HONOR ME

SEVEN

The drive back was painfully silent.

The rhythmic hum of the engine did nothing to drown out Skyler's voice echoing in my head.

*"My husband?"*

*"As if."*

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

Mother sat beside me, pretending to admire the passing city lights, though I knew she had been stealing glances at me ever since we left Pamela's residence.

"You'll crease the leather if you grip it any harder."

"I'll buy another one."

She sighed.

"I knew you'd react poorly, André. I just didn't expect... that."

Neither had I.

An entire evening wasted because a woman I'd never met preferred spending the night with another man.

Another man.

Louis.

The name alone irritated me.

Mother cleared her throat.

"Don't."

I frowned, keeping my eyes on the road.

"Don't what?"

"Whatever you're thinking."

I let out a short laugh.

"You think I'm thinking something?"

"I know you are."

Silence stretched between us.

Finally, I spoke.

"I asked Pamela for his address."

"I know."

"And?"

"And I also know that wasn't an innocent request."

I scoffed.

"I'm not going to kill him, Mother."

"I didn't say you were."

She turned slightly in her seat.

"But you're angry. You're embarrassed. And wounded pride makes people do incredibly stupid things."

I didn't answer.

She continued anyway.

"Leave Louis alone."

"He has my fiancée."

"He has nothing."

Her tone remained calm.

"Skyler made her own decision tonight. If you're upset, be upset with her. Don't drag an innocent boy into whatever this arrangement between you two is."

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"I don't even know why I'm upset."

"Exactly."

Her answer caught me off guard.

"You don't."

She smiled faintly.

"So go home. Sleep. Wake up tomorrow with a clearer mind."

The car rolled to a stop in front of Mother's house.

She unbuckled her seatbelt before placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Promise me."

I looked away.

"...Fine."

"No visiting Louis."

"I said fine."

She studied me for a second before smiling.

"Good."

After she disappeared behind the gates, I rested my forehead against the steering wheel.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Fifteen.

Then I laughed bitterly.

Go home?

Not a chance.

I desperately needed a drink...

...and a lap dance if luck decided to pity me.

Skyler.

Ruining my evening because of some kind of... friendship.

Or whatever the hell she and Louis were.

I killed the engine and stepped out of the car.

"f**k," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose.

What the hell was this girl doing to me?

I handed my keys to the valet before making my way inside.

The bass from the music vibrated through the floor as lights flashed across the crowded dance floor. Women laughed, glasses clinked, and the scent of expensive perfume mixed with liquor filled the air.

Normally, this place worked like therapy.

Tonight...

Not so much.

I slid onto my usual stool at the bar.

"Iced tea."

The bartender nodded without question. He'd known me long enough not to question my odd choice of drink.

"Well, well."

A familiar voice called from behind me.

"André Larsen. In the broke people's hub?"

I smiled despite myself before turning around.

"Tryin' to lay low, you know.”

Rhea laughed as she slid onto the stool beside mine and signaled the bartender.

"Okay," she shrugged. "I might as well lay low too."

I glanced around the club.

"Where's your security detail?"

"They're around."

"They're always around."

She smirked.

"Occupational hazard."

"And Zayn?"

She groaned dramatically.

"Please don't remind me."

"What?"

"He thinks I'm incapable of breathing without supervision."

I chuckled.

"He's not entirely wrong."

"Oh, shut up."

The bartender placed my iced tea in front of me before turning to Rhea.

"The usual, Miss Morgan?"

She nodded.

"And make it strong."

The bartender disappeared to prepare her drink.

I leaned back against my stool.

"So..." I looked at her. "Did you finally escape your dungeon?"

She rolled her eyes.

"I wish."

"Marco's outside the club."

Of course he was.

Marco had been Rhea's personal bodyguard for years. The poor bastard probably hadn't enjoyed a peaceful day since meeting her.

I laughed before taking a sip of my iced tea.

"So..." she said, folding her arms across the counter. "I heard you're getting married."

I closed my eyes.

Here we go.

"Skyler McCarthy Smith."

I rolled my eyes and emptied my iced tea in one go.

It was always about the marriage.

Never, *How are you?*

Never, *How's work?*

Just—

*"I heard you're getting married."*

"Can we not discuss my marriage or Skyler?" I slid the empty glass toward the bartender. "I came here to clear my mind."

"As you wish, Mr. Larsen."

Right on cue, the bartender returned with Rhea's martini.

She accepted it with a grateful smile, completely oblivious—or perhaps pretending to be—to the way he shamelessly admired her.

She lifted her glass toward me.

"Alright. No more marriage or Skyler talk."

I raised my empty glass anyway.

We clinked them together.

I picked up my now-empty glass anyway.

We clinked them together.

My empty glass against her full one.

She smiled.

"So..."

She took a sip.

"Tell me why the mighty André Larsen looks like he wants to punch a wall."

I let out a dry laugh.

"Do I?"

"You look worse."

"I look worse than what?"

"Worse than the day your company lost that billion-pound contract."

"...That's harsh."

"I'm serious."

She rested her elbow on the counter, studying me.

"You don't come to clubs to drink iced tea."

"I also don't come here to be psychoanalysed."

"And yet here we are."

**SKYLER**

A gentle knock sounded against my bedroom door before it creaked open.

"Morning."

Louis walked in balancing a tray with two mugs of coffee and a plate of buttered toast.

"I figured you'd be hungry."

"You figured right."

I pushed myself up against the headboard as he placed the tray across my lap.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

He sat on the edge of the bed while I reached for the coffee.

"Careful," he warned. "It's hot."

I smiled.

"I'll survive."

"You almost burned the kitchen down trying to boil water when we were eighteen."

"That happened once."

"It happened twice."

I narrowed my eyes.

"I don't recall the second time."

"Because I put the fire out before you noticed."

A laugh escaped me.

"Liar."

"I'm saving your reputation."

I shook my head, taking a bite of my toast.

"You know..."

He leaned back, studying me.

"You're probably one of the prettiest people I've ever met."

I looked up.

"That's random."

"I'm serious."

I laughed awkwardly, feeling my cheeks warm.

"You're ridiculous."

"And you're avoiding the compliment."

Before I could think of a response, my phone buzzed loudly on the bedside table.

Louis reached over and handed it to me.

"Your mum's probably still upset."

"I wouldn't blame her."

I unlocked the screen.

"...What the hell?"

My stomach dropped.

Every entertainment page was carrying the same photographs.

André.

Locked in what looked like a passionate kiss with another woman.

No...

More like they were trying to swallow each other's faces.

"What happened?"

Louis shifted closer, glancing at my screen.

"Oh..."

"This lying cheat!"

The words came out before I could stop them.

Louis looked at me carefully.

"Why are you angry?"

I frowned.

"What?"

"You look... genuinely angry."

"I—"

The answer slipped out before I could think.

"Because he's my hu—"

I stopped.

The room fell quiet.

Louis didn't say a word.

I quickly looked away.

"I mean..."

I exhaled sharply.

"The media."

I tossed my phone onto the bed.

"The public is going to step all over our reputation until it's nothing but dust."

I rubbed my forehead.

"I honestly couldn't care less if André wants to kiss every woman in London..."

I sighed.

"...But for goodness' sake, book a hotel room."

Louis couldn't help laughing.

I shot him a glare.

"I'm serious."

"I know."

I climbed out of bed and grabbed yesterday's clothes from the chair.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

I pulled on my jeans.

"My mother is probably having a meltdown."

Louis nodded in understanding.

"I'll drive you."

I smiled appreciatively but shook my head.

"No. You've already done enough."

I slung my handbag over my shoulder.

"I'll call you later."

"Alright."

He walked me to the front door.

"Drive safely, Sky."

"I will."

I hurried to my car, but before starting the engine, I opened the article one last time.

There they were.

André Larsen.

The man who had demanded I leave Louis and come home...

Only to end up plastered all over the internet kissing another woman.

I let out a humourless laugh as I started the engine.

"Hypocrite."

━━━━━━ ✧ ━━━━━━

I shoved open the doors to his penthouse, my footsteps echoing through the quiet space.

"André," I called out.

Nothing.

My fingers tightened around my phone as I looked around the unfamiliar silence.

"André!"

Still nothing.

"ANDRÉ LARSEN!"

The frustration in my own voice surprised me. I pulled my phone from my pocket and quickly typed out a message to my mother.

Maybe she knew where he was.

Maybe she could tell me why I had just watched my husband kiss another woman and somehow ended up here, furious enough to break into his penthouse.

I sent the message and didn't wait for a reply before heading upstairs.

"André Larsen!"

I opened the first bedroom.

Empty.

The second.

Empty.

The third.

Also empty.

My patience was running thin when my phone finally buzzed.

Mom.

I looked down at the screen.

**Come home now.**

I stared at the message for a second.

Of course she knew something was wrong.

I ignored it.

Not yet.

I wasn't leaving until I found him.

I reached for another door and pushed it open.

"André?"

The second I stepped inside, I knew.

This was his room.

His space.

His scent surrounded me instantly — warm cinnamon, familiar and annoyingly comforting.

The room wasn't exactly messy, but it wasn't the perfectly controlled space I expected from André Larsen either. A few things were out of place, making it feel more personal than I was prepared for.

"André Larsen."

My voice lowered.

Then I heard it.

The shower.

Running water.

He was here.

For some reason, that realization should have made me relieved.

Instead, panic hit me.

Why was I here?

Why had I rushed over the second I saw him with another woman?

Why was I angry?

Why did seeing him kiss her bother me so much?

The answer came crashing down before I could stop it.

"Fuck."

The realization left my lips in a whisper.

I had let jealousy drag me straight into danger.

I had walked willingly into the lion's den.

And now I was standing inside André Larsen's bedroom while he was only a few steps away.

The sound of the shower shutting off made my heart jump.

I had seconds.

No time to think.

No time to come up with an excuse.

I turned around and rushed out, leaving the door open behind me as I hurried down the stairs.

I didn't stop until I was outside.

Until I was inside my car.

Until the doors locked and I was finally separated from the disaster I had almost created.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

He didn't know.

He couldn't know.

André Larsen would never find out that I had stormed into his penthouse because I was jealous.

He didn't have to know.

He never had to know.