Chapter 7
Rosália
The engine of Rosália’s SUV hummed a low, vibrating rhythm, but she made no move to turn the key and cut the ignition.
She sat completely frozen in the driver’s seat, staring through the windshield at the sterile, imposing glass facade of the private medical clinic downtown.
Her hands gripped the leather steering wheel so tightly her knuckles ached, but she couldn’t seem to command her legs to move.
She didn’t have the courage to open the car door.
If she walked into that building, the nightmare became a documented, medical reality.
Her mind was a chaotic, spinning vortex, endlessly replaying the horrors of the past few days.
The video of David and Katherine on the stairs was burned into the backs of her eyelids—a vicious, looping nightmare she couldn’t escape.
But it was the other things Sean had shown her later that night, the cold, irrefutable proof spread out across the table in his study, that had truly shattered the foundation of her life.
She wasn’t ready to think about the depths of that particular betrayal yet. If she looked too closely at what David had actually done, she would shatter completely.
Instead, her mind obsessively snagged on the timeline.
The security footage on the stairs. The time stamp glowing in the corner of the screen.
It had clicked into place with sickening clarity at three in the morning. The video was recorded the exact same evening she had come home from the gallery to find them sitting far too close at the kitchen island.
Katherine hadn’t come over because her laptop was broken.
David hadn’t offered to walk her across the dark lawn because he was being a chivalrous, exasperated neighbor dealing with a drunk girl.
He had practically carried her out the door because he couldn’t wait another second to get his hands on her.
Rosália closed her eyes, a wave of profound, suffocating humiliation washing over her.
She remembered pacing her kitchen. She remembered scrubbing her beautiful marble countertops until her hands were raw, anxiously waiting for her husband to return, worried about him.
And the whole time—for those entire twenty agonizing minutes—he had been violently thrusting into his twenty-nine-year-old lover on a carpeted staircase right next door.
How could I be so stupid? she thought, a bitter, broken tear slipping free to track down her cheek. How did I not see it?
A sudden, sharp rap on the driver’s side window made her violently jump.
Rosália gasped, her eyes flying open. She turned her head, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Standing just outside her car door, the collar of his dark wool coat turned up against the biting city wind, was Sean.
He wasn’t glaring today. He was looking down at her through the tinted glass with a faint, grounding smile, his dark eyes radiating a quiet, steadying warmth.
Rosália blinked, stunned, and quickly hit the unlock button. She pushed the heavy door open, stepping out into the cold morning air. She quickly wiped the stray tear from her cheek, trying to pull the shattered pieces of her composure back together.
“Sean,” she breathed, entirely bewildered. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t hesitate. He stepped into the space between the open car door and her body, effectively shielding her from the wind and the prying eyes of the street.
“When I heard your appointment was scheduled for this morning, I realized I couldn’t let you come here and sit in that waiting room alone,” he said. His deep voice was a low, comforting rumble that instantly settled the frantic buzzing in her head.
Fresh tears immediately pricked the corners of Rosália’s eyes, hot and fast. The sheer, unexpected kindness of the gesture threatened to break the last of her defenses. She swallowed hard, forcing the emotion back down.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “You have a company to run. You shouldn’t be here for this.”
“Nonsense,” Sean said softly, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate.
Without asking for permission, he reached out. His large, incredibly warm hand enveloped her cold, trembling fingers. His grip was firm and absolute, an anchor in the middle of her storm. He gently tugged her away from the car.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get this over with.”
He didn’t let go of her hand as he led her through the heavy glass doors of the clinic.
The reception area smelled sharply of antiseptic and fresh linen.
Because of the exclusive nature of the clinic, they were attended to immediately.
Rosália filled out the paperwork with a shaking hand, checking the boxes for a comprehensive STI panel.
Every scratch of the pen felt like a physical admission of her husband’s absolute disregard for her safety and her body.
When the nurse finally called her name and led them back to a pristine, bright exam room, Sean followed right behind her.
The nurse, a kind-eyed woman in pale blue scrubs, prepared the vials and the needle. She glanced up at Sean, who was towering in the small space. “Sir, if you’re squeamish, you’re welcome to wait out in the hall.”
Sean didn’t even look at the door. He moved a plastic chair directly next to the examination table where Rosália was sitting. He sat down, his broad shoulders practically taking up half the room, and took her hand once again.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he stated flatly.
As the nurse tied the tourniquet around Rosália’s arm, Sean leaned forward. He positioned himself perfectly so his broad chest blocked her view of the needle. He kept his dark eyes locked entirely on her face, his thumb rubbing slow, rhythmic circles over her pale knuckles.
“Look at me, Rosália,” he commanded softly, his voice drowning out the clinical sounds of the room. “Just keep looking right here.”
She did. She anchored herself to the striking, rugged lines of his face, the silver threading through his hair, and the intense, protective heat in his gaze.
She barely felt the sharp pinch in her vein.
He held her hand the entire time, an unshakeable fortress of support while her blood was drawn into three separate vials to test for the consequences of David’s sins.
Twenty minutes later, they were walking back out through the double glass doors. The sharp, cold city air hit them, a welcome relief from the suffocating sterility of the clinic.
“How are you feeling?” Sean asked quietly as they stopped between their parked cars.
Rosália looked up at him. The wind ruffled his dark hair, and the sunlight caught the deep, distinguished lines around his eyes. She studied his face, a profound, aching confusion blooming in her chest.
How could she? Rosália thought, staring at him. How could Katherine possibly have the courage—or the absolute stupidity—to betray a man like this? A man who is so fiercely protective, so caring, so undeniably present? It made absolutely no sense. Katherine had traded a king for a coward.
“I’m fine,” Rosália finally said, offering a small, exhausted, but genuine smile. “I really will be okay, Sean. Thank you.”
Sean stepped closer. He didn’t ask; he simply reached out and pulled her into a deep, enveloping hug.
Rosália went willingly, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against the heavy wool of his coat. He smelled like expensive cedar, clean rain, and absolute safety. He held her tightly, one hand pressing firmly against her back, breathing her in.
“You can always count on me, Rosália,” he murmured against her hair, the words vibrating through his chest and into hers. “Always.”
She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace seep into her frozen bones. When he finally, reluctantly pulled back, she forced a brighter smile onto her face, desperate to push the heavy gloom of the clinic away.
“So,” she said, changing the subject, her tone softening with a conspiratorial edge. “Are you ready for your big birthday weekend tomorrow?”
A dark, dangerous spark ignited in Sean’s eyes. The caring protector vanished, instantly replaced by the ruthless architect of their impending revenge. A slow, devastating smirk spread across his handsome face.
“More than ready,” Sean rumbled, his voice dropping an octave. He held her gaze, the air between them suddenly pulling taut with electric tension. “Are you ready, Rosália?”
Rosália thought of her husband. She thought of the lies, the video, the agonizing twenty minutes by the kitchen window, and the needle in her arm. A cold, fierce resolve hardened her spine.
She met Sean’s dark, predatory gaze and smiled.
“Yes.”