Chapter 4 Four

Miguel started to move after the speeding Mercedes-Benz, but his boss raised a hand, stopping him. The man looked down at the business card Rose had thrust into his hand, a slow, predatory smile crossing his lips.

“Do you know her?” Miguel asked, his voice still edged with frustration over the collision.

“Who doesn’t know the DeLuca heiress?” The man tucked the card into his jacket. “I need more information about her. Find out her marital or relationship status, and the whereabouts of her family. If she appears to be married, I need to know if her husband is treating her properly. If he isn’t, I am willing to step in and make her mine.”

With that command, they continued their drive, leaving the scene behind.

Rose missed Liam’s car by only a few seconds, but the address of the River Bridge Hotel was now burned into her mind. Although she wasn't certain he would be there, she decided to try her luck. The adrenaline from the chase and the crash was rapidly being replaced by a cold resolve.

She pulled up to the grand entrance and walked straight to the reception desk.

“How may I help you, ma'am?” the receptionist asked with a polite, practiced smile.

Rose leaned slightly over the counter, forcing her voice to sound smooth despite the tremors running through her hands. “My husband booked a suite earlier and asked me to join him. We were supposed to arrive together, but he came on ahead.”

“What is the name of your husband?”

“Liam Dohuk.”

The receptionist typed the name into the computer. Rose watched her face closely. The woman’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly as the results appeared.

“Yes, I see it here,” she confirmed, then quickly glanced at the other staff member nearby, a subtle hesitation in her tone. “But the suite is already checked in under that name, and one other.”

Rose swallowed, the noise in her head roaring. “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant. He checked in before me, and I was supposed to meet him.”

The receptionist looked back at her, her professional demeanor returning, but her eyes were searching Rose’s face. “Is there proof that you are his wife? Because the man who checked in was accompanied by his wife.”

His wife? The blood hammered against Rose’s ears. She felt a sudden, sharp beat in her chest. They must be mistaken, she desperately reasoned.

She quickly pulled up their wedding photo on her phone and pushed it toward the receptionist. “Here is our wedding picture. The person he came with is likely the event planner for our anniversary. We're planning a big party.” It was a clumsy lie, but she needed access, she needed to confirm her fear.

The receptionist finally relented. “Okay, ma’am, I believe you.” She handed Rose a key card.

Rose took it, her fingers tight around the plastic, and went straight to Suite 69. Two days to their second wedding anniversary. Every step felt heavy, like wading through thick water.

As she stepped into the hallway outside the door, the first sound she heard was a low, guttural moan.

Please, let this not be what I think it is, she begged herself, pushing down the rising nausea.

“Yes, baby, fuck me faster, please!” The pace of the moaning picked up, and the voice—it was familiar, sickeningly familiar.

Rose’s breath caught in her throat. Her hand shook as she pushed the heavy door inward just a few inches. The sight that assaulted her eyes stole her breath entirely: her husband, Liam, locked in a passionate embrace with Alina, her best friend. Alina was on top of Liam, riding him in a reverse cowgirl position. Rose could clearly see Liam’s hips moving, his body fully engrossed in the act, his hands cupping and massaging Alina’s exposed breasts.

“I can’t go a day without having your wonderful cock, baby,” Alina moaned, her eyes rolling back in pleasure.

Rose could not believe the image filling her sight. She stood, transfixed and trembling, for a full minute. They were utterly consumed by each other, oblivious to her presence in the doorway.

She took a slow, clumsy step backward. Her mind screamed in confusion. Do I scream? Do I run?

A sharp, stabbing pain centered in her chest, and she instinctively clutched her dress over her heart. “What? How could this be?”

My best friend. Fucking my husband. The same man who never touched me. Tears welled in her eyes, silent and burning. How could she do this to me? A wave of profound shame and crushing loneliness washed over her. She could still hear the moans, hear the man she had begged for affection for two years now panting and yearning for another woman.

So, every time he rejects me, this is where he comes. She let out a small, silent sob. When did this start? How was I so easily fooled?

A surge of cold, focused fury replaced the confusion. Rose scanned the small living area of the suite. She needed more proof. She needed to know if this was a new mistake or a long-planned, calculated betrayal. Her hands were still trembling, but the need for information was stronger than the urge to flee.

As she moved deeper into the suite’s living room, she noticed a set of documents and other items scattered on a small table. She saw divorce papers, already signed by Liam. Then, she saw pictures and several letters clearly written by Alina, all of which confirmed the long-standing secret affair.

On the floor, she spotted Alina’s phone. The password was ridiculously simple. While the two continued their loud sex in the next room, Rose unlocked the phone and went straight to the gallery. There were pictures dating back years. She opened the messaging application and found a stream of conversation.

She found a message from Alina to Liam: “I know we can’t be together because we aren’t a match, and I am not rich like Rose, but I am willing to wait for you. But promise me one thing: no matter what, you will never claim Rose. You won’t mark her. You won’t fuck her, no matter how she begs.”

Liam’s response was a punch to her gut. “You need to see how much she begs for my cock. I won’t. I know how much you hate Rose. I promise I won’t have sex with her. My cock is yours and yours alone. Just give me two years. I will divorce her—that’s the agreement. After two years, I will be able to live freely. My mom knows you already, and my dad won’t be able to do anything. Just give me two years, and we can be together publicly.”

The thread continued with vile comments from Alina, including confirmation that Alina was the one who paid the reporters to write false stories about Rose.

It was then that the final, devastating truth landed: Alina was never her friend.