Two Wrongs

Chapter Four

I pushed my chair back and stood up, my pulse hammering against my ribs. "This might be the pain talking—I know that. But tell me you wouldn’t want to see the look on their faces if they found out we were returning the favor."

Rowan pushed off the doorframe, moving toward me with slow, deliberate steps. "A affair, Elena?"

"A pact," I corrected, holding his dark gaze. "No strings. No feelings. Just two people who got dealt the exact same cards giving their partners precisely what they deserve."

He stopped right in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "And how exactly do you see this playing out?"

I offered a dark, humorless smile. "If they can play this game behind our backs, so can we. If you have the stomach for it."

Twenty-four hours ago, I would have sworn on my life that I wasn't capable of this level of cold defiance. But watching five years of loyalty disintegrate in a rain-soaked garden changes a person.

Rowan studied my face for a long, heavy silence. For a moment, I thought he was going to play the voice of reason—that he’d say something sensible and talk us both off the edge.

Instead, he reached out, his hand wrapping around the back of my neck to pull me close.

When his mouth met mine, the kiss wasn't gentle. It was fueled by shared rage, betrayal, and a sudden, electric desperation to erase the memory of the people who had broken us.

He lifted me onto the edge of the bed, the sudden shift pulling me entirely out of my own head. For hours, the anguish gave way to something fierce and reckless—a silent understanding between two strangers bound by the exact same ruin.

Afterward, the quiet settled back into the room like heavy smoke.

I lay staring up at the ceiling, wrapped in a sheet, listening to the soft drizzle against the glass. The shame didn't hit me because of Rowan—it hit me because of how quickly I had crossed a line I never believed I would approach.

How am I supposed to look Jonah in the eye now?

"Elena," Rowan's voice broke the silence from beside me, low and measured. "We just stepped over a threshold."

"I know," I whispered, turning my head to face him.

Before he could answer, my phone on the nightstand lit up, buzzing loudly against the wood.

Rowan reached over, picked it up, and looked at the glowing screen before passing it to me. "Your husband is reaching out."

The warmth drained from my face instantly.

Jonah.

I took the phone with numb fingers, exchanged a single sharp look with Rowan, and pressed the speaker button before setting it on the mattress between us.

"Good morning, my love," Jonah’s voice filled the quiet suite—smooth, tender, and effortlessly affectionate. "I couldn't wait to hear your voice."

A knot formed in my throat, but before I could utter a word of my practiced cover story, Rowan deliberately leaned down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of my neck.

The unexpected touch sent a jolt through my nervous system, and a sharp, involuntary gasp escaped my throat before I could stop it.

The line went dead silent.

Three agonizing seconds passed.

When Jonah spoke again, every trace of warmth had evaporated from his tone, replaced by a cold, sharp edge.

"Elena," Jonah said, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "Who is with you?"