My Husband's Rival Wants Me

Crossing the line

I stared at the envelope in my hand for a long time after Nikolas’s text lit up my phone. *We need to talk. Now.*

The photo of my mother holding me sat on the nightstand and I didn’t know what to feel first. Grief for the woman I barely remembered, anger at the secrets, or terror that everything I thought I knew about myself was built on lies.

Adrian was still in his office with the door closed. Light leaking under the crack. I could hear the faint click of his keyboard. He hadn’t come out since Nikolas left.

I slipped out of the bedroom, phone clutched tight. The penthouse too empty. too quiet. I took the private elevator down to the lobby and kept going, out the front doors into the night. The city air hit me sharp and cold and I walked faster.

My phone buzzed again.

Nikolas: *Where are you?*

I typed back before I could think: *Walking. I can’t stay there.*

Three dots. Then: *Meet me. Rooftop bar on 57th. Twenty minutes.*

I shouldn’t have gone.

I did.

The rooftop was quiet for a Thursday with low lights and soft jazz playing in the background. Nikolas waited at the far edge, leaning against the railing, with city lights sprawling behind him. He turned when he saw me.

I stopped a few feet away.

“You came,” he said.

“I shouldn’t have.”

He pushed off the railing and closed the distance. “But you did.”

I looked away toward the skyline, the endless lights. “Adrian thinks I’m home. In bed. Being the perfect wife.”

Nikolas’s hand brushed my arm. “You’re not his wife. Not really. Not the way it matters.”

My breath caught. “I said vows.”

“Words. He doesn’t touch you like a man who wants you. He doesn’t look at you like you’re the only thing in the room.”

I met his eyes. “And you do?”

“Every damn time. Notice me, Aria.”

The air between us thickened. I could feel the pull. The same one from the bar, from the hallway, from every stolen second since.

“I found a photo tonight,” I said quietly. “Of me and my mother. When I was a baby. Someone slipped it under my door.”

His expression shifted and something dark flickered behind his calm. “Who?”

“I don’t know. But there was a note. *She loved you first.*”

He stepped closer. Close enough I could smell him. The same scent that had clung to me after the gala. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m scared.”

“Don’t be.” His hand slid to my waist. It felt warm. “Not with me.”

I looked up at him. “What do you want, Nikolas?”

“You.” He said without hesitation. “From the second I saw you in that bar trying to disappear. I wanted to pull you out of it. And I haven’t stopped.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. “I’m married.”

“Not for long.”

The words hung there.

I should have walked away.

Instead, I kissed him.

This time there was no hesitation. No slow build. I fisted his shirt and pulled him down. His mouth crashed into mine. Hands gripped my hips, yanking me flush against him. I gasped and he took it, tongue stroking deep, tasting like need. My back hit the railing. He pressed in, thigh sliding between mine, giving me friction that made me whimper.

We were frantic, desperate. His mouth moved to my neck. Teeth scraping, sucking hard enough to leave marks. I arched, fingers in his hair, pulling. He groaned against my skin, hand sliding under my shirt, his palm rough on my bare waist. Higher. Cupping my breast. Thumb circling my n****e through lace until it peaked. I moaned. Loud enough someone might have heard, but I was far from caring.

“f**k, Aria,” he growled. “You taste like mine.”

I rocked against his thigh. Heat coiled low and tight. His other hand slid to my ass, squeezing, lifting me slightly so I straddled his leg better. The pressure was perfect. Too much, but not enough.

“Tell me to stop,” he said against my throat. “Say it.”

I didn’t.

He kissed me again. His hand slipped between us, fingers teasing the waistband of my jeans. I bucked into his touch. He popped the button and his fingers found me. Wet, aching. He stroked once. Twice. I cried out into his mouth.

“Not here,” I gasped. “Not like this.”

He froze, breathing ragged. Forehead pressed to mine.

“Then where?”

I looked at him. His blue eyes were dark with want, waiting for me to decide.

“Your place,” I whispered.

He didn’t hesitate. Took my hand. Led me to the elevator. The ride down was torture. His thumb stroking the inside of my wrist, my pulse raced under his touch.

His penthouse was darker than Adrian’s. Lower lights. Floor-to-ceiling windows. It was quiet. Very quiet.

The door closed.

He backed me against it. Kissed me slow this time. Like he had all night. His hands roamed under my shirt, over my hips, mapping every inch like he was memorizing me.

Clothes came off in pieces. Shirt. Bra. Jeans. His jacket. Shirt. Belt.

When we hit the bedroom, there was no more waiting.

He laid me on the bed. Kissed down my body. Neck, breasts, stomach. Lower. Mouth between my thighs. Tongue slow circles. Fingers curling inside. I arched off the mattress, hands in his hair, moaning his name. He didn’t stop until I shattered.

Then he rose over me. Eyes locked on mine. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

He pushed in slow. Inch by inch. Stretching me. Filling me. We both groaned. He stilled for a second, letting me adjust, then started moving.

I wrapped my legs around him. Met every thrust. Nails down his back. His mouth on mine, whispering my name.

When we came, it was together. Hard and shuddering, his face buried in my neck, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

After, we lay tangled. His arm heavy across my waist. Breath evening out.

I stared at the ceiling.

Reality crept back.

Adrian. The photo. The hospital. The secrets.

Nikolas kissed my temple. “Stay.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

I turned to him. “What happens now?”

He brushed hair from my face. “Whatever you want. But I’m not letting you go back to him. Not like this.”

My phone buzzed on the nightstand and I reached for it.

Noah.

I answered, my voice hoarse. “Hey.”

“Sis.” He sounded wide awake. “I dug deeper. Mom’s first marriage… it wasn’t just some fling. There are records. Sealed records. But the dates… you were born the same day as Aurora, but different hospitals. Different fathers.”

My breath stopped.

“What?”

“You’re not just her daughter the way we thought. You’re… legitimate. From her first husband.”

The room spun.

Nikolas’s hand tightened on my waist and I stared at the ceiling again.

Everything was breaking open.

And this time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to close it.