Chapter 2 An open marriage

The first thing she felt was the weight of a man, heavy and possessive across her waist. For a terrifying second, she thought she was back in her own bed, back in the suffocating silence of her marriage. Then she smelled the sheets.

They didn’t smell like lavender detergent or the stale indifference of the guest room she sometimes hid in, they smelled of cedar and musk.

Aysel opened her eyes. The unfamiliar ceiling swirled above her. Then the memories of the night before crashed into her head, his hands had been rough but desperate, she had clawed at his shoulders as if trying to tear the skin of her old life away, and she had cried out not in sorrow but in a shattering release that had nothing to do with being a perfect wife.

She turned her head slowly, holding her breath until her lungs burned. She looked at the man sleeping beside her.

In the dawn, he looked more dangerous than he had in the shadows. His dark hair was messy against the white pillow, and his face relaxed into lines that were too harsh to be called beautiful but too striking to look away from. He was sprawled on his stomach with one arm thrown over her, trapping her against the heat of his body. She could see the faint scars on his back and the thick muscles that shifted slightly as he breathed.

He didn’t look like a call boy.

The thought whispered through her mind. Call boys were supposed to be polished and plastic, eager to please. This man had taken what he wanted with an arrogance that felt earned. He hadn’t asked her for instructions, he had given them.

Panic flared in her chest. She knew she had to get out, she had to leave before he woke up into the awkward reality of a morning transaction.

She moved inch by inch, sliding out from under the heavy weight of his arm. She winced when the mattress shifted, but he only grunted low in his throat and buried his face deeper into the pillow. She slipped off the edge of the bed and let her feet touch the cold carpet.

Her legs shook, and her body felt strange, sensitive and bruised in a way that made her face heat up. She ignored the ache and gathered her clothes from where they were scattered across the floor.

Her dress was wrinkled, and her bra was unclasped. She dressed quickly with fumbling fingers while her eyes kept darting back to the bed.

She couldn’t look at him, not really. If she did, she might remember how he had whispered in her ear, or how he had looked at her like she was the only water in a desert. She couldn’t afford to feel anything but the cold satisfaction of revenge.

She found her purse on the table by the window, right next to the empty glass scotch.

The envelope was still there.

She picked it up, her thumb brushing the thick paper, and hesitated. It felt crass now, leaving cash on the nightstand of a room that cost more than her car. But this was the deal, this was the line that separated her from the women David slept with.

She wasn’t a mistress, she was a customer.

She walked softly to the bedside table and placed the envelope next to his watch.

It’s done, she told herself, forcing her feet to move toward the door. The score is settled.

She opened the door just wide enough to slip through, the hinges groaning softly in the quiet room. She didn’t see how the man on the bed opened his eyes the second the door clicked shut.

Aysel ran down the hallway, her heels in her hand to avoid making a sound. She fled the scene of her crime with her heart in her throat, desperate to get back to the cage of her marriage before the sun came up and exposed her sins to the world.

Inside the suite, Ruan Sinclair rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The space beside him was empty.

He reached out, his hand closed over the envelope she had left. He sat up, the sheet pooling at his waist, and looked inside. He saw cash.

A thick stack of hundred-dollar bills.

A dark, incredulous laugh rumbled in his chest, a sound that had no humor in it. He tossed the envelope onto the bed before picking up his phone to dial the number of his head of security, his eyes cold and full of anger.

"Find out about the lady who just walked out of this suite," he said, his voice rough with sleep. "Find out everything."

*******

The house was quiet when Aysel pulled into the driveway. It looked perfect from the outside.

She unlocked the front door. The air smelled like coffee, but she listened for David. The house was silent.

She went straight to the bathroom, peeled off her clothes, and kicked them into the corner. She needed to wash the smell of the hotel off her skin. She turned the shower up high until the water was almost too hot. She scrubbed hard, trying to forget the stranger’s touch, but the memory stuck in her head.

She turned off the water, wrapped a towel around herself, and walked into the bedroom. She stopped.

David was there.

He sat on the edge of the bed, texting someone and smiling.

"You're up early," he said. He didn’t look up. "I thought you were sleeping in the guest room."

He hadn’t even checked.

Aysel froze. She had been gone all night and had even slept with another man. Her husband hadn’t even opened the door to see if she was home.

"I went for a drive," Aysel said, her voice sounding flat.

She walked over to the dresser, picked up her wedding ring, and slid it back onto her finger.

David finally looked up, scanning her face with zero interest. "Well, you look better," he said. He stood up and stretched. "I'm going to the club for golf and won't be back until dinner."

He walked past her, smelling of expensive cologne. Then he paused at the doorway.

"I'm glad you agreed to the arrangement, Aysel. This open marriage is going to make everything easier."

He left the room, a moment later, the front door slammed shut.

Aysel stood alone in the center of their bedroom, looking down at her hands and noticing they weren’t shaking anymore.

She thought getting even would make her feel better. She thought it would balance the score. But as the silence of the empty house pressed in on her, she realized she was wrong.