I make it home in a fog, Marcus's panic still ringing in my ears.

The house is too quiet when I walk in. No music from Lily's room, no sound of her moving around. Just silence that feels like a held breath.

I should have known better.

She's sitting at the kitchen table when I round the corner. Waiting.

Her eyes are red-rimmed, mascara smudged in a way that looks almost artistic. Like she practiced it. There's something in her hand—white plastic, the size of a pregnancy test.

Oh, fuck.

"We need to talk," she says, her voice small and trembling.

I set my purse down carefully. My hands are steadier than they should be. "About how you're fucking my husband?"

She flinches. Good.

"I didn't mean for it to happen, Elena. I swear. It just—"

"Don't." I hold up one hand. "Don't you dare tell me it 'just happened.' Nothing just happens, Lily. You made choices. So did he."

Her chin wobbles. God, she's good at this. The wounded bird routine that's gotten her out of every consequence her entire life.

"I'm pregnant."

The words land like a physical blow.

I should have seen it coming. Should have braced myself. But somehow I'm still surprised by how much it hurts.

"Show me," I hear myself say.

She slides the test across the table. Two pink lines, clear as day.

My vision tunnels for a second. The kitchen tilts.

I grip the edge of the counter, forcing air into my lungs. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The breathing exercises my therapist taught me before I stopped being able to afford therapy.

"How far along?" My voice sounds normal. Detached. Like I'm asking about the weather.

"Six weeks. Maybe seven. I'm not sure exactly when—"

"When you started fucking him." I finish the sentence for her. "Right. Hard to pinpoint the exact moment of conception when you've been screwing my husband for months."

"It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like, Lily? Enlighten me."

She's crying now, real tears streaming down her face. "He was just... there. And you were always so busy with work, and he was lonely, and I was lonely, and—"

"And you decided to bond over how terrible I am. How neglectful. How I don't appreciate what I have." The words taste like battery acid. "Did you fuck him in my bed?"

"Elena—"

"Answer the question."

"Once." She whispers it. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I laugh. It sounds unhinged even to my own ears.

"You're sorry. You fucked my husband in my bed, got pregnant with his baby, and you're sorry." I shake my head. "That makes it all better, doesn't it?"

The front door opens.

Marcus.

Of course he's here. She probably texted him the moment I pulled into the driveway. They probably planned this whole scene together.

He looks between us, reading the situation instantly. His eyes drop to the pregnancy test on the table.

"Lily?" His voice cracks on her name.

She nods, fresh tears spilling over.

And I watch my husband's face transform.

Shock. Disbelief. Then something else. Something that looks almost like... joy.

He crosses to her in three strides, dropping to his knees beside her chair. His hands frame her face with a tenderness I haven't seen in years.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"I took three tests. They're all positive."

"Jesus." He laughs, pulling her into his arms. "A baby. We're having a baby."

I'm standing right here.

Right fucking here.

And they're acting like I'm invisible.

"Marcus." My voice cuts through their moment. "We need to talk. Alone."

He doesn't even look at me. "Not now, Elena."

"Yes, now. You're still my husband. Legally, at least."

That gets his attention. He stands, putting himself between Lily and me like I'm the threat.

"Don't do this," he says quietly. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

"Harder than it has to be?" I repeat. "Your mistress—my sister—is pregnant, and I'm the one making things difficult?"

"You wanted a divorce," he shoots back. "You came to my office today with papers. So let's not pretend this marriage meant anything to you."

The audacity almost chokes me.

"I wanted a divorce because you've been cheating on me. With my sister. In my house. In my bed."

"You checked out of this marriage years ago, Elena. We both know it."

"So that makes it okay? That justifies all of this?"

Lily stands, one hand pressed to her still-flat stomach. The gesture is so calculated I want to scream.

"Please don't fight," she says. "This isn't good for the baby."

I stare at her. Really look at her.

Six weeks pregnant, she said. Maybe seven.

But she's not showing any symptoms. No morning sickness, no fatigue. She was drinking wine three nights ago—I saw the empty bottle in her room.

And her story. Something about it feels off.

When exactly did this start? She moved in eight months ago, after her latest stint in rehab failed. Has she been fucking Marcus this entire time?

"When did you take the test?" I ask.

She blinks. "What?"

"The test. When did you take it?"

"This morning. Why does it matter?"

"And you just happened to take it today? The same day I confronted Marcus about the affair?"

"I've been feeling sick," she says quickly. Too quickly. "I suspected for a few days, but I was scared to check."

"What symptoms?"

"Elena, for fuck's sake—" Marcus starts.

"What symptoms, Lily?"

She wraps her arms around herself. "Nausea. Fatigue. My breasts are tender."

"You were drinking wine on Tuesday."

"A glass. I didn't know for sure."

"And you've been sleeping until noon every day. That's not new. You've done that since you moved in."

"Stop interrogating her," Marcus snaps. "She's pregnant. She doesn't need this stress."

But I see it. Just for a second. A flicker in Lily's eyes.

Fear.

She's lying about something.

Maybe not the pregnancy itself—the test is real enough. But something in her timeline doesn't add up.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I ignore it.

"I want to see a doctor's confirmation," I say. "Before we make any decisions about anything."

"We don't need your permission," Marcus says. "This is between Lily and me now."

"Actually, you do. You're still married to me. Which means any child born during our marriage is legally presumed to be mine unless proven otherwise."

I have no idea if that's true. But it sounds good.

Marcus's jaw tightens. "We'll get you your divorce, Elena. Lily and I are going to be together. We're going to raise this baby as a family."

"How touching." I grab my purse. "I'll have my lawyer draw up new papers. Make sure you get a good one too. Because I'm taking half of everything."

"There's nothing to take," he says, and there's something ugly in his voice. "We're drowning in debt, remember? You can have half of nothing."

I smile. It feels sharp on my face.

"We'll see about that."

I'm halfway to my car when Lily calls after me.

"Elena, wait. Please."

I don't stop.

"I never meant to hurt you," she says. "You have to believe that."

Now I turn. "You know what, Lily? I actually think that's true. You didn't mean to hurt me. You just didn't care if you did. And honestly? That's so much worse."

I get in my car and drive.

No destination in mind. Just away.

My phone buzzes again. And again.

At a red light, I finally check it.

Three messages. All from unknown numbers. But I know.

I heard about your sister. Interesting timing.

We should talk. Tonight.

I'll send a car. 8 PM. Don't make me come get you.

My hands are shaking.

Dominic Kane. The man I slept with last night. The man who turned out to be Marcus's new boss. The man who's probably going to destroy what's left of my life.

And I'm actually considering going to him.

I should ignore the messages. Block the number. Focus on the fact that my husband is having a baby with my sister.

Instead, I text back.

Where?

The response is immediate.

My place. You remember the address.

I do. God help me, I do.

Every detail of last night is burned into my memory. His penthouse. His hands. His mouth. The way he looked at me like I was something precious and profane all at once.

Why should I come?

Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

Because I have information you need. About Marcus. About what he's been doing with company money.

My pulse kicks up.

What kind of information?

The kind that could put him in prison. Or set you free. Depends on how you want to play it.

I sit in my car, engine idling, staring at my phone.

This is a terrible idea. Dominic Kane is dangerous. He's got his own agenda, his own reasons for whatever game he's playing. Getting more involved with him is asking for trouble.

But Marcus just chose my sister over me. My sister is pregnant with his baby. My marriage is over, my family is destroyed, and I have nothing left to lose.

Except my dignity.

And honestly? That ship sailed the moment I begged Marcus to sign divorce papers in his office.

Fine. 8 PM.

Good girl.

Those two words send heat straight through me.

I hate that I like it.

I hate that I'm already thinking about what I'll wear.

I hate that some broken part of me is excited to see him again.

My phone rings. Actual call this time.

I answer without checking the ID.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Cross." Dominic's voice is dark honey and smoke. "I'm glad you're being reasonable."

"I haven't agreed to anything except a conversation."

"Of course. Just a conversation." There's something in his tone that makes my skin prickle. "I'll have my driver pick you up at 7:45. Wear something comfortable. We'll be alone."

"I can drive myself."

"I'm sure you can. But I'd prefer to know you can't leave until we're finished talking."

"That sounds like kidnapping."

"That sounds like insurance. You have a habit of running, Elena. I'm not giving you the option this time."

He hangs up before I can respond.

I sit there, heart pounding, phone still pressed to my ear.

What the fuck am I doing?

My sister is pregnant with my husband's baby. My marriage is over. My life is falling apart.

And I'm about to walk back into the arms of a man who looks at me like he wants to consume me whole.

A man whose last name I only learned this morning.

A man who clearly knows more about me than he should.

I should be home, processing. Grieving. Planning my next move.

Instead, I'm going to get dressed up and walk into the lion's den.

Maybe I'm more like Lily than I thought.

Maybe self-destruction runs in the family.

Or maybe—and this is the part that scares me most—maybe I want to see where this goes. Want to know what Dominic Kane wants from me. Want to feel the way I felt last night, when his hands were on my skin and nothing else mattered.

I drive home. Shower. Stand in my closet for twenty minutes trying to decide what you wear to a meeting that's definitely not just a meeting.

I settle on black. A silk blouse that drapes just right, tailored pants that make my legs look longer than they are. Heels that give me height I don't need but make me feel powerful anyway.

My hands shake as I apply makeup. Just enough to look put together. Not enough to look like I'm trying.

Even though I absolutely am.

At 7:43, a black town car pulls up outside.

I watch from the window as the driver gets out, checks his phone, looks at the house.

Last chance to back out.

Last chance to be smart.

I grab my purse and walk out the door.

The driver opens the back door without a word. I slide in, and he closes it behind me.

The interior smells like leather and something else. Cedar and bourbon.

Dominic's scent.

He's not in the car, but his presence is everywhere.

We drive in silence. I watch the city lights blur past, trying not to think about what I'm doing. Trying not to acknowledge the anticipation coiling in my stomach.

The car pulls up to a building I recognize. Sleek glass and steel, reaching into the night sky.

The driver opens my door.

"Penthouse," he says. "Mr. Kane is expecting you."

Of course he is.

I step into the lobby. The elevator is already waiting, doors open like a mouth.

I get in.

The ride up feels endless and too short all at once.

The doors open directly into the penthouse.

And there he is.

Dominic Kane, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, silhouetted against the city lights. He's shed his suit jacket, rolled his sleeves up. There's a glass of bourbon in his hand.

He doesn't turn around.

"You came," he says.

"You didn't give me much choice."

"There's always a choice, Elena." Now he turns, and the look in his eyes pins me in place. "You wanted to be here."

"I want information about Marcus."

"Liar."

The word hangs between us.

He crosses the room slowly, deliberately. A predator's approach.

"You want to know why I bought his company," he says. "You want to know what I'm planning. You want to know why I looked at you this morning like I already knew every inch of your body."

He's close now. Too close.

I can smell cedar and bourbon and something darker underneath.

"But most of all," he continues, voice dropping to a whisper, "you want to forget. Just for a little while. You want to stop being the woman whose husband chose her sister. The woman whose marriage just imploded. The woman who's losing everything."

His hand comes up, fingers ghosting along my jaw without quite touching.

"You want to be the woman you were last night. The one who didn't think. Who just felt."

I should step back.

Should tell him to go to hell.

Should leave.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he says.

I can't.

Because he's not.

And we both know it.