Marissa POV

I woke up to a cold, damp pillow. My face felt tight, my eyes swollen nearly shut from the "hot tears" that had slammed down my cheeks until I finally passed out from exhaustion.

The house was deathly quiet....no sound of Ethan's humming, no scent of morning coffee. Just the lingering ghost of yesterday's wreckage.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand. The screen was a graveyard of notifications.

Ethan (6:42 AM): Please talk to me, Marissa.

Ethan (7:15 AM): I'm at the office. I didn't sleep a wink. I'm so sorry.

Ethan (8:03 AM): I sent you something. Please don't throw it away.

I swiped past them, my stomach turning, and saw three missed calls from Hailey. I hit dial, needing a voice that didn't sound like a lie.

"So, how is our favorite little housewife doing today?" Hailey's voice boomed through the speaker, vibrant and full of life. "I've been calling you for ages! I have the juiciest gist about this new guy I met at the gym, but you weren't answering? Are you still in bed, you lucky girl?"

"Terrible," I responded. My voice was raspy, stripped of its usual cheerful lilt.

"What?" she hollered.

The silence on my end was deafening. Usually, I was the "dumb and happy" wife, always eager to hear her stories while I gushed about a new sourdough recipe or a curtain fabric I'd picked out. I had spent three years perfecting the art of being a homemaker, never realizing I was just decorating a prison.

"You heard me, Hails," I said, my grip tightening on the phone. "I said terrible."

"But why? Did Ethan do something? Are you sick? Wait... are you pregnant and in a total mood? Answer me, girl! I am about to get worried to death!"

"It's a long story," I whispered, staring at the ceiling. "I'll drop by your place when you're back from work, okay? I need... I just need to get out of this house."

"Okay, babe. I will be expecting you. Whatever it is, we will handle it."

I tossed the phone aside and dragged myself out of bed. Every movement felt like I was wading through lead. I stripped the sheets....the same sheets he had likely laid on while thinking of her and threw them into the laundry room. Then, I retreated into the bathroom.

I stayed in the shower for an hour. I let the water run as hot as I could stand, crying until my throat was sore and the steam filled the room like a shroud. By the time I stepped out, I felt hollowed out. Empty.

I headed to the kitchen to try and eat, but the doorbell rang, echoing through the hollow house. When I opened it, there was no one there...just a massive, ostentatious bouquet of red roses sitting on the porch.

My favorite.

I looked at them, and for a second, I felt a flicker of the old Marissa. Then I remembered. When was the last time he'd gone an extra mile to send flowers? When was the last time he wasn't "too tired" or "too busy" to show me he cared?

I picked up the small card tucked into the blooms.

Marissa, my heart is breaking knowing I've hurt you. These are a small reminder of the beauty you brought into my life. I know I don't deserve it, but please... let me make this right. I love you more than the company, more than anything. - Ethan.

I stared at the slanted, familiar handwriting. It literally does us no good, he had said yesterday. He was right. These flowers did me no good.

With a surge of cold fury, I didn't even take them inside. I walked straight to the large trash bin at the curb and dumped the entire package-roses, vase, and note...into the garbage.

By the time I was ready to head to Hailey's, I looked like a different person. I took my time with my makeup, using a heavy hand with the concealer to hide the puffy evidence of my breakdown. I picked out a dress that didn't scream "housewife."

The traffic was a nightmare, a literal crawl through the city heat, but for once, I didn't mind. I sat in my car, staring at the bumper in front of me, remarkably calm. I didn't curse the drivers; I didn't get pulled over. I just breathed.

Finally, I reached Hailey's apartment. She opened the door before I could even knock, her arms wide open.

"Come in, babe! Everything is set!"

I stepped inside and saw the little setup she'd made on the coffee table: a spread of fruits, snacks, and a tall, chilled glass of orange juice. It was so sweet, so normal, that I felt a tiny giggle escape me, sounding like a five-year-old for a split second.

We sat down on her plush velvet sofa, and she turned on the TV to low volume, leaning in with wide, expectant eyes.

"Okay, spill," she said, clutching a pillow. "Where do we even start with this 'terrible' day?"

I took a long sip of the juice, the cold liquid coating my dry throat. I looked her dead in the eye.

"Oh, okay. Let's start with the part where Ethan cheated."

Hailey didn't just gasp. She literally spat her drink out, the orange juice spraying across the table as she choked in pure, unadulterated shock.

"He what?!"

"Marissa... tell me you're joking," Hailey finally choked out, grabbing a handful of napkins to dab at the mess on her lap. "Ethan? Mr. 'I-have-to-get-home-to-my-wife' Ethan? The man who literally acted like you hung the moon?"

"He was acting, Hailey. And he deserves an Oscar," I said, my voice eerily steady. I leaned back into her plush sofa, the cold glass of orange juice condensation chilling my palm. "He's been seeing her for four months."

Hailey's jaw dropped even further. "Four months? While you were home making gourmet three-course meals and folding his silk boxers? I will actually kill him. I'll do it. I have a shovel in my trunk."

I gave a weak, jagged smile. "Save the jail time. He didn't even tell me because he felt bad. He told me because the woman is suing him for three hundred million dollars. He's terrified she's going to bankrupt the company and ruin his 'perfect' reputation."

Hailey went dead silent. The anger in her eyes shifted to something sharper calculation. "So he's not just a cheater. He is a coward who's using you as a shield against a lawsuit."

"Exactly. And you know what the best part is?" I let out a dry, hollow laugh. "He told me I should go out and cheat on him. To 'even the score' so we can just go back to being the perfect couple."

Hailey slowly set her glass down. The playful "gist" energy was completely gone, replaced by a cold, protective fire. "He actually suggested that? He wants to turn his betrayal into a transaction?"

"He thinks I'm still that girl, Hails. The one who's too scared to break a plate, let alone a vow." I looked down at my hands. They weren't shaking anymore. "But I am done being the 'perfect' wife. I'm done being the stay-at-home ornament."

"Good," Hailey hissed, reaching over to grab my hand. "Because if he wants you to even the score... then we are going to make sure you win the whole damn game."

I looked at her, and for the first time since the world broke, I felt a spark of something other than pain. It was a cold, simmering ambition.

"So," I whispered. "What do we do first?"

Marissa POV

"You see how we cut the line? No hassle. We are hot, babe," Hailey said, adjusting her cleavage in the mirror-lined hallway. Her blonde hair was snatched back into a high, lethal ponytail, her green eyes popping against thick, dark mascara. She looked like a predator in her shimmering bodycon dress.

I, on the other hand, felt like a woman reborn in crimson. My red, sleeveless gown clung to my curves, the slit running high up my thigh, teasing with every step. My brunette hair was styled in deep, glossy Hollywood waves, and my makeup was a masterpiece of "revenge chic" a sharp winged liner and a blood-red lip that screamed I was no longer the girl waiting at home with a pot roast.

"Damn," Hailey smirked, glancing at the line of girls outside. "Those ladies still waiting might curse us out. Let them. We've already achieved the goal."

We pushed into the heart of the club. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, high end gin, and the low thrum of deep house music. Hailey leaned in close to my ear, her voice barely audible over the beat.

"This is the spot, Marissa. New York's best. But look up there," she pointed to a frosted glass balcony overlooking the floor. "That is the VVIP tier. The highest ranking. Those people don't even let their faces be seen. They wear masks the entire night...total anonymity, total power. You don't get up there unless you're a god or a monster."

"And what are we?" I asked, feeling the tequila from earlier hum in my veins.

"Tonight? We are whatever we want to be."

We headed to the bar. The bartender was in his mid-twenties, clearly Japanese, with hard, sculpted biceps that looked like they were carved from marble. I couldn't help but stare as he expertly flipped a shaker.

"That's rude," he said suddenly, his eyes snapping to mine.

I furrowed my brows. Out of all the women practically drooling over him, he chose to call me out? "What do you mean?"

"The ring," he said, pointing a tattooed finger at my left hand. "It signifies you are married, isn't it?. Looking at me like that... it's a bit of a double standard, don't you think?"

I froze. I hadn't even noticed I was still wearing it. Three years of habit had made the gold band feel like a part of my skin. I felt a surge of nausea, then a flash of heat. I yanked the ring off and shoved it into my clutch.

"Arigato," I muttered, trying to soften the tension.

He didn't smile. His brow furrowed deeper. "I may look Japanese, but I'm actually Taiwanese. Maybe ask before assuming next time."

Goddamn. My luck was abysmal. If I kept offending everyone I met, I was definitely not getting laid tonight.

I apologized and turned to leave, only to see a tall, brown haired guy trying to corner Hailey. He had his shirt halfway unbuttoned, flexing his abs like a peacock.

"Can I get the lady's bill?" he asked, flashing a row of perfectly white teeth.

Hailey didn't miss a beat. "If you're paying for mine, you're paying for hers. We're a package deal."

"If that's what the lady wants!" He blew her an air-kiss.

I didn't stay to watch the flirting. I downed my last shot of alcohol, the burn felt like life returning to my veins and leaned into Hailey's ear. "I'm getting on the dance floor."

"Okay! Call me if you need anything. Be careful, Marissa!"

The world was starting to tilt, a pleasant drowsiness settling into my bones. But then, the beat changed. The slow, heavy thrum of One of the Girls by The Weeknd, Lily-Rose Depp and Jennie started to pulse through the speakers. It was sensual, dark, and exactly how I felt.

I made my way to the middle of the room. I started dancing, my body moving like liquid, my eyes half-closed. I wasn't dancing for Ethan. I was dancing for the woman I had buried three years ago.

Then, I felt it. A gaze so heavy it felt like a physical touch.

I looked up toward the VVIP balcony. A man was standing there, shrouded in shadows. He wore a dark, intricate silver mask that covered the upper half of his face, but his jawline was sharp enough to draw blood. He was watching me. Not like a guy at a bar, but like a predator watching his next meal.

My heart skipped a beat. I didn't look away. I leaned into the music, letting my movements become more provocative, more sensual, my eyes locked on the silver mask above.

A few minutes later, a hand touched my shoulder. It wasn't Hailey. It was a man in a black suit-security.

"Ma'am," he whispered. "A gentleman from the upper tier would like to invite you for a drink. Privately."

I glanced at Hailey, who was busy laughing with the brown-haired guy, then back at the balcony. The silver mask was gone. He was waiting.

"Lead the way," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me.

He led me through a hidden door, up a velvet lined staircase, and into a dimly lit lounge that smelled of sandalwood and power.

He then abruptly paused and turned to me. he held out a silver tray. On it sat a delicate black net mask, shimmering with tiny obsidian crystals.

I looked at the mask, then back at the balcony. "Why the mask?"

"For your privacy, too," the guard said, his voice was void of emotion.

I took it. The cool silk felt like a dare. I slipped it over my eyes, the world turning into a hazy, provocative mesh. I followed him up the velvet stairs, my heart thumping a faster beat than the music below.

The man was standing by the window, his back to me. He had discarded his jacket, his white dress shirt stretched tight across broad shoulders.

"I have been staring at you for a long time, Marissa," he said.

His voice was a deep, textured baritone that vibrated right through my chest. I froze, my pulse spiking. "How do you know my name? The masks are supposed to keep us anonymous."

He turned slowly. Up close, he was devastating. The silver mask made his eyes look like burning coals, and his hot pink lips were even more distracting now that they were inches away. He took a slow, deliberate sip of amber liquid from a crystal glass, his gaze raking over my body behind the black net.

"I make it my business to know the names of things I find beautiful," he rumbled, stepping into my space. He was tall towering over me and the heat coming off him was intoxicating. He set the glass down and closed the distance until I could feel the silk of his shirt brushing my bare arms.

"Tell me," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave as he moved even closer. "Was that performance on the floor for the room? Were you trying to see how many men you could break tonight, or were you just trying to see if I was paying attention?"

"Maybe I just like the attention," I breathed, my heart hammering against my ribs. Damn the tequila has gotten me pretty bold isn't it?

"Liar," he murmured. He reached out, his long fingers ghosting over the strap of my gown before his thumb hooked under my chin, tilting my head back. His touch was electric, sparking against my skin like a live wire. "You were dancing like a woman who wanted to burn her life down. It almost seemed like you were dancing for me."

I looked up at him through the black net, my breath hitching as his thumb moved to my bottom lip, pressing down with a possessive weight that made my knees weak.

"I wasn't dancing for you okay? By the way don't you think courtesy demands that you share your name too since you know mine?"

"Names don't matter behind these masks," he whispered, his face so close I could feel his breath. "Tonight, you are just a woman who wants to forget she exists. And I am the man who's going to make sure you do."

I didn't ask who he was. I didn't care about the $300 million or the divorce. I reached up, my fingers tangling in the dark, cool strands of his jet black hair, pulling him closer.

"Then stop talking," I challenged.

He didn't need to be told twice. He pulled me into him, his hand sliding down to the small of my back to crush me against him. As his lips crashed against mine, the world outside and Ethan completely vanished.

Marissa POV

The air in the VVIP lounge was heavy, charged with a static that made the hair on my arms stand up. His hands were everywhere possessive, firm, and grounding. As we made out, my fingers tangled in his jet-black hair before sliding down to the hard, sculpted planes of his abs through his silk shirt.

God.

When was the last time I felt this desired? It had been an eternity. Ethan looked at me like a piece of furniture he'd grown used to. This man looked at me like I was the only thing in the world worth consuming.

Suddenly, he paused.

He didn't pull away entirely, but he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against mine. His breathing was heavy, ragged. I was confused, my heart hammering a protest against my ribs.

Was he stopping? Now?

"I don't want you to make a decision you will regret, Marissa," he said, his voice a low, vibrating warning.

"I don't regret anything tonight," I breathed, trying to pull him back down to me.

He didn't budge. Instead, he reached for my hand. His long, calloused fingers fiddled with mine for a heartbeat before he grabbed my left ring finger. The skin there felt cold and naked, but to him, it was a map.

"You are married, aren't you?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous level.

I stiffened. "Damn, are you a psychic? This is the second time this has come up tonight. Is there a sign on my forehead that I didn't see?"

"No," he rumbled, his thumb tracing the faint, pale indentation where my gold band had sat for three years. "But this finger... it feels like it has been wearing a ring for a very long time. The mark is there, even if the metal isn't."

I yanked my hand back, a flare of defensive anger masking the hurt. "Fine. I was! My husband and I are separated. Is that a problem for you? Because if it is, I can just head back to the dance floor and find a man who doesn't ask so many questions."

I turned to leave, but I didn't even get two steps. He moved with the speed of a predator, his hand snaking around my waist and pulling me back against his hard chest in a lethal, possessive grip.

"No, you are not," he hissed into my ear.

"Does that mean you're okay with this?" I challenged, twisting in his arms to face him. "With me?"

"I never said I wasn't, Marissa. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't wake up tomorrow hating yourself." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, matte black card with nothing but a gold embossed crest on it. "Now, this is what we're going to do. You are going to take your time. Think this through. If you decide you want this-all of this....you come back to this room with this card. Is that fine with you?"

I stared at the card, then up at the silver mask and those hot pink lips. He thought he was giving me a choice. He thought I was some fragile flower who needed to weigh the "morality" of my actions.

He had no idea.

"If that's what you want," I said, my voice dripping with a feigned hesitation.

But internally? I wasn't thinking about "consequences." I wasn't thinking about Ethan. I was thinking about the fact that I am decisive as hell. I had already burned my old life in the trash with those red roses. I wasn't going to "think". I was going to crack this man open and see what was behind that mask.

I took the card, the sharp edge digging into my palm. He wanted me to take my time? Fine. I'd give him five minutes of "thinking" before I showed him exactly how little I regretted this.

I stood outside that heavy mahogany door for exactly five minutes. My heart was a frantic bird trapped in my ribs, but my hand was steady. I looked down at the matte-black card, the gold crest glinting in the dim hallway light like a key to a different life.

I pushed the door open.

The suite was a cathedral of shadow and silk. Dark charcoal walls, a king-sized bed that looked like it belonged to royalty, and the faint, expensive scent of sandalwood and old money. He was standing by the floor to ceiling window, a crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand. When the lock clicked, he turned slowly, his silver mask catching the moonlight.

"You didn't take your time, Marissa," he rumbled, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that made my thighs ache.

"I am a decisive woman," I said, my voice surprisingly steady as I closed the distance between us. "And I don't like being told to wait."

He set his glass down on a marble table, his gaze raking over me with a predatory hunger.

"Then I suppose I shouldn't keep you waiting any longer."

He met me halfway, his hands cupping my face with a bruising intensity. His thumbs traced my cheekbones before his lips crashed onto mine. This wasn't the tentative kiss from earlier; this was a reclamation. My hands flew to his shirt, fumbling with the silk buttons until I pushed the fabric off his shoulders.

God.

His chest was a masterpiece of hard, functional muscle. His abs were deep set and rock hard, rippling under my palms as I traced the dark line of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his tailored trousers. He let out a low, guttural growl, his hands sliding down to the zipper of my red gown.

The silk pooled at my feet, leaving me in nothing but lace and the black net mask he'd given me. He didn't move to the bed yet. Instead, he backed me against the cool glass of the window, his hands wandering over my skin as if he were memorizing a map.

"Zaika," he whispered against the sensitive skin of my neck, his hot pink lips ghosting over my pulse point.

Zaika. I didn't know what it meant, but the way his voice dropped when he said it made my knees buckle. He trailed kisses down my collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of my skin, sending jolts of electricity straight to my core. His hands were everywhere-kneading my hips, pulling me flush against the hard ridge of his desire, making me realize just how much I had been starving for this.

He lifted me easily, my legs wrapping around his thick waist as he carried me to the bed.

The charcoal silk was cool against my back, a sharp contrast to the furnace of his body. When he finally stripped away the last of his clothes, I couldn't help but gasp. He was built like a god....all lean muscle and intimidating power. My eyes drifted down to his dick, thick and rock-hard, pulsing with a life of its own as it stood at full attention against his stomach.

He didn't rush. He knelt between my legs, his fingers dipping into the soaking heat of my pussy, testing my readiness. "You are so small," he groaned, his voice thick with a dark, possessive heat as he watched my eyes blow wide. "And so incredibly tight. It's like you were made specifically to drive me insane."

"Then go ahead," I challenged, arching my back, my fingers digging into the silk sheets. "Drive us both insane."

He sank into me with a single, devastating thrust. I cried out, my breath hitching at the sheer, stretching fullness of his dick inside me. It wasn't like anything I'd felt before....not the polite, routine intimacy I'd grown used to with Ethan. This was visceral. This was real.

"Zaika..." he chanted, his pace increasing, his muscles corded and straining under my touch as he pinned my wrists above my head. Every time he said that name, I felt a new wave of electricity shoot through me. He was relentless, pushing deep into my pussy, hitting spots I didn't even know existed. The world narrowed down to the scent of his skin and the sound of our mingled gasps.

The climax hit like a tidal wave, shattering every lie I'd told myself for three years. I screamed into the dark, my body shaking with the force of it, while he groaned out that name-Zaika one last time, his own release coming in thick, heavy pulses that left us both spent.

He didn't pull away immediately. He collapsed against me, his heavy chest heaving, his face buried in the crook of my neck. We stayed like that for a long time, our bodies tightly wrapped around each other, his weight a grounding force on top of me.

Finally, he lifted his head, making sure his silver mask stayed perfectly in place. He leaned down, his hot pink lips brushing against my ear one last time, his voice sounding less like a romantic vow and more like a terrifying realization.

"You are finally mine," he whispered.

I didn't answer. I just held him tighter, my fingers tracing the hard lines of his back, wondering why the man who had just broken me felt more like home than the husband I had left behind.