The Three Billionaires' Deadliest Obsession

Open Marriage

Vivian's pov~

I reached the safety of the kitchen, leaning heavily against the cold marble island as I closed my eyes, forcing deep, ragged breaths into my lungs. In and out. Just breathe.

When my vision finally stopped spinning, I raised my left hand. I stared down at my ring finger. Smooth, bare, and empty. There was no diamond ring, no heavy platinum band to shield me, no symbol of the marriage I was supposed to be trapped in.

I let out a long, heavy sigh, a mixture of profound exhaustion and dark irony settling over me.

Yesterday, I would have broken down in tears over a missing ring and a cheating husband.

Today, I was playing a dangerous game of charades in my own house with the three ghosts of my past who had claimed my body only hours before.

Forcing the panic into a dark corner of my mind, I tied a linen apron around my waist, washed my hands, and grabbed a chef's knife. If cooking was my escape, then I would lose myself in it.

I laid out the fresh ingredients on the counter and started cooking, trying to drown out the memory of Lucian’s parting whisper with the steady, rhythmic sound of the blade hitting the cutting board.

The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of the knife slicing through fresh herbs was the only thing keeping me grounded. I poured all my anxious energy into the food, preparing a lavish, multi-course lunch—marinated roasted meats, caramelized root vegetables, and a rich, fragrant reduction sauce.

It was a menu fit for elite investors, a perfect performance by a perfect homemaker. But inside, I was unravelling. Every shadow that flickered across the kitchen doorway made me flinch. Every time the distant murmur of masculine laughter drifted from the living room, my skin prickled with goosebumps.

“Look at how you're shaking... You're still exactly where you belong.”

Adrian’s smooth, mocking whisper from the club echoed in my mind, perfectly syncing with the beat of my chopping blade. I gripped the handle of the knife tighter, my knuckles turning white.

They knew. They knew exactly whose house they were walking into.

This wasn't a coincidence; it was a calculated ambush.

An hour later, the food was ready. I arranged the gourmet dishes onto serving platters, my face flushed from the heat of the stove—or perhaps from the sheer dread pooling in my gut.

"Is the perfect little wife almost done?"

A voice rumbled from the doorway.

I gasped, nearly dropping the heavy ceramic platter in my hands. I whirled around, my heart leaping into my throat.

It wasn't Garrison.

Julian Thorne was leaning casually against the kitchen door frame, his massive arms crossed over his chest. He had discarded his suit jacket, rolling the sleeves of his white dress shirt up his thick, muscular forearms, revealing a sliver of dark ink creeping up from his wrist. His dark eyes scanned the kitchen, taking in the spread of food before landing heavily on me.

"Julian," I breathed, the name slipping out before I could stop myself. My eyes darted frantically past him toward the hallway. "You shouldn't be in here. Garrison—"

"Garrison is currently rewriting a clause in the preliminary contract that Lucian tore apart," Julian interrupted smoothly, taking a slow, predatory step into my kitchen. The sheer size of him seemed to shrink the room instantly.

"He's much too fixated on his precious billions to care about where I am."

He stopped just inches from the marble island, his gaze dropping to my hands, which were tightly gripping the edge of the counter.

"You ran away pretty fast earlier, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register that made my stomach do a violent flip. "Did we scare you?"

"This is my husband's house," I said, forcing a cold, defiant venom into my voice, though my breathing was entirely uneven. "You need to leave. All three of you."

Julian let out a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated deep in his chest. He leaned over the counter, closing the distance between us until I could smell the familiar, intoxicating scent of woodsmoke and expensive spice on his skin.

"Leave?" he echoed, his dark eyes consuming themselves as they locked onto my lips. "We just got back to you, sweetheart. And from what your husband was bragging about over drinks... it sounds like he doesn't even touch you.”

Before I could step back, his large hand shot across the counter, his warm fingers gently but firmly wrapping around my bare left wrist. He lifted my hand, staring down at my empty ring finger with a slow, dangerous smile.

"You forgot it somewhere or simply no ring," Julian whispered, his thumb tracing a slow, burning circle over my bare skin.. "An open marriage... God, it’s almost too easy."

I wrenched my wrist out of his grip, my heart hammering violently against my ribs as I took a sharp step back. My back hit the edge of the counter, trapping me.

"No, I forgot where I kept it. Don't touch me," I breathed, my voice trembling despite my desperate attempt to sound fierce. "Whatever happened last night... It was a mistake. I was drunk. You shouldn't be here."

Julian didn't look angry that I had pulled away. Instead, his dark eyes flashed with an intense, predatory amusement. He straightened up to his full, towering height, slowly tucking his hands into his trouser pockets.

"A mistake?" he murmured, tilting his head. "Is that what you're calling it? Because from where I was standing, sweetheart, your body remembered us perfectly. Every single touch."

A fierce blush rushed to my cheeks, burning hot. The image of his hand sliding beneath my underwear flashed vividly in my mind, making my stomach twist with a dangerous, intoxicating heat. Before I could find my voice to snap back, heavy, hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Garrison walked into the kitchen, his brow furrowed as he looked between the two of us. He held a stack of legal documents in his hand, his eyes instantly shifting into a practised, professional squint.

"Thorne? Is everything alright here?" Garrison asked, his tone polite but laced with subtle confusion. "I thought you were going to find the restroom."

Julian didn't miss a beat. He turned smoothly toward my husband, his terrifyingly dark aura instantly masking itself behind a facade of casual corporate charm.

"Everything is perfect, Morgan," Julian rumbled, giving Garrison a tight, easy nod. "I just got lost on my way back and followed the smell of this incredible lunch your wife was preparing. She was just telling me it's almost ready."

Garrison’s face relaxed, a proud, patronising smile returning to his lips. He looked at me, completely blind to the fact that the man standing next to him had just been tracing my bare skin.

"Excellent," Garrison said, gesturing toward the dining room. "Lucian and Adrian are waiting at the table. Bring the food out now, Vivian."

"Of course, Garrison," I said, my voice eerily calm as I untied my linen apron and tossed it onto the counter. I looked past my husband, my eyes locking directly onto Julian’s dark, burning gaze. "I'll bring everything right out."

Julian’s lips twitched into a slow, approving smirk. He turned and walked out of the kitchen alongside Garrison, leaving me alone with the steaming platters of food.

I took one last deep, stabilizing breath, my hands gripping the handles of the heavy silver serving tray. I had survived their touches in the dark, and I had survived their stares in the living room.

Now, I had to sit at a table with my oblivious, unfaithful husband and the three alpha men who held my darkest secrets in the palms of their hands.

I lifted the tray, squared my shoulders, and walked out to serve the wolves.

I walked into the formal dining room, carrying the heavy silver tray with practiced grace. Lucian and Adrian were already seated at the long mahogany table, their postures relaxed but entirely dominant. Garrison sat at the head of the table, looking smugly satisfied with himself as I began placing the gourmet dishes between them.

Every time I leaned down to set a platter, I could feel their eyes tracking my movements like hawks. Adrian’s gaze was sharp behind his silver-rimmed glasses, coolly mapping out the lines of my dress, while Lucian watched me with a dark, heavy intensity that made the skin on my back prickle.

I kept my face an absolute mask of polite, wifely hospitality, never meeting their eyes, never lingering for a second longer than necessary.