MARRIED TO THE WRONG MAN

Chapter 3

Ethan’s POV

The penthouse still hummed with the energy of a day that went exactly as I planned—and yet, it felt hollow.

The models were gone. I’d sent them off in an Uber an hour ago after realizing their high-pitched giggles did nothing to fill the silence Camilla had left behind.

I stood on the balcony of the fiftieth floor, the wind tossing my hair as I stared at the endless grid of Manhattan below. My glass of bourbon was empty of ice.

Then, the private elevator chimed.

I hadn’t expected her to come back tonight. I’d watched her storm out, her eyes bright with a mix of anger and something that looked dangerously like hurt. Something in me, a conscience I usually kept buried, pricked at the thought of it.

I leaned against the marble archway as she stepped into the living room.

She looked broken.

Her hair, usually pinned into a flawless bun, was loose. Mascara streaked her cheeks. Her shoulders sagged in a way that made her look smaller, softer, almost human. The Ice Queen was gone, even for a moment.

I should have stayed silent, let her retreat to the forty-ninth floor. But I was Ethan Sterling, and if I couldn’t be loved, I would at least be the smartest person in the room.

“Late night at the human rights office?” I asked, voice lightly mocking. “Or did Liam decide the Vance legacy was too heavy for a modest lawyer?”

She froze, not looking at me. Her hands trembled around her tote bag.

“Leave it alone, Ethan,” she whispered, her voice thin and fragile.

“I’m just curious,” I said, stepping closer, my footsteps quiet on the rug. “What does he have that I don’t? A small bank account and a savior complex? Does he make you feel like a normal person instead of a corporate machine?”

Her eyes finally met mine, red-rimmed, pale. “He has nothing. He is nothing.”

I blinked, surprised at the venom in her voice. I’d expected a defense, a soft explanation of why Liam was better. But no.

“Trouble in paradise?” I prompted, tilting my head.

“He’s a spy,” she spat, each word heavy with anger. “He’s been working for OmniCorp for six months. Everything I thought was real… it was all for the Q3 encryption keys. Your cousin, Vanessa, sent him.”

The bourbon almost slipped from my hand. Playful malice vanished. A spy in her bed, right under our noses.

I wanted to laugh—it was ironic, perfect for our world—but her face stopped me. She looked shattered, not just at work, but inside. She looked vulnerable.

But I didn’t comfort her. Instincts drilled into me by Marcus kicked in: Weakness is a liability. Failure is a choice.

“And you didn’t see it?” I said, laughing harshly. “The great Camilla Vance, the smartest architect in Silicon Valley, let a low-level plant slip into her sheets and her servers? If the board finds out, the merger won’t matter. They’ll come for you for gross negligence.”

“I know!” she screamed. Her voice echoed off the glass. “Do you think I don’t know that? I’ve spent my life being perfect for this company! I’ve given everything, and the one time I try to find something for myself, it’s a trap.”

“Well, pick up the pieces,” I said coldly, stepping closer, noticing the tear streaking through her makeup. “Fix your face and sharpen your mind. You’re flirting with disaster, dragging my company down because you wanted to play house with a stranger. Don’t let your personal life ruin our legacy.”

She hissed like an animal, stepping toward me as if to strike. I didn’t flinch. My jaw clenched.

“I hate you,” she whispered, her lips curling.

“The feeling is mutual,” I said. “But we have a job to do. Tonight is the gala. The software launch. You have three hours to look like the woman who owns this city. Hide those tears, everyone is watching.”

I turned away, dismissing her like a subordinate. Her footsteps on the stairs were heavy, uneven, fading into the night.

*****

The gala was a blur… Champagne, strobe lights, forced smiles.

Aetheris had launched its new cloud system, and the stock was soaring. The ballroom was full of elites, vultures, titans—all watching if the Sterling-Vance marriage could survive.

We were spectacular.

I drank too much and I knew it but I didn’t care. The last forty-eight hours had been a weight pressing down on me, and the bourbon held it at bay.

Beside me, Camilla kept pace. Usually, one glass was her limit, but tonight she matched me drink for drink. Her eyes shone, cheeks flushed.

We danced. We toasted. We lied to everyone in the room.

When the SUV dropped us back at the penthouse, the world was spinning. The elevator ride up was a blur of chrome and silence.

The doors opened. The living room was dark, lit only by the lights of the city below. Shadows stretched across the floor.

Camilla kicked off her heels. Silver shoes clattered against the marble. Her eyes were sharp, her breathing quick. Alcohol had peeled away the Ice Queen armor, leaving something raw and volatile.

“You were right,” she said, slurred but precise.

“I usually am,” I replied, loosening my tie and tossing it onto the console. “About what?”

“Everything is a transaction,” she said. She walked toward me, a ghost in silk. “The company, my father, Liam… you. It’s all just trading pieces on a board.”

“That’s the world, Camilla,” I said, my voice low. I could smell her—jasmine and expensive gin. “You play, or you get played.”

“I’m tired of playing,” she whispered with a soft chuckle, her eyes darker than usual and her breathing quicker than it should.

Her hand gripped the lapel of my jacket. She pulled me toward her, eyes searching mine… Searching for anger, truth, maybe just a distraction from Liam’s betrayal.

“What are you doing, Camilla?”

“Shut up, Ethan.” she said. “Shhh!”

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me.

It wasn’t like the hotel kiss. No cameras, no stock market, no Sarah to witness. It was messy, desperate, raw—two rivals finally colliding after years of tension and hidden hatred.

I should have pushed her away. I should have joked about her being drunk. But her lips met mine, and everything I controlled snapped.

I didn’t care about the Legacy Clause. OmniCorp didn’t matter. Only her. Just her body. Her hands clutching me as if I were the only solid thing in her world.

I lifted her. Her legs wrapped around me as I pressed her against the cold glass wall. The city lights were the backdrop to our chaos.

There was no tenderness, only a collision of two people who had spent their lives outmaneuvering each other, now out of room to move. Nails in my shoulders, her breath in my ear and the taste of Bourbon, tears and ruin.

The s*x was raw. It was furious and terrifying.For one hour, we weren't CEO's or enemies or a contract.

High above the world that demanded perfection, we were finally, devastatingly real.

And when it was over, her head on my cheat, both of us shaking, I knew tomorrow, the war would be a thousand times worse.