Artemis’s POV
The silence after she left felt like punishment.
I could still taste her on my lips—rage, whiskey, memory. Her perfume clung to the curtains, stubborn and mocking, while the slam of the door echoed inside me like a verdict.
I had demanded an answer. What news?
But she hadn’t given me one. She had only looked at me with eyes full of loathing, eyes that once had undone me, eyes that still haunted me in dreams I didn’t want.
When I finally snatched my phone from the nightstand, the answer blazed across the screen in bold, merciless type.
Billionaire’s Bride or Someone Else’s Mistress?
And the photo—God, the photo.
It dragged me back to that night, Devonte’s scheme, the betrayal caught in an unforgiving flash. My arms around her, her hands in my jacket, her lips on min
