She didn't hit that hard, did she?
Now that she came back to her senses, Roseanne found herself spiraling into a very specific kind of post-chaos introspection and started thinking about what this would mean for her.
She didn't regret it, but maybe she could have gone with a less dramatic option, like her own perfectly capable hand. A good old-fashioned slap might have done the job just fine instead of the absurdly expensive flower vase.
Dramatic? Yes.
Necessary? Debatable.
Satisfying?
Oh, absolutely.
Her husband was with her younger sister, for God's sake. And as much as Roseanne hated Brielle for it, she somehow couldn't bring herself to hurt her.
"Rough night?" came a deep voice, slipping in right beside her.
Roseanne now sat in a hotel bar she had never set foot in, tucked away somewhere she didn't recognize.
After walking out of the mansion in a hurry, before Galen's bodyguards noticed the chaos inside, she'd jumped into a taxi and told the driver to go as far away as possible.
She stole a quick look at the man next to her. The scent of his expensive cologne was impossible to ignore, something like a warning wrapped in luxury. His long coat draped down to his ankles like a cloak of quiet authority, probably costing more than her entire wardrobe combined.
Roseanne didn't need a second glance to know it would be wise for her to stay away.
"Yeah," she answered shortly.
"Who hurt a pretty thing like you?"
She didn't bother looking at him, just took a slow sip of her drink and replied, "Someone stupid enough to think I'd stay quiet about it."
The man beside her let out a low chuckle, just enough to make her pulse stutter. "Want some help?" he asked, voice smooth like aged whiskey.
He slid his drink across the bar, placing it right in front of her. As he did, his finger grazed the back of her hand. Light enough to play innocent, deliberate enough to make her skin heat.
The drink she had ordered was making her a little dizzy, or maybe it was his cologne. Roseanne glanced down at the spot where his fingers had touched her skin. She knew exactly what it was.
An invitation.
Never trust rich people.
Never trust billionaires.
Don't.
Roseanne drilled that into her mind like a mantra.
And whatever this man was, he screamed danger in every detail. His long coat, the perfectly tailored dark suit, that slicked-back black hair, then there was the way he sat.
Legs spread wide, completely comfortable, unbothered and bold. Directly facing her like he owned the room. Waiting for her to pick her poison.
"Yes?" he whispered. His breath warm against her neck, sending a flush creeping up to Roseanne's ears. It didn't help that she wore a short white dress, leaving so much of her pale skin exposed.
Then, with a mix of boldness and hesitation, her hand reached out and lifted his glass. She drained it in one smooth motion while he grinned like a devil who just won the game.
Oh, she was so screwed.
After that, everything became a blur. The man's large hand circled around her waist, lifting her effortlessly from the chair. The stark difference in their sizes hit her like a jolt. He was all power and control.
Before she could gather her thoughts, they were already on the elevator going to the highest floor with bodies pressed close.
Somewhere between her spinning thoughts and the lingering haze of alcohol, Roseanne caught sight of the corridor lined with men in dark suits, more than she had ever seen at Galen's mansion.
Her stomach flipped.
Had she just escaped one mistake… only to walk straight into another?
Clack.
He opened the door with urgency, guided her inside with a firm push but gentle in motion. Roseanne tried to look past him, eyes flicking toward the suited men still stationed in the hallway.
But before her gaze could settle, he stepped in front of her, blocking the view entirely.
His voice dropped low. "Pay attention to me, sweetheart."
She had no time to answer because the next thing she knew, his mouth was on hers, kissing her like a starving beast. There was nothing gentle about it. It was raw and hungry.
Roseanne whimpered, her fingers tightening in the lapels of his coat, clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping her from melting into the floor.
He picked her up easily and tossed them both onto the bed, coats and shoes gone. She could barely breathe. He was everywhere. His weight pressing into her like he had no plans to let her go.
And God help her, she didn't want him to.
But somehow, amid the heat and chaos, the image of her husband and her sister flashed through Roseanne's mind. It was the impossible mix of that bitter memory and the fire of the man pressed against her that made tears slip down her cheeks.
Dizzy and disoriented, drunk on more than just alcohol, she barely noticed his thumb brushing gently against her cheek, wiping away her tears with a tenderness that sent shivers down her spine.
"You're a pretty crier, aren't you?" he murmured, voice low and teasing.
Without hesitation, his thumb slid inside her mouth.
Roseanne parted her lips slowly, surrendering to the dangerous invitation.
· · ·
"DIVORCE?!"
SLAP!
Roseanne staggered back, nearly collapsing as her legs gave out beneath her. Her mother's handprint blazed across her cheek, the sharp sting blooming into a painful heat.
For a moment, her vision blurred and she found herself staring numbly at the floor.
"Say that again, you ungrateful bitch!"
"Oh, come on, Rose," Brielle's voice dripped with condescension, a smug smile practically audible in her tone. "What's wrong with letting your husband play around? He's a billionaire, for God's sake. You really think a man like that would be satisfied with one woman? With you?"
A loud, mocking laugh burst from her lips.
Maybe there was some truth to what Brielle said. Maybe in this world they lived in, it was normal to let the husband indulge in a little fun now and then.
But still, with her own sister? Right on the bed that was supposed to belong to her and her husband?
That was a line even betrayal couldn't justify.
Her mother's grip was like iron, ripping through Roseanne's hair as she yanked her head back with hurtful force. She slammed her head against the wall again and again.
THUD!
"How dare you hit him!! I've fed and raised you all these years, and this is how you pay me back?!! Do you want our whole family dead?!!"
THUD!
"Is this some damn fairy tale for you?! You're delusional if you think this marriage was ever about satisfying your stupid little fantasy of love!"
THUD!
Roseanne's hand clutched her mother's wrist, trembling as she fought to push her away. But her head spun, blood trickling down as blurry stars danced across her vision. Tears brimmed in her eyes, threatening to fall.
"He was the one who wanted to fuck me, and he was amazing at it too!" Brielle babbled. "Oh, I'm wet now," she giggled like a little kid, hand covering her mouth.
Her mother's voice was cold and unforgiving. "Now you better kneel before him and take back everything you said about divorce."
"No."
Roseanne's reply was immediate and unwavering as she locked eyes with her mother, blood trickling down her temple.
"Whether you like it or not, Mother, the divorce is happening."
· · ·
Three months later.
"Doctor, what did you just say?"
Roseanne's voice trembled as she tried to sit up, her head spinning and heart racing.
"I'm… pregnant?"
The doctor glanced at the result. "Yes, Ms. Rousseau. You're about twelve weeks along at this point."
Oh, God.