Nine Months of Secrets

In the cold morning, Ivy regains consciousness. Her head pounded like a war drum, and for a moment, all she could feel was the dryness in her mouth and the ache behind her eyes. She turned, the sheets tangling around her legs. A shift. A movement. Heat. Then she saw him. Aiden. Her breath caught—completely locked in her throat. Her spine straightened as her entire body froze in place, like prey sensing the shadow of a predator. But the real predator had already come and gone. Or rather… she had become it. Ivy blinked, hoping it was a trick of the light. But the light was merciless. Morning poured through the curtains, highlighting everything in soft gold—the empty wine bottles, the crumpled clothes on the floor, the chocolate-stained room service tray… And Aiden. Shirtless. Sleeping. He looked too peaceful, as if he hadn't just wrecked everything. Her chest tightened painfully. Her heart beat so fast it hurt. She tore the sheets back, scrambling upright. The sheet clung to her damp skin as she clutched it around herself. Her eyes darted to the nightstand. Her phone was dead. Her wedding ring—God—was sitting beside it. Not on her finger. Beside it. Like she had consciously removed it. A sound clawed its way up her throat, but she clamped her hand over her mouth. She didn’t want to wake him. She didn’t want him to say anything, look at her, touch her. She just wanted to rewind the last ten hours of her life. Her eyes burned. Her knees threatened to give out. What have I done? The words chanted in her head like a curse. Loud. Accusing. Unforgiving. She stood, bare feet touching the cold floor. Her dress—the emerald one she’d worn last night—lay in a disgraceful heap by the door. The zipper was broken. Her bra was slung across a lampshade. She grabbed what she could find. No underwear. No dignity. Just trembling hands and a tidal wave of guilt rising in her throat. She bent down to pick up her heels, and that was when she saw the mirror across the room. She didn’t recognize the girl staring back. Her hair was tangled, makeup smeared down one cheek. Her lips were swollen. Her eyes wild. She looked like someone who had lost everything. And maybe she had. Ivy looked down at the wedding ring still on the nightstand. She should’ve felt shame. She should’ve cried. But all she could feel was numb. Like she was watching someone else’s nightmare unfold and she couldn’t wake up. She grabbed the ring, clenched it in her fist so tightly it left a mark. And then—just for a moment—she remembered. Not everything. Just flashes. The sound of laughter over ice cubes clinking in glass. Aiden leaning across the bar, asking if she was okay. His eyes soft. His voice low. The way he said her name like it meant something. Ivy. The way it felt to be listened to. Really listened to. The warmth of wine. The way her fingers curled around his wrist when he reached for the bottle. The elevator ride. That moment of decision. Or indecision. The way his mouth had tasted like peppermint and sin. She shook her head violently, forcing the thoughts away. It hadn’t meant anything. It couldn’t. Because she was married. To Jaxon. The thought of his name made her stomach twist violently. She stumbled toward the bathroom, flipped the light on, and nearly retched at the sight of herself again. The girl in the mirror wasn’t a wife. She was a traitor. Her hands trembled as she splashed cold water on her face, but it didn’t help. Nothing could wash it away. Not what she’d done. Not who she’d done it with. Aiden. Her husband’s younger brother. Her lips parted as if to whisper a prayer, but no sound came. She hadn’t meant to cross the line. But now she was buried beneath it. She stepped out of the bathroom and froze. Aiden stirred. He rolled slightly, his hand reaching out toward the place she’d just been lying. “Ivy…” he murmured. Her heart stuttered. No. No, not now. She rushed to the door, grabbing her things in a panicked frenzy. Her keys fell to the floor with a sharp clink. She didn’t stop to pick them up. Her hand gripped the doorknob. Behind her, she heard him move again. “Ivy?” She opened the door and stepped into the hallway, the chill of early morning air wrapping around her like judgment. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. Because if she looked at him one more time, she might admit something she wasn’t ready to. That she wasn’t sorry. Not completely.