His Love, Her Sin

Chapter 4: The Shattered Ride

Elara’s POV

I shouldn’t have smiled.

The way Nick looked at me, I knew I’d done something wrong, even though all I did was show up. I hadn’t seen him in months. Not since the wedding. Not since the silence.

He stood stiffly beside the fire-lit garden wall, his sharp jaw tight, his arms folded in that familiar, stubborn way. His dark hair was slicked back like always, but something was hollow in his eyes.

“Nick…” I tried to keep my voice steady.

His arms didn’t unfold. “I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered. “I told Kieran I was just dropping in, but I should’ve stayed out.”

I blinked, stepping closer. “Why?”

“You know why.” His eyes met mine, then darted to the champagne in my hand. “He’s your husband now.” The word husband twisted off his tongue like venom.

I wanted to tell him it wasn’t what it looked like. That none of it was. That I’d only agreed to the open marriage because I was cornered. But instead, I said, “You’re my brother.”

“And he’s a monster.”

That cut deep. I wanted him to stop talking, but I also wanted him to go on and explain why. What did Damien do? What exactly did he know that I didn’t?

Before I could ask, he took a sharp breath and walked away, slipping through the shadows without another word.

The party felt colder after that. Damien’s team was still celebrating, but I wasn’t in the mood. My stomach churned with confusion and questions. I thought I had made peace with the marriage. I thought I could live with it. But now I amn’t so sure.

The ride home was quiet, too quiet—until it wasn’t.

As soon as I got into Damien’s car, the driver barely had time to put the key in before Damien appeared, his face unreadable. He opened the door, yanked the driver out without a word, and slammed it shut.

“Damien?” I asked softly, confused, but he didn’t answer.

He slid behind the wheel, pulled his seatbelt across with jerky fingers, and slammed his foot on the gas.

We drove. Fast. Too fast.

I clutched the door, my nails digging into the leather. “Damien! What are you doing? Slow down!”

Still, no answer.

The city lights blurred past us like stars ripping through space. His jaw was tight, his hands white-knuckled on the wheel.

I tried to open the door. Locked.

“Damien, stop this! What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t test me, Elara.” His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and said nothing for the rest of the ride.

When we finally screeched into the Solvane Hotel lot, my heart was pounding like a war drum. My hands trembled.

We weren’t alone.

A small group of women stood by the pool area, dressed in barely anything, sipping drinks and laughing like the night was theirs to own.

Damien opened the door. I didn’t move.

One of the girls tossed her hair back and walked up to the car. “Finally,” she purred. “We’ve been waiting.”

She opened the back door, reached inside, and threw a handful of clothing in my face.

Lingerie.

Red, black, silk, and lace.

Another girl giggled as she grabbed my hand and yanked me out. “Come on, sweetheart. He said you needed to loosen up.”

I stumbled as my heel caught the curb, and before I could find my balance, another girl dragged me to the poolside.

“Let me go!” I cried, trying to fight them off, but their grip was tight.

Damien stood there, watching. A smirk on his lips.

As if this were a game.

As if this were love.

“You’re his wife?” one girl asked, circling me like I was a wild animal.

“I… I am,” I answered, brushing my hair out of my face. My voice trembled.

“Then act like it.”

They pushed me toward the pool, laughing. Someone shoved a drink in my hand. Someone else splashed water at me. The music was loud, the laughter louder.

I looked at Damien again, searching for a flicker of remorse. Of concern. Of anything.

But his eyes were cold. Detached. As if I didn’t exist.

Suddenly, I was shoved backward into the water.

The shock stole my breath. Cold wrapped around me like chains. I kicked upward, gasping as I surfaced, my soaked dress clinging to my body.

Laughter erupted around me. One of the girls snapped a photo.

“Pretty little drowned bride,” someone joked.

I pulled myself out of the pool, dripping and shaking, my mascara running down my cheeks. My dignity washed away with the chlorinated water.

I stood there, my arms wrapped around myself, and watched as Damien turned away and walked into the hotel.

Did he hate me? Or was this just… sport?

I didn’t know. But something inside me cracked that night. Not a loud shatter. Just a quiet snap, like a thread breaking.

That night didn’t end with laughter.

It ended with me sitting by the pool, soaked in silence, clutching the silk dress in my fists, trying to figure out how I got here—and why I was still letting it happen.

Because maybe… just maybe… love wasn’t supposed to hurt like this.