indigo shadows of a quiet Thursday evening.
Rosália sat alone on one of the plush outdoor sofas, her legs tucked beneath her.
A half-empty glass of Montepulciano rested on the low fire pit table, the embers long dead.
The autumn air carried a sharp, biting chill, but she couldn’t bring herself to go back inside.
The house was too quiet. It was too empty.
It had been five days since the excruciating dinner with Katherine, and David had practically become a ghost in his own home.
He left for the firm before the sun rose and didn’t return until well past midnight, slipping into bed smelling of cold city air and utter exhaustion.
They had barely spoken a dozen words to each other all week.
Rosália wrapped her thick cashmere shawl tighter around her shoulders, staring blankly out at the dark silhouette of the oak trees. Just hold on, she told herself, taking a slow, shaky breath. Just make it to the weekend.
Sean’s fiftieth birthday party was going to be an extravagant, three-day affair at The Grand Solstice, an ultra-exclusive luxury hotel perched on the cliffs overlooking the coast. David had already confirmed he had blocked off the entire weekend.
Two days. No cell service, no mergers, no late-night files.
Just the two of them in a beautiful hotel suite.
It was the lifeline Rosália was desperately clinging to—a chance to finally look her husband in the eye, break through the wall of ice he had built, and find the man she married.
“Rosália.”
The voice came from the shadows, deep, rough, and entirely unexpected.
Rosália violently jumped, a startled gasp tearing from her throat. Her hand jerked, nearly knocking her wine glass off the table. She spun around, her heart leaping into her throat.
Standing just a few steps away, perfectly framed by the towering hedges that separated their properties, was Sean.
He had walked silently across the grass, crossing the invisible boundary line between their lives.
He wasn’t wearing one of his intimidating, bespoke boardroom suits tonight.
He was dressed in a heavy black sweater that hugged the broad, muscular expanse of his chest and dark jeans, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
But the casual clothes didn’t soften him.
In the dim moonlight, with the silver streaking through his dark hair and his sharp jaw set like stone, he looked dangerous.
He looked like a predator that had just stepped out of the woods.
Rosália pressed a hand to her racing heart, letting out a breathless, uneven laugh as the adrenaline slowly began to recede.
“Sean,” she breathed out, forcing a polite, neighborly smile onto her face. She stood up, smoothing the wrinkles from her slacks. “My god, you startled me. I didn’t even hear you. Is everything okay?”
He didn’t return the smile.
He didn’t offer a polite apology for trespassing, and he didn’t make a single attempt at small talk. He just stood there, staring at her with a heavy, penetrating intensity that made the air suddenly feel incredibly thin.
Sean took a slow, deliberate step forward, moving out of the shadows and onto the slate patio. The ambient light from the house caught the grim, hardened lines of his face.
“I was going to wait until tomorrow,” Sean said.
His voice was a low, vibrating rumble that seemed to physically scrape against the quiet night air.
“I was going to come find you at your gallery, where we could sit down. But seeing you sitting out here in the dark... I realized maybe it’s better this way. ”
Rosália’s smile faltered. The polite, diplomatic mask she wore so easily began to crack under the sheer weight of his stare. A cold, insidious knot formed in the pit of her stomach. The absolute seriousness in his tone triggered every alarm bell her body possessed.
“Better what way?” she asked, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper. She took a tiny half-step back, suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable. “Sean, you’re scaring me. Did something happen? Is it David?”
Sean stopped just three feet away from her. He towered over her, a massive, imposing wall of heat and quiet authority in the freezing night. He pulled his hands out of his pockets.
He looked down at her, his dark eyes tracing the delicate, frightened lines of her face. There was no pity in his gaze. Sean didn’t do pity. There was only a ruthless, absolute demand for the truth.
“Yes,” Sean said, his voice dropping into a dark, quiet register that offered absolutely no mercy. “It’s about David. It’s about what your husband and my girlfriend have been doing behind our backs.”
The world abruptly stopped spinning.
The wind died in the trees. The distant hum of city traffic vanished. The only sound left in the entire universe was the rushing, deafening roar of blood in Rosália’s ears.
She stared up at him, her lips parted, unable to pull a single breath into her lungs. The ground beneath her feet felt like it had simply ceased to exist.
“What?” she breathed, the word nothing more than a broken puff of air.
Sean didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away to soften the blow. He held her shattered gaze, stepping one inch closer, forcing her to look directly at the ugly, devastating reality she had been trying to outrun.
“They’re sleeping together, Rosália,” Sean stated, his deep voice carrying the heavy, inescapable weight of an executioner’s blade.
For a long, agonizing moment, Rosália just stared at him. Her brain simply refused to process the words. They hovered in the freezing autumn air between them, completely absurd.
She let out a short, breathless laugh, shaking her head as she took a step back. “No. No, Sean, you’re mistaken. You’ve misunderstood something.”
Sean didn’t move. He didn’t blink.
“David would never do that,” she continued, her voice trembling as the desperate denial clawed its way up her throat.
She wrapped her arms tightly around her stomach.
“He’s... he’s a snob, Sean. He barely even speaks to Katherine.
And Katherine—Katherine is a sweet girl.
She would never do something like that to you. You’re wrong.”
Sean watched her fracture. The hard, ruthless line of his jaw softened just a fraction. He let out a heavy, incredibly tired sigh, the air pluming white in the cold night. A flicker of genuine compassion crossed his dark eyes.
“I’m sorry, Rosália,” he said quietly, his voice losing its sharp edge. “But this is the truth. And I can prove it.”
He reached into the pocket of his heavy dark jeans and pulled out his phone.
Rosália’s breath hitched. She wanted to run back inside. She wanted to lock the heavy glass doors and hide in her empty, quiet house where the illusion was still intact. But her feet were planted to the slate patio as Sean closed the distance between them.
He stopped right in front of her, the heat radiating off his large frame. He tapped the screen, opening a file, and held the phone out.
The bright, harsh glow of the screen illuminated the dark terrace.
Before her eyes could even focus on the image, the audio hit her. It was a sharp, breathy moan, followed immediately by the wet, rhythmic slap of skin against skin.
Rosália’s eyes dropped to the screen.
It was security footage, crystal clear and horrifyingly intimate, angled down a sweeping, modern staircase. It was Sean’s house.
Lying back against the carpeted stairs, her blonde hair spilling over the steps, was Katherine. And kneeling over her, his hands gripping her bare hips with bruising, territorial force, was David.
Rosália couldn’t look away. It was like staring into the sun. David was thrusting into the younger woman non-stop, his pace frantic and entirely selfish. His head was thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut, and a low, guttural grunt tore from his throat.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” David groaned on the video, his voice echoing from the phone’s small speaker, vibrating straight into Rosália’s chest. “So fucking hot. The tightest I’ve ever had... I couldn’t even go a few hours without having you again.”
Katherine whimpered his name in response, her hands tangling in his dark hair.
The world tilted violently on its axis.
The color completely drained from Rosália’s vision. A rush of cold, clammy sweat broke out across her forehead, and a violent, sickening wave of nausea hit her stomach like a freight train. She couldn’t finish the video. She couldn’t watch another second.
She violently shoved Sean’s hand away, turning sharply to the side. She dropped to her knees beside a large terracotta planter, gagging, and vomited the expensive wine and her untouched dinner directly into the dirt.
She choked on a sob, her entire body shaking as she retched.
Instantly, a large, warm hand gathered the loose strands of her hair, pulling them gently away from her face. Another heavy, incredibly warm hand flattened against her spine, rubbing slow, soothing circles between her trembling shoulder blades.
Sean didn’t say a word. He didn’t rush her, and he didn’t pull away in disgust. He simply knelt beside her in the cold, holding her steady while her entire world shattered into a million jagged pieces on his shoes.
When the violent heaving finally stopped, Rosália slumped forward, gasping for air. Sean reached into his pocket, pulling out a clean, folded handkerchief. He gently tipped her chin up and wiped the corner of her mouth.
“Come here,” he murmured, his deep voice an anchor in the storm. He gripped her arms, effortlessly helping her up from the cold slate and guiding her to the plush outdoor sofa. She collapsed against the cushions, burying her face in her hands.
“Stay here,” Sean ordered softly.
He disappeared through the glass doors into her house. A minute later, he returned, the ice clinking softly in a glass of water. He sat down beside her on the sofa, pressing the cold glass into her trembling hands.
“Drink,” he coaxed gently. “I’m sorry I had to show you that, Rosália. Truly. But I needed you to believe me.”
Rosália nodded numbly, taking a slow, shaky sip of the icy water. The cold water washed away the bitter taste of bile, but it couldn’t wash away the sound of David’s voice.
“Fuck, you’re so hot.”
The memory struck her with lethal force. The heavy glass slipped from her fingers, thudding onto the table as a fresh, agonizing wave of horror washed over her.
She turned to Sean, her eyes wide, glassy, and completely shattered.
“He called me hot,” she whispered, her voice cracking, tears finally spilling over her lashes and tracking hot and fast down her pale cheeks. “A few nights ago. He came home late... he wouldn’t even look at my face. He put me on my hands and knees and he... he called me hot.”
A broken, devastated sob tore itself from her throat. “He kept saying it over and over. Just like he did to her. He was imagining her, Sean. He was closing his eyes and using me to fuck her.”
Sean’s jaw locked, a muscle feathering violently under his skin. The compassion in his eyes hardened into pure, unadulterated fury on her behalf.
Without a word of hesitation, he reached out and pulled her into his chest.
Rosália collapsed against him, her hands fisting desperately into the thick fabric of his black sweater.
She buried her face in his neck and started to cry uncontrollably.
The dam had completely broken. All the loneliness, all the rejection, the agonizing dinner, the years of silent suffering—it all poured out of her in ragged, tearing sobs.
Sean simply held her. He wrapped his massive, powerful arms around her shaking frame, entirely enveloping her, his chin resting against the top of her head as he let her cry until she was completely hollowed out.
They stayed like that for a long time in the dark, the only sound the wind rushing through the trees and Rosália’s jagged breathing.
Finally, she pulled back just an inch. Her eyes were red and swollen, her mascara smudged, but a desperate, frantic terror had set in.
“What am I going to do now?” she asked, her voice a raw, hoarse whisper. She looked up at Sean, entirely lost. “I can’t... I need to get out of here, Sean. I won’t be able to face him. If he walks through that door right now, I’ll completely fall apart.”
Sean lifted his hands, his large, warm palms cupping her tear-stained face. He held her gaze, steadying her trembling completely.
“You are going to be strong,” he commanded softly, his thumbs brushing away the fresh tears spilling over her cheeks. The absolute certainty in his dark eyes demanded she believe him. “Because there is more I need to show you. Things that go much deeper than just sex on a staircase.”
Rosália’s breath hitched, fresh fear blooming in her chest, but Sean’s grip on her face tightened just enough to ground her.
“I have a plan, Rosália,” he murmured, his deep voice carrying a dark, ruthless promise. “I swear to you, you are not going to get hurt. But we are going to make sure they do not get away with making us look like fools.”