He Left Me Once, Now He Wants Me Twice

Extravagance. That word always comes to mind whenever I visit the Vanhook Family Mansion. Pure extravagance. And now, it's all mine. For life. That's going by my earlier-concluded wedding to Evander Vanhook. This is the happiest day of my freaking life! "Mrs. Vanhook." I turn towards the voice. "Yes?" "Mr. Vanhook says he'll be late, so he asked that I show you to your room," the polite, grey-haired man says with a deep bow. Late? On our wedding night? The thought stings, but I force a smile. I won't let that ruin my day. "Sorry," I c**k my head at the gentle mister. "You are?" "Mr. Fitzroy," he responds with a smile. "The butler." "Oh." I nod. "I always thought the butler was someone else." "Oh! You mean Mr. Grayson." Fitzroy steps aside, gesturing for me to follow. "He retired after senior Mr. Vanhook's passing." The room falls silent, and I bite the inside of my cheek, fidgeting with my wedding ring. "Sorry about that," Fitzroy says, bowing. Mr. Vanhook’s death is still a fresh wound in my heart. And although it facilitated this wedding, it's not something I would have wished for. He was always so nice to me. Sighing, I shake it off then follow Fitzroy up the towering staircase that seems to stretch into the clouds. The stairs are semi-spiral with landings of polished wooden floors, and banisters that look like they're carved from pure gold, coupled with a center red rug that compresses on every step. Hanging above all these is a grand chandelier that casts a ray of yellow light that mimics the sun on a hot afternoon, illuminating our way. Yes, I’ve been here countless times before. But walking in as the woman of the house—Evander’s wife—feels like a dream I never thought I’d live. A dream born by chance, yet here I am. I’ve had a crush on him since I was twelve, up until a second ago, and it would stay that way even beyond. But Evan never looked my way. Not once. I was the daughter of a lowly bodyguard, while he was the son of a prestigious businessman. He was the heir to a multibillion-dollar empire, while my father and I struggled to get through each day. Our dynamics changed when my father took a bullet for Mr. Jayden Vanhook—Evander’s father—four years ago. He didn’t survive it. Jayden promised to take care of me the rest of his life, but that life was cut short by cancer. In a bid to keep his promise, he had Evan and me engaged. "Here we are." Fitzroy opens the doors to a room and steps aside. I walk in, completely in awe of the elegance and sophistication. "This will be your room," he states. "Let me know if you need anything." I turn around sharply, my brows knitting. "My room?" He nods. "You meant to say, mine and Evan’s room, right?" His expression morphs into confusion, but he quickly replaces it with a smile—a fake smile. "No." He shakes his head. "Master Vanhook specifically asked that a separate room be prepared for you." My heart drops. Hard. I know Evan doesn’t have feelings for me, but we’re supposed to work on that. How would we if he builds a bridge between us? Fitzroy excuses himself, closing the door after him. I remain standing there, speechlessly staring at the door. All my joy and excitement fades into the abyss, ebbing just the same as Fitzroy's steps. It's been a while since I last felt this gaping hollowness. It's consuming. Damaging. Sighing, I go to the bed and throw myself on the soft, cushy sheets. I’ll wait till he returns. * * * A hard thud jerks me from my sleep. With a racing heart, I look around in surprise. I fell asleep! How... My eyes catch an object sprawled beside me, and I immediately jolt away. My heart beating even faster. "Who-who a-re you?" my voice shakes as I look down at the sleeping figure. It’s a man, and he’s dressed in the most casual outfit ever. "De-sss-irrr," his voice comes as a mumbled mess, but I recognize it anyway. Evan! My heart flutters with glee, my fear vanishing. He’s in my room. On my bed! Maybe it's our room after all. But what’s wrong with him? I move closer to him, poking his leg with my foot. "Evan?" "Humph." He remains still. Getting even closer, a strong wave of alcohol stench hits me, putting me off. I pull away, pinching my nose. "Have you been drinking!?" He doesn't reply. "Huh?" I poke him again; he responds this time. Lifting his head, he stares my way—eyes sleepy. Even drunk, his face remains the most beautiful I’ve ever seen on a human. Sharp clean-shaven jaw, perfectly shaped nose, with his full lips slightly parted as he breathes. His lashes flutter lightly, casting thick shadows over his flushed cheeks. There’s a raw, unguarded softness in his expression, a certain vulnerability that connects to my heart, and for a fleeting second, he looks almost... breakable. Almost like I could make him fall for me, here and now. I take the chance. Going to sit by his head, I shake mine. "You are such a mess, Evan." He chuckles. "It’s my wedding day. I can have all the shots I want." Yes. It’s our wedding day. I beam proudly. Suddenly, his brows crease. "Have you seen my wife?" I smile, my cheeks flushing. "I’m your wife, Evan." I lean into him, cupping his cheek. "Really?" "Yes." I nod. "Really." "Good, then." He pulls off the bed, breaking my hold. Within the blink of an eye, he pulls his shirt over his head, baring himself to me. "Evan! What are you doing?" My throat dries up, the nervousness returning fast. Ignoring my question, he kneels on the bed. Bare-chested and raw. A million butterflies take flight in my stomach—churning and fluttering, each one trying to outfly the other. I gulp slowly, my eyes sweeping over his sculpted chest—every ridge of muscle carved like art, glistening faintly under the soft light. His skin is pale, with a hint of pink where the heat clings to him. My gaze dips lower, tracing the defined packs of his abdomen, each one tightening slightly with every breath he takes. He reaches up, running his hand through his hair, his blue eyes tentatively trained on me. There’s something dangerously intimate in the way he looks at me, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s daring me to feel it all. Without warning, he pulls closer to me, the scent of his perfume and faint hints of alcohol flooding my senses. "You are my wife, are you not?" His breath brushes my lips, burning. I nod, gulping again. "Then do what you are here for." What I am here for? What does that mean? My heart pounds behind my ribcage, threatening to jump out. "I don’t understand—" Pain floods my head as he grabs a handful of my hair, tilting my head back. "Evan!" I slap his hand. "You’re hurting me!" He leans even closer. "Suck my dick." And with that, he erases any space that ever existed between us. Pressing his lips hard on mine. Kissing me furiously, like a starved animal, and rummaging through my body with shaky hands. I should push him away, but somehow, I like it. His kiss. His touch. The way he invades my body, the way my body responds to his touch. I love it all. In the midst of it all, in the heat of the moment; within the thick pleasure, he breaks his sweet kiss. His beautiful blue eyes staring down at me, like I’m the only thing that matters in the world. Then his lips part. "I love you..." his voice is clear as day, professing his love for me. My heart melts, and I bat the tears away from my eyes. I knew it all along, I knew it. He does love— "Kim." I freeze. My stomach plummets and goosebumps crawl up my neck, spreading like wild fire. "What?" "I love you, Kim." He repeats before collapsing into the bed, dozing off immediately. My heart pounds as I try to connect the dots. Kim? Who is Kim?