His Father's Wife

Chapter4

In the Shadows of Fire

Julian's POV

The music was too loud, the lights too bright, but nothing drowned out the echo of her name in my head. It was Arielle. My ex-wife.

I downed another shot of whiskey, the burn tracing the same path my anger did hot, fast, relentless. The club pulsed around me, bodies moving, laughter clinking against crystal glasses. But I was miles away. Somewhere darker. Somewhere colder.

She married my father.

I leaned back in the leather booth, my collar undone, tie hanging loose around my neck like the last shred of control I hadn’t yet torn off.

What the hell was I doing here?

I pulled out my phone, fingers scrolling through a contact I knew I shouldn’t call. But I needed someone. Someone who knew history, who knew me. I hit the dial.

“Yo,” came the answer after two rings, music and conversation muffled in the background. “Julian?”

“Get your ass to Vauxhall,” I said, voice already slurring. “Table 14. Booth near the back.”

“Damn, is it that bad?” he replied.

“You have no idea.”

Ten minutes later, Daniel slid into the booth across from me, fresh from some business dinner, still in a three-piece suit, but already loosening his cuffs like he knew we were about to go deep.

“Alright,” he said, signaling the waitress for a drink. “What happened?”

I stared at him, the anger too big to fit into words. My jaw clenched. I tried to say it. I really did. But instead, I reached into my coat pocket and tossed a folded tabloid across the table.

He opened it, scanned the headline.

Then he froze.

“No way,” he muttered, jaw tightening. “She married him?”

I nodded slowly, that numb, empty kind of nod that comes after the storm has already destroyed the whole damn town.

“I even went to the house today, and there she was. Arielle. Wearing my father’s damn ring, she smiled.”

Daniel leaned back, hand over his mouth, as if trying to keep the shock from spilling out too loud.

“You okay, man?”

I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “No. No, I’m not okay.”

The waitress brought another round. I grabbed the glass and slammed it back like it owed me answers.

“She played me, Dan,” I said, voice low, tight. “She waited five damn years, left me like it meant nothing, and then climbed into bed with him.”

Daniel didn’t speak right away. Just nodded, swirling his drink. Then he looked up, gaze directed.

“I mean… you didn’t treat her like she mattered, Jules.”

The words hit me like a slap. I narrowed my eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He exhaled, leaning in.

“I was there, remember? Every fight. Every time you brushed her off, left her alone at events, flirted with other women in front of her like it didn’t matter. You said she was cold. But maybe she just gave up trying to warm up to someone who never looked her in the eyes.”

“Don’t turn this on me.”

“I’m not,” he said, calm but firm. “But you can’t act surprised she walked away when you practically handed her the suitcase.”

I clenched my jaw, looking away, throat burning. He wasn’t wrong. But he wasn’t right, either.

“I was under pressure,” I muttered. “The company. The board. My father is breathing down my neck. Arielle… she just didn’t get it.”

“She wanted to,” he said, quietly. “You just didn’t let her in.”

There was something in his tone that made me look back at him. Something too careful. Too measured.

“You sound like you cared.”

Daniel’s eyes met mine, but he didn’t flinch.

“I did.”

The confession cut through the noise of the club like a knife.

“You what?”

“I cared about her,” he said, voice even, low. “More than I should’ve. But I respected the boundary. She was your wife.”

I stared at him, something sharp rising in my chest. Jealousy? Betrayal? I didn’t even know.

“You had feelings for my wife?”

“Ex-wife,” he said pointedly. “And no, I never made a move. Never crossed the line. But I saw her, Jules. The way she looked at you. The way you didn’t look at her. I guess I just… wondered what it would’ve been like if it had been me.”

I stood, nearly knocking over my drink.

“I need air.”

Daniel sighed. “Look, man. I’m not trying to add to your anger. I just think… maybe this didn’t happen to you. Maybe you helped make it happen.”

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. My skin was crawling, and I didn’t know if I wanted to punch him or thank him for being the only person real enough to say it.

His phone buzzed. He glanced down.

“Sh*t. I’ve gotta go, emergency call from the office.”

“Of course,” I said bitterly. “Run away. Like everyone else.”

He paused, then stood, buttoning his jacket.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think she was trying to hurt you. I think she was just trying to survive.”

He left me with that and the echo of bass pulsing like a heartbeat gone wrong.

I downed the last of my drink. Alone again.

That’s when I saw her.

She moved like a smoke, slow, seductive, winding through the crowd like she owned the air between every beat of music. Dark hair, tight red dress, lips painted with danger.

She walked straight up to my booth and leaned against the table like we’d known each other in another life.

“You look like someone who wants to forget.”

I looked her over. Pretty. Too confident. Definitely not from around here.

“Do I?”

She smiled. “I can help with that.”

“And what’s the price for forgetting?”

Her eyes gleamed. “One night. No strings. You pretend I’m her. I pretend you’re not broken.”

I stared at her. Bold. Brazen. Exactly what I didn’t need, and maybe exactly what I did.

I reached into my wallet, pulled out a few bills, slid them across the table.

“Let’s go.”

The hotel was a haze of dim lights and expensive silence. We barely made it past the door before her hands were on me, urgent, aggressive, unkind in a way that felt like punishment.

I didn’t want tenderness. I wanted to erase her name from my skin. I wanted to forget the way Arielle used to touch me like she was memorizing prayers.

This was different. It felt like war.

I let the girl kiss me, drag me to the bed, strip away my clothes like I was just a transaction. And maybe I was. That was the point.

I didn’t ask her name. She didn’t ask mine.

We didn’t talk.

We moved.

Only took.

Enjoyed the moment.

And in the stillness after, when she lay sleeping beside me, I stared at the ceiling, my body sat but my soul more hollow than ever.

Because it hadn’t worked.

I still saw Arielle.

Still heard her voice.

Still felt the weight of her silence as she let me walk out that door without chasing after me.

She had been mine. Now she was my father's.

And I didn’t know if I hated her for it—or hated myself more for giving her every reason to leave.

I turned away from the girl in the bed, the sheets twisted around her like secrets. I got up, walked to the window.

Rain.

Of course it was raining again.

The sky weeping what I refused to.

I ran a hand through my hair, heart pounding with something too big to name.

She was gone.

And maybe, just maybe, I deserved it.

I sat on the edge of the bed, the sheets tangled behind me, the city lights smearing across the rain-soaked window like some cruel, abstract painting. She shifted slightly, murmuring something I didn’t care to hear. I didn’t look back.

I grabbed my coat, shoved my hands in my pockets, and dropped a thick wad of cash on the nightstand, more than she asked for, more than she was worth.

I didn't feel guilt anymore. No regret. Just clarity.

If Arielle wanted war, she’d get one.

I was done bordering myself over that cheap w***e, who divorced me and married a man old enough to be her father.

From now on, I choose power. The game has begun.