ARI'S POINT OF VIEW

The door slammed open so hard the walls trembled, and I nearly dropped the glass in my hand. My heart leapt, then softened when I saw Derek in a tuxedo. For a fleeting second, relief warmed me—maybe, just maybe, he remembered. Our anniversary. He’d been late every year, but he always came home eventually.

I smoothed my dress and took a step toward him, a smile tugging at my lips. See? He came.

“Hey, baby, you’re late for our anniversary again. Every ye—”

The words died in my throat as he cut me off—not with an apology, not with flowers, not even with a kiss. But with a sharp flick of his hand. A stack of papers landed on the coffee table with a loud smack, their edges fanning out like a cruel slap to my face.

“That there,” Derek said, his voice cool and final, “means your time is up in this house.”

I blinked, the words stinging harder than the papers ever could. “What do you mean?”

That’s when I saw her. A woman, standing smugly behind him. Black dress, short enough to be indecent, clinging to curves she clearly knew how to use. Her lips curled into a scoff, her eyes glinting with victory—as if she had been waiting for this moment, savoring it.

My stomach dropped. My breath hitched. And for the first time this evening, I realized the tux wasn’t for me.

Derek’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking over me like I was nothing but a stranger in his house.

“I’ve already found the true love of my life,” he said, voice sharp enough to slice me open. “Her name is Tasha Monroe. And she’s going to be my wife—and the mother of your kids—very soon.”

My breath caught. My knees nearly gave way, but I held myself upright, nails digging into my palm. Mother of my kids? The audacity burned through me like fire.

Tasha—or whatever her name was—stepped forward then, all painted lips and smugness. She smiled like the devil had kissed her and whispered his secrets in her ear.

I opened my mouth, the words trembling on my tongue, but before I could speak, the soft thud of footsteps on the stairs made my heart skip.

“Dad?”

Maxine. My beautiful girl. My last hope. She bounded down the stairs, her phone in one hand, glossy hair tumbling over her shoulders. She barely looked at me before her eyes lit up at Derek. “Oh, Dad, you’re back!”

Relief swelled in my chest. Maybe—just maybe—she’d see this madness for what it was. Maybe she’d remind her father of the family he was breaking apart.

But instead, Maxine’s gaze flicked over me, her brows knitting in confusion.

“Why’s Mom’s face like that?”

The crack inside me deepened. She didn’t see. She didn’t care.

Derek turned to answer, but another voice cut through.

“Hey, Dad.”

Marcus. Maxine’s twin. He appeared at the bottom of the stairs, hair messy from gaming, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket. His dark eyes scanned the room before landing on the woman clinging to Derek’s side.

His brows rose, casual as ever. “Who’s she?”

Finally. Finally, someone noticed. Marcus wasn’t always the most expressive, but at least he was smart enough to see the chaos unraveling in front of us.

Derek cleared his throat, tightening his arm around Tasha’s waist like she belonged there.

“Her name is Tasha Monroe,” he said with pride, like he was unveiling a trophy. “And she’s going to be your new mom.”

For a second, silence filled the room. Maxine and Marcus just stared at him, their faces unreadable, and my heart thudded so loud I thought it would burst.

Then he dropped the final bomb.

“Because… me and your mom are getting a divorce.”

The words stabbed deep, but before I could even breathe, Maxine’s squeal pierced the air.

“Oh. My. God!” Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide as stars. She turned to Tasha with pure excitement. “You’re… you’re Tasha Monroe! The model for R.A.S Beauty? The one on the billboards?”

Tasha’s lips curved into a satisfied smile, her head tilting just enough to show off her perfect profile. “Guilty as charged,” she purred.

Maxine clapped like she’d just won the lottery. “You’re going to be our new mom?” she asked breathlessly, practically bouncing. “This is… this is amazing!”

I froze, the ground tilting beneath me.

Derek chuckled, that smug, poisonous chuckle. “I’m glad you love it, sweetheart. Now, if only your mother would be a sweetheart too and sign those papers.”

Before I could respond, Maxine whipped around to me, her smile fading into a scowl.

“Just sign it already, Mom.”

My chest burned. My vision blurred with rage.

“How could you…” I choked out, staring at my daughter like I didn’t even know her anymore.

Maxine rolled her eyes, groaning like I was being dramatic. “Come on, Mom! You and Dad were never happy to begin with. You always argued, always fought every day. A new mom won’t be that bad… mummm.”

Her whine sliced deeper than any blade.

I looked at Marcus. My only hope. The one who always seemed to see me, even when everyone else chose not to. When his eyes finally met mine, I held my breath, waiting—begging silently—for him to defend me. To tell his father that this was wrong.

But instead, his lips trembled, his voice low and weary.

“I... I… I mean, Maxine isn’t wrong. You and Dad have never seen eye to eye. I guess... a new mum won’t hurt.”

My heart cracked so loudly I could almost hear it. My son. My baby boy. Speaking like he was already tired of me, of us. Tired of my pain.

I was speechless, frozen, like my voice had been stolen from my throat.

“Sign it already, Mum!” Maxine squealed, her excitement too much for her little body to contain. “I can’t wait to see Maddy’s face when I tell her my mum’s Tasha Monroe!”

Tasha Monroe. That name rang in my ears like poison, slicing me open with every syllable. And my daughter—my own daughter—wore it like a crown.

My hand trembled as I reached for the pen. Slowly. Too slowly. But they all watched me, expectant. My husband with his smug smirk, my daughter practically glowing with joy, and my son—silent but defeated.

I signed.

That was it. A name scrawled on paper, and suddenly, I didn’t belong here anymore.

No one wanted me. Not my kids. Not my husband. Not even the house that had held me together through years of fighting and forgiving.

Derek’s voice was cool, final.

“Your luggage is already packed.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, as I turned away. My feet felt heavier with every step, but I forced them forward, carrying me to the door. Away from the life I had built. Away from the children I had carried.

I walked slowly—silently—leaving behind the place I had called home. Leaving behind the pieces of myself that no one seemed to need.

I only had one place left to go. The only place that had ever been mine.

ARI'S POINT OF VIEW

The cab ride was a blur. Streetlights smeared against the windows like they were mocking me, like even the city knew I was unwanted. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and when the driver finally pulled up in front of Wendy’s house, I barely had the strength to hand him the fare.

The second the door opened and Wendy’s familiar face appeared, everything inside me shattered.

“Wendy…” My voice broke, and then so did I. Tears came rushing down before I could stop them, pouring out in heavy sobs that shook my chest.

She didn’t hesitate. She pulled me into her arms, her warmth swallowing the cold I’d carried from that house.

“Hey, hey… Ari, breathe. What happened?” she asked softly, brushing my hair back from my damp cheeks.

But I couldn’t stop. Words tumbled out between gasps, broken pieces of my story spilling too fast for either of us to hold onto.

“Derek—papers—anniversary—he brought her—Tasha—kids—they—Wendy, they chose her!”

I was rushing, spitting the sentences out like if I stopped, I’d collapse entirely.

“Okay, okay,” Wendy whispered firmly, her hands gripping my shoulders to steady me. “Breathe. Just… slow down. Chill, Ari. I’m right here. Tell me everything, but slowly. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

And just like that, the sobs came harder. Because for the first time that night, someone actually meant it.

“Wendy…” I hiccupped through the sobs, my chest burning. “Today was supposed to be our anniversary.”

Her arms tightened around me, steadying me.

“Our anniversary, Wendy. Me and Derek’s.” My lips trembled as I tried to get the words out. “But instead—he walked in… with her. With her. And then—” I swallowed hard, bile stinging my throat. “He threw the divorce papers in my face.”

Wendy’s eyes widened, but before she could say anything, the rest spilled out of me, bitter and sharp. “Do you know the worst part?”

“What?” she whispered, almost afraid to ask.

“They sided with him, Wendy.” My voice cracked, raw. “My kids. My own children… they chose him. Chose her. They didn’t even want me.”

For a moment, the room felt so heavy I thought it would crush me.

Wendy cupped my face in her hands, her expression fierce but soft all at once. “Okay, dear… okay. Lay down. Rest your head while I get you some tea, hmm?” Her voice was calm, soothing, even as her jaw tightened with anger.

She gently eased me onto the couch, adjusting a pillow under my head like I was a child again. “Derek was an asshole anyway,” she muttered under her breath as she tucked a blanket around me. “Always hitting you, cheating, making you feel like you weren’t enough. Ari, you never deserved that. Never.”

But her words barely touched me. All I could do was cry. My tears soaked the pillow as my chest ached, and the only thing that rang in my ears was my daughter’s voice saying sign it already, Mum.

And I broke all over again.

I don’t even know how long I laid there, staring blankly at nothing, my tears long dried on my cheeks. My chest still hurt, my body heavy, like I’d been carved out and left hollow.

That’s when Wendy’s voice cut through the silence. Sharp. Decisive. “That’s it. Get up.”

I blinked at her from the couch, my throat hoarse. “No…” My voice was barely a whisper.

“Yes.” She folded her arms, glaring down at me. “Get. Up.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You’re going to.” She marched into her bedroom, and before I could even protest again, something soft landed on my chest with a thump.

I glanced down—tiny black fabric. A short, skin-tight dress.

“Wear that,” Wendy ordered, hands on her hips.

I pushed it away weakly. “I’m not in the mood to go anywhere.”

Her eyes narrowed, like she dared me to try her patience. “You’re going.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

I sat up, clutching the blanket tighter around me, glaring right back. “I said I’m not.”

She smirked, the kind of smirk that told me I’d already lost. “Oh, sweetheart… you are.”

After what felt like hours of bickering, threatening, and Wendy’s stubbornness, I found myself standing under a glowing neon sign that screamed Get Dirty’s.

A club. Of course.

The bass thumped so loud it rattled my chest, the air thick with sweat, perfume, and smoke. My stomach twisted. “I wanna go back to your house,” I muttered, already half-turning.

Wendy hooked her arm through mine before I could take another step. “Oh, no, sweetheart. You’re staying. You’re going to have fun, clear your head, and remember that Derek Whitmore isn’t the last man on this damn planet.”

“I don’t want fun.”

“Which is exactly why I dragged you here.” She smirked, tugging me deeper inside until we were swallowed by flashing lights and pulsing music.

Before I could resist, she waved down the bartender like she owned the place. “Two scotches. Neat. Keep ‘em coming.”

Minutes later, small shot glasses lined the counter, and Wendy shoved one into my hand.

I stared at the amber liquid. Maybe I should say no. Maybe I should—

But then I thought of Derek. Of Tasha in her black skimpy dress. Of my kids, my kids, choosing her over me.

I tilted the glass back, letting the burn scorch my throat.

One became two. Two became three. And with every swallow, the sharp ache inside dulled a little more.

Until I felt it. That pull.

My head turned, and across the crowded room—through flashing lights and moving bodies—my eyes locked with his.

The most striking, magnetic eyes I’d ever seen.

He wasn’t just looking at me. He was watching me.

And in that moment, I couldn’t look away.

ARI'S POINT OF VIEW

He was moving.

Through the crowd. Past the swaying bodies and neon haze. Coming right at me.

My stomach dropped. “Oh my God. Wendy… this guy—”

I turned, expecting her smug grin, but the seat next to me was empty. She’d vanished. Seriously? Now?

I swallowed hard, forcing my shoulders back as his shadow fell over me. “That’s… uh… that’s my friend’s seat.”

He didn’t even glance at it. Instead, his voice came low, smooth, almost teasing. “Then I’ll borrow it until she comes back.”

Before I could protest, he slid onto the stool, a presence too big, too magnetic, filling the space. The bartender, apparently in on the betrayal, set a fresh glass in front of him like it had been waiting.

He raised it slowly, eyes never leaving mine. “So…” He tipped his chin toward the dance floor, where the crowd pulsed to the beat. “You’re just gonna sit here all night? No dancing?”

The question was casual, but there was an edge in his tone—like he already knew I wasn’t the type to play along, and he wanted to see if I’d surprise him.

I blinked at him, trying to gather my words, but the alcohol was buzzing too loud in my head. “Dance? What, with a stranger?”

His lips tugged into something halfway between a smirk and a challenge. “Stranger, huh? I guess no one warned you that strangers are more fun.”

I laughed despite myself, covering my face with my hand. “Wow. That’s your line?”

He leaned in, close enough for his cologne to tangle with the alcohol fog around me. “You want me to use a better one?”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched. God help me, he was charming. “Depends. Do you have better ones?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I own Meyer Enterprises. That’s better, right?”

The name slammed into me like ice water. Even through the haze, I knew that name. Derek had cursed it enough times, pacing our bedroom, spitting venom about his “snake of a competitor.”

Meyer Enterprises. Adrian Meyer.

I stared, heartbeat stumbling. My drunk brain wanted to laugh at the irony, the ridiculous cosmic joke of it all. My husband’s rival. Sitting inches away from me, watching me like I was the most interesting thing in the room.

“Interesting,” I murmured, leaning back in my seat, trying to mask the sudden spark inside me. “Very interesting.”

“So…” I dragged the word out, tilting my glass toward him. “Meyer Enterprises, huh? That’s… big. What’s it like being you?”

He smirked, sipping his drink like it was water. “Dangerous question. I might tell you, and then you’ll never look at me the same.”

I leaned in, curiosity outweighing sense. “Try me.”

His gaze flickered over my face, too sharp for comfort. “How about you? What’s your name? Or should I just call you… mysterious stranger?”

I hesitated, biting down on my lip. Introduce yourself, Ari. Don’t overthink it. He doesn’t need to know.

“Ariette,” I finally said, my voice steadier than I felt.

“Ariette.” He repeated it slowly, like he was tasting it. “Beautiful name.”

Something fluttered in my chest, but I quickly masked it by tossing another question his way. “So why’s the big CEO sitting here, poking at strangers in bars?”

For the first time, his smirk faltered, just a little. “Because I’m freshly single. Girlfriend’s out of the picture.” He shrugged, casual but not really. “Guess heartbreak makes you thirsty. What about you? What’s your excuse?”

The truth burned in my throat, but I forced a laugh, shaking my head. “Guess we’re in the same boat then.”

He studied me, too closely, like he could peel me open with his eyes. My head throbbed from the alcohol, but I couldn’t look away. For a moment, it felt like the world shrank—just his eyes, my pulse, and the loud ache between us neither of us wanted to name.

One second, we were staring. The next, his lips crashed against mine. It wasn’t gentle—it was fire and hunger, sharp enough to drown the ache inside me.

I gasped against his mouth, fingers curling into his jacket, and before I even knew what I was doing, the words slipped out in a whisper against his lips. “Let’s find a room.”

His eyes darkened, a flicker of surprise and heat crossing them, but he didn’t hesitate. His hand slid to mine, firm and commanding, and he pulled me through the crowd like the rest of the world no longer existed.

The door shut behind us with a heavy click. I barely had time to breathe before his mouth was on mine again, harder, deeper. My head throbbed from the alcohol, but my body didn’t care—it wanted this, wanted him.

His hands were everywhere—tugging at the straps of my dress, brushing over my skin with reckless urgency. My fingers fumbled at his shirt, desperate to feel more, to forget more. The taste of whiskey lingered between us as he pressed me against the wall, stripping away every piece of hesitation with every kiss.

His lips trailed down my neck, hot and urgent, and my head slammed back against the wall with a soft thud. My breath came out in shaky gasps, every nerve in my body alive as his hands roamed like he already owned every inch of me.

The room spun—maybe from the alcohol, maybe from him—but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to care. My husband had thrown me away, my kids had chosen someone else, and here I was—choosing this.

I clung to him, nails dragging down his back as he lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. His mouth claimed mine again, hard and desperate, while his body pressed into mine with an urgency that burned away every thought.

Clothes fell away—his shirt first, my dress slipping down in a rush, his hands skimming my bare skin like he was memorizing me. I moaned against his mouth, lost in the rhythm of his touch, the heat of his breath, the way he whispered my name like it already meant something.

And when he finally sank into me, the world disappeared. There was no Derek, no betrayal, no divorce papers—just the rough, relentless pace of his body against mine, the tangled sheets beneath us, the heat building until it consumed us both.

My thoughts blurred into nothing but sensation—his hands gripping my hips, his mouth devouring every sound I made, the way we moved together like we had been waiting for this moment all our lives. I felt alive, raw, wanted. For the first time in forever, I wasn’t invisible.

And the rest… the rest, as they say, was history.