Chapter 3

Anthony stepped out of the shower, steam curling off his skin. He was calm. Too calm for a man who had just spent the night with another man’s wife.

But his thoughts weren’t on that. They were on her. The way she had obeyed him without hesitation. The way her breath had hitched under his touch. The way her voice had cracked when she whispered that she wanted him.

A smirk tugged at his lips. The room still smelled of them, heavy with the remnants of their night. Anna was asleep, her body tangled in the sheets—a chaotic monument to their passion. He had practically destroyed her, and he knew it had been the best sex she’d had in a long time.

He walked closer and perched on the edge of the bed, studying her face. She looked serene, vulnerable, breathtaking. Then her eyes flickered open.

“Good morning, princess,” Anthony’s voice rumbled, deep and commanding.

Anna gasped and sat up, clutching the bedsheet to her chest. She had hoped it had been a dream, but the ache between her legs reminded her otherwise. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment, and a sharp pulse of pain throbbed in her head.

“Will you at least tell me your name?” he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.

Her gaze met his, and the memory of his dominance made her stomach flutter. Her mouth opened to speak, then snapped shut.

“Can you excuse me? I need to get dressed and head home,” she blurted out. Anthony scoffed, rising from the bed with a lazy stretch.

“I need privacy,” she added, wrapping the sheet tighter around herself.

“Privacy? After what happened last night, you need privacy?” His tone carried amusement as he turned his back. “Fine. Get dressed.”

She moved swiftly, finding her dress with ease. Panties? She couldn’t locate them, but she didn’t care. She slid into her heels, her movements deliberate.

“Are you done?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. Anthony turned to her, a smirk playing at his lips.

“I… I will go now,” she said. As she tried to pass him, his hand shot out, gripping her wrist. A shiver raced through her, and she swallowed hard.

“I still don’t know who you are,” he said, voice rougher now, a hint of desperation in the edge.

“You don’t need to know. We won’t ever see each other again,” she said, turning away. He released her wrist.

“Let me at least drop you home,” he insisted. But that would be a mistake—he’d know where she lived.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she said and slipped past him before he could respond. He scoffed, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“This can’t be our last meeting,” he murmured, smirk tugging at his lips.

Anna’s hand shook as she unlocked the apartment door. The city outside was still cloaked in pre‑dawn silence, the sun only a faint brush across the skyline. Jake’s shoes weren’t by the entryway. He hadn’t come home yet.

Good.

She wanted this moment to herself.

She slipped off her heels. Every muscle ached, every nerve felt raw—but beneath the exhaustion hummed a savage, satisfied heat.

Straight to the kitchen, she grabbed a glass of water, catching her reflection in the dark microwave door. Makeup smudged, deep red lipstick faded at the edges, sleek ponytail loose. She looked thoroughly used—and yet, triumphant.

The wildness in her eyes hadn’t faded; it had sharpened, intensified.

She tilted her head back and gulped the water, trying to soothe the scorched dryness of her throat.

Anthony.

His name vibrated low in her chest.

Her bare ring finger brushed the glass. The absence of her wedding band felt like a phantom limb—but not painful. She hadn’t consciously realized she’d left it behind until she was driving home. A perfect, accidental metaphor.

A key scraped in the front door lock.

Anna froze, glass halfway to her lips.

Jake.

He stumbled in, disheveled, but not in any appealing way. Tie crooked, expensive shirt wrinkled, face drawn as if his night had been long and uninspiring.

He stopped dead, eyes narrowing as they swept over her outfit. Confusion turned to disgust, jaw slackening.

“What the hell are you wearing?” His voice was slurred, accusing.

Anna set the glass down slowly, deliberately. The small clink sounded loud in the silence.

“You look like hell, Jake,” she said smoothly, calm and controlled—the opposite of the timid girl he thought he knew.

He scoffed, tugging at his jacket. “And you look like a tramp. Where have you been all night? It’s almost seven.”

“Out,” she replied simply, swaying her hips as she walked toward the hall closet.

“Out where?” His irritation sharpened. “Who were you with?”

“It’s none of your business, Jake.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Is this your way of making me jealous? You think dressing like that will change anything? It won’t. I know this is all an act.”

His words stung. She didn’t want to care—but after Anthony, she knew she was desirable. Jake’s cruelty still found a way under her skin.

“You can say whatever you want, Jake. I really don’t care. After last night, your words mean nothing to me.”

The smirk on his face faltered.

“By the way,” she added, voice dropping to a dangerous purr, “I’ve decided I like the open‑marriage idea.”

Jake’s face flushed a furious red. “Wait a minute. You can’t just—”

“You asked for it, Jake,” she said, stepping closer. He instinctively backed up. “And I’m not aging badly, darling. I’m just getting started. I’ve realized I’ve been wasting my time trying to keep your house clean.”

Anna smirked, satisfaction curling through her as she left Jake standing speechless in the living room. She had finally taken back some power. For the first time in years, she felt alive.

But just as she reached the bathroom door, Jake’s voice sliced through the air behind her—low, cold, and far more dangerous than before.

“You really think this little rebellion is going to end well for you?”

She paused, hand on the doorframe, refusing to turn around.

Jake let out a bitter laugh. “You went out, got fucked by some random guy, and now you’re strutting around like you’ve won? Pathetic.” His footsteps got closer. “I know that look in your eyes, Anna. You think you can just replace me that easily?”

Anna finally turned, meeting his gaze head-on. “You wanted an open marriage, Jake. I’m simply honoring your request.”

His eyes darkened with something ugly— jealousy mixed with pure rage. He stepped even closer, voice dropping to a venomous whisper.

“You have no idea what you’ve started. I built this life. I can tear it down just as fast.” He glanced at her disheveled appearance, nostrils flaring as he caught the faint scent of another man on her skin. “Whoever he was… he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. And neither do you.”

Anna’s heart skipped, but she kept her face calm. “Are you threatening me now?”

Jake’s lips curled into a cold, terrifying smile. “Not a threat, baby. A promise. Enjoy your little fun while it lasts.”

His eyes suddenly dropped to her left hand, narrowing into slits. Before she could pull away, he snatched her wrist, lifting her bare fingers into the morning light.

“Where the hell is your wedding ring, Anna?” he hissed, his grip tightening painfully.

Anna’s breath caught in her throat. She looked down at her bare finger. A suffocating wave of absolute panic crashed over her as memory rushed back. She hadn't just forgotten it. She had left it on the nightstand in that billionaire's hotel suite.

“I… I took it off when I washed my hands,” she lied, her voice trembling.

Jake scoffed, tossing her hand back aggressively. He pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping the screen with a slow, deliberate smirk that made her stomach churn.

“You’d better find it. Because speaking of obligations, I just got an alert from your mother’s hospital. Her medical arrears are overdue again.” He looked up, his eyes devoid of any warmth. “I was going to authorize the transfer today… but now? I think I’ll hold onto my money for a while. Let's see how long her doctors keep her on that treatment plan without my signature.”

The triumphant heat from Anthony's bed vanished instantly, replaced by an icy, paralyzing dread. Jake didn't just have a threat; he had her mother's life in a chokehold.

“Jake, wait—”

“Find your ring, Anna,” he cut her off, turning his back on her as he strode toward the guest room. “And remember who owns you.”