Fiona stood frozen in the middle of her apartment long after the door clicked shut behind Martin.
The sound echoed in her ears like a gunshot she hadn't expected. Rain kept tapping the window steady, indifferent. The apartment smelled faintly of his cedar cologne mixed with the rain on his coat. It clung to the air, clung to her skin, clung to the sheets still warm from where their bodies had tangled.
She felt stupid.
Again.
Stupid for opening the door.
Stupid for kissing him back.
Stupid for letting him inside her literally, figuratively, completely when every part of her had screamed to keep the walls up.
*Be my lover.*
The words kept replaying, each replay slicing deeper.
He hadn't said it cruelly. That was the worst part. He'd said it like it was reasonable. Like it was a compromise. Like she should be grateful he was willing to keep her on the side while he married Katherine Thorne for money, power, inheritance, legacy—everything she would never be part of.
