My Husband's Rival Wants Me

Chapter eight.

I woke to sunlight slicing through the blinds, warm across the sheets where Adrian’s arm still draped over my waist. His breathing was slow and even against my neck, like nothing had changed. Like the night before had stitched us back together.

For a stupid moment, I let myself believe it.

Then the ache between my thighs reminded me of the gentleness, the way he’d cleaned me without hesitation and held me until I stopped shaking. My eyes burned again, but I swallowed it down. I couldn’t afford to fall apart now, not with Nikolas’s text still unread on my phone, not with the photo of my mother and that cryptic note *She loved you first* hidden in the nightstand drawer.

Adrian stirred. His hand tightened briefly, then relaxed. He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning.”

He rolled me gently onto my back, searching my face. “You okay? After last night…”

“I’m fine.” The lie came automatically.

He studied me a second longer, then kissed my forehead. “I meant what I said. I’m here. We’re going to fix this.”

I nodded because words felt too heavy.

He got up, showered, and dressed for the day. When he came back into the bedroom in his suit, he leaned over the bed and kissed me softly, almost careful, like he was proving something. “Stay in today if you want. Or come to the office later. I’d like that.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Another lingering kiss, then he left.

The penthouse felt too quiet after the door clicked shut.

I showered, got dressed, and tried to ignore the faint bruises Nikolas had left on my collarbone weeks ago, marks that still hadn’t fully faded. Every time I caught them in the mirror, guilt twisted sharper inside me.

My phone buzzed. Nikolas.

*You disappeared after the rooftop. Tell me you’re safe.*

I stared at the message until the screen went dark. Then I deleted it.

The day dragged. I met Rihanna for a quick coffee, dodging her questions about married life with vague smiles. When I got back to the penthouse, Adrian’s “meeting” was already underway. Low voices drifted from his office.

The doorbell rang again and Adrian emerged, looking tense. “That’s him. He’s here for thr Landmark Project consultation. Stay out of the way if you can.”

I nodded.

Nikolas stepped inside like he owned the space. Dark suit, no tie, blue eyes finding me immediately. The air shifted, thick with tension.

“Adrian,” he said smoothly, but his gaze stayed on me.

“Office,” Adrian replied curtly. He glanced between us, frowning slightly, then led the way down the hall.

I retreated to the kitchen, my heart hammering. Minutes later, Nikolas appeared in the doorway. He didn’t speak at first. He just crossed the room slowly, until he had me backed against the counter.

“You let him touch you,” he said in a low voice, his thumb brushing the faint mark on my collarbone.

“He’s my husband.”

“Not for long.” His voice dropped darker. “Tell me you don’t feel this.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. My breath hitched when his thumb pressed just enough to make the bruise throb. It was a reminder, a claim.

From the hallway, Adrian’s voice called out. “Nikolas.”

He stepped back, his eyes never leaving mine. “Later,” he murmured, then turned and walked away.

The meeting ended half an hour later. Nikolas left without another word, but his look lingered like smoke.

Two days passed in fragile quiet. Adrian doubled his efforts. Breakfast brought to bed, hands gentle when we passed in the hall, whispered apologies at night. He slept beside me again, arm around my waist, like he could hold the marriage together through sheer proximity.

I let him. Because the exhausted, duty-bound part of me still wanted to believe the man who he had been that night and held me through tears could stay.

Then, on the third evening, I came home early from a walk.

The penthouse was dim. A low, unmistakable sound came from Adrian’s study. The door was cracked just enough.

I pushed it open.

Olivia was bent over his desk, with her skirt hiked up, her red hair spilling across scattered papers. Adrian stood behind her, with his shirt open, his tie loosened, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip. He thrust hard countless times, his eyes closed, absolutely lost in it.

They didn’t notice me at first.

Then Olivia looked back at me and her eyes met mine. She gave a slow and victorious smile, and didn’t stop moving.

Adrian’s gaze snapped open, following hers. His body jerked still. “Aria—”

I turned and ran.

He caught me in the hallway, pants barely zipped, shirt hanging open. “Wait. Please, Aria, wait.”

I slammed the bedroom door shut and locked it.

On the other side, his voice came through the wood, raw and urgent. “It wasn’t planned. She showed up out of nowhere. I was angry, about us, about how distant everything’s felt. I was weak. I know that. God, Aria, I know.”

There was silence, then his voice came out softer, pleading. “Open the door. Talk to me. I don’t want to lose you. I still want this. Us. I meant everything I said the other night. I was trying. I’m still trying.”

I slid to the floor with my back against the door, knees pulled to my chest as tears burned hot tracks down my face.

His voice kept going, breaking a little more each time. “I love you, Aria. I promise. I know I don’t show it right. I know I’ve f****d up so many times. But I do love you. Please don’t shut me out. Don’t give up on us yet.”

I pressed my forehead to my knees. The man who’d held me through the night was still out there, begging. But so was the man who’d just been inside another woman while I was gone.

He stayed outside the door for almost an hour. His voice cracking, promises spilling out, then quiet sobs when I didn’t answer.

Eventually the footsteps retreated, and the penthouse fell silent.

I stayed on the floor until the city lights came on outside the window.

I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t.

The next morning Adrian was already gone. A note on the counter: *I’m sorry. I’ll make this right, I promise. Please believe me.*

I stared at the handwriting until it blurred.

Somewhere in the city, Nikolas was waiting.

And I was running out of reasons to stay.