THE PENTHOUSE BETRAYAL I
STORY ONE:
THE PENTHOUSE BETRAYAL
Tessa Andrews stepped out of the private elevator into the sprawling 72nd-floor penthouse she shared with her fiancé, the air still carrying the faint scent of the Chanel No. 5 she’d sprayed on her neck before leaving for her final wedding dress fitting. Three days. In seventy-two hours she was supposed to walk down the aisle toward Damien Beckett.
She is the happiest human and she assumed the feeling was mutual with Damien.
Instead, the moment the doors slid open, she heard it.
The wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin. A woman’s breathy, porn-star moans. Damien’s low grunt, the same grunt he gave when he was close.
Tessa didn’t drop her purse. She didn’t scream. She simply walked down the marble hallway on silent Louboutins until she reached the open double doors of the master bedroom.
There he was—her future husband—completely naked, hips snapping forward as he drove his c**k into her maid of honor, Sophia. Sophia’s legs were wrapped high around his waist, red-bottomed heels still on, her bridesmaid dress bunched around her waist like a cheap belt. The same bed Tessa had picked out with Damien six months ago. The same Egyptian cotton sheets she’d had monogrammed with their future initials.
Damien’s eyes were closed in concentration, sweat sliding down his back. He didn’t even notice Tessa standing there until Sophia’s eyes flew open mid-moan.
“Oh f**k— Tessa!”
Damien’s head snapped around. His c**k slipped out of Sophia with a wet pop, still hard and glistening with another woman’s p***y. “Baby— it’s not—”
Tessa raised one trembling perfectly manicured hand. “Don’t.”
Her voice was ice. Calm. Terrifyingly calm.
She pulled her phone from her clutch, scrolled to a contact she had saved months ago under “Emergency — Do Not Call Unless Necessary.” She hit dial and put it on speaker.
He had taken her phone and saved the number himself as an emergency contact and he had warned her not to call unless it was really important.
It rang twice.
A deep, velvet-smooth baritone answered. “Tessa. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
The way her name rolled off his tongue was so pleasant, like he practiced it.
Adrian Beckett. Damien’s father. Silver-fox billionaire. Sixty-two years old and built like a man who still ran five miles every morning before dominating boardrooms. Voice like aged whiskey and dark chocolate.
Tessa kept her eyes locked on Damien’s shocked face as she spoke.
“Your son is currently balls-deep in my maid of honor on the bed I bought for our marriage. Three days before our wedding. I thought you should know.”
Silence on the line for half a second. Then Adrian’s low, dangerous chuckle rolled through the speaker.
“I see. And what would you like me to do about that, sweetheart?”
Tessa smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile.
“Come ruin me on this same bed. In every way your pathetic son never could.”
Damien’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Sophia looked confused more than anyone.
Adrian’s voice dropped, thick with dark promise. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Don’t let him touch you. And Tessa? Leave the heels on.”
The line went dead.
Tessa looked at Damien and Sophia, still frozen on the bed like guilty statues.
“Get out,” she said quietly. “Both of you. Now.”
Sophia scrambled, yanking her dress down, c*m already leaking down her thigh.
“Is that my father?!” Damien barked as he got on his feet, sliding his c**k back into his pants. “Please, tell me I'm mistaken?!”
“Yes, it's your father. He asked me to call him whenever i needed him the most. So, i just did.”
Damien walked up to her and grabbed her elbow. “Have you gone mad?! What would you possibly do with my father?”
Tessa looked him square in the eyes and spat, “f**k him. Like you did with my bridesmaid just now.”
Before Tessa knew it, he went down on his knee. “Please, I'm sorry. I know I acted stupidly but, please not my father. Don't also do something stupid. We still have our wedding—”
“Wedding?” Tessa cut him off. “Did you just say wedding? What wedding? The one that ending the second I saw you riding my own bridesmaid or there's another one?”
“Tessa—”
“Leave.”
“Tessa, please, be reasonable—”
“Leave, Damien. But, if you want to watch your father f**k me raw on this same bed you f****d Sophia on, be my guest.”
He searched her eyes one last time, hoping they'd be a change of heart and she'd leave with him to continue their wedding plans. She swirled around, turning her back on him and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering Manhattan skyline.
She heard him leave in hesitation. The elevator dinged. Silence returned.
Exactly nineteen minutes later, the private elevator opened again.
Adrian Beckett stepped out.
He was devastating in a charcoal three-piece suit, silver hair perfectly styled, ice-blue eyes sharp as diamonds. At 6’3” he filled the doorway with raw, commanding presence. The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to own a room.
His gaze swept over Tessa—still in her elegant cream silk wrap dress, Louboutins on, wedding ring still on her finger.
He smiled. Charismatic as sin.
“Three days before the wedding,” he murmured, loosening his tie as he stalked toward her, dark gaze searching hers. “And my i***t son couldn’t even keep his d**k in his pants. Pathetic.”
Tessa’s pulse thundered between her legs. She had always noticed Adrian—how could she not? The way he commanded attention without trying. The deep timbre of his voice. The way his eyes lingered on her too long at family dinners.
Now those eyes were devouring her.
Adrian stopped inches away. He reached out and brushed a strand of dark hair from her cheek with surprising gentleness.
“You deserve better than my son, Tessa. You always have.” His thumb traced her lower lip. “Tonight I’m going to show you exactly how a real man worships a woman like you.”
