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The pieces aren’t fitting together. Rey walks toward the closet, rummaging through his things. His voice is casual, too light. "Did you know he lives really far back? Almost near the water. Kind of weird. I’ve been looking at the house plans, and the small cabin wasn’t in the original plans, which makes me curious."

I stand by the doorframe, watching as the light illuminates his bare skin. Scratches. More of them. My stomach clenches again.

I don’t ask.

At this point, he isn’t hiding it.

I hear his phone ring from behind me, causing him to stop and look over his shoulder.

"Want me to get it?" I ask, using my thumb to point behind me.

He grabs a pair of blue jeans before walking past me and straight to the nightstand. Rey picks up the phone, placing it to his ear, and without a word, he steps into the hallway. His footsteps fade into the distance. Then—a whisper. Low. Controlled. Like a secret.

I strain to listen, but the words slip through my grasp, just out of reach.

Who the hell is he talking to?

My hands shake as they move toward my center, hesitant, unsure. Then—a kick. Strong. Certain. A shock of emotion punches through my chest. Something sharp. Something primal.

Mine.

The urge to protect is so overwhelming I nearly gasp aloud. Then the pain returns, sudden and unforgiving. My stomach tightens again, a fist clenching deep inside me. I clutch the white wooden door trim, my nails digging into the frame as I ride the wave of pain. A sharp contraction rips through me, tightening like a vice. I bite my lip, breathing through my nose. Calm. Controlled.

Then—Rey’s voice. "Serena, is everything okay?"

I inhale slowly, forcing my body to relax. By the time I turn around, I’m smiling.

"Yes, all fine," I say lightly, moving away from the door and toward the bed. Each step is measured, careful to mask any discomfort. "I think I'll sleep some more." I fake a yawn. "So sleepy."

"Okay, you do that," Rey murmurs, his tone warm but watchful. Always watching.

"You should be resting as much as you can. I'll let Josh know you’re sleeping but to keep an eye out." He walks toward me, hands gentle as he helps me slide under the blankets, tucking me in with care. His fingers brush against my hair, but there is no warmth behind them. "I'm probably going to be late, but not too late," he says before he presses one against my forehead. Soft. Distant. Detached. "Now rest."

"Okay," I whisper, curling into the covers, my body heavy against the mattress. I don’t bother to see him off. Because sleeping is better than seeing. Better than knowing. Better than feeling the truth press against my ribs, waiting to break me apart.

7

RUN LITTLE LAMB…

The feeling of a calloused hand brushing my cheek wakes me from my sleep. Slowly, my eyes flutter open, and there is Josh.

Smiling.

His presence doesn’t startle me. I’ve grown used to his unexpected entrances.

"Good morning. I wanted to check on you. I hope I didn’t scare you." His gentle tone grounds me, and I rub my eyes, trying to shake off the sleep.Josh sits beside me, his gaze searching my face. "How are you feeling today?" he asks, his brow furrowed with concern.

I open my mouth, wanting to ask him about the other night—but I don’t. Shame knots inside me, tightening my throat. I can’t bring myself to say it. To admit what we did. So I lie. "I'm okay."

"Good," he whispers as he leans closer, cupping my face in his hand, kissing me. His tongue sweeps my lower lip, demanding access but not in a dominating way like Rey, but gentle. Our tongues dance with one another, two dance partners syncing with every movement. The weight of him on the bed causes my side to dip. I should stop him, I couldn't do this, notin the same bed I lay with my husband, but I think of the late nights, the lack of affection, the scratches, and the bruises.

My hands move underneath his black shirt, pressing against his firm, muscled body as our kiss deepens. My stomach turns from the adrenaline of the moment, the need, and the guilt. But when his hand cups my ass and he moans into my mouth, when my engorged breasts press against him, the thoughts drift away, and all I can focus on is the hardness of his cock pressing against me. My hand moves over his jeans, feeling his thick girth, and I moan when he presses against me, helping me lay back down, my legs spreading open for him.

"Tell me yes, tell me you want this, Serena," he breathes against my lips as his hand hovers over my wet panties.

No. I should say no. I'm married.

But my husband walked out on me long before this moment.