“HIS RING, HER SIN, MY SHAME
Chapter 1 — First Person POV (Elina Blake)
“You were mine first, Ella. And I don’t share.”
His words echoed in my chest like thunder cracking through a stormy sky, pulling a long-forgotten version of myself back from the dead. My back hit the hallway wall as his body boxed me in, his cologne igniting old memories I had no business remembering. My ex-lover. Now my sister’s husband. And here we were—alone. Again.
I hated him.
And I hated myself even more for the way my pulse raced in response to his presence.
“Move,” I snapped, pushing against his chest. It was hard. Still familiar. Still annoyingly perfect.
“Not until you look me in the eyes and say it,” he growled. “Say you don’t want me. Say you didn’t feel that kiss last night. Or are you going to pretend your lips were drunk too?”
My heart slammed against my ribcage.
“You’re married to her,” I whispered, barely able to hear myself.
“And you were supposed to be mine,” he shot back. “But you disappeared. You left me, Elina.”
“Because you never fought for me!” I hissed.
His jaw clenched, and that vein on his temple throbbed. I remembered tracing it with my lips. I remembered too much.
My body trembled, but not out of fear. Out of memory.
His hand slammed against the wall beside my head, trapping me. “You were mine first. Mine. Do you get that? Before the titles. Before the fake smiles and designer wedding gowns. Before this twisted little performance we’re putting on for your family. I don’t give a damn about that marriage certificate.”
I swallowed hard.
“You’re insane.”
“No. I’m in love.”
And that was worse.
Because I knew he meant it.
I shoved him away and turned, desperate to get away from his scent, his breath, his voice that still haunted me when I tried to sleep.
But he followed.
“I see the way you look at me,” he said. “That fire in your eyes? It’s not disgust. It’s desire. You think wearing a doctor’s coat and switching your name to Eleanor Blake can erase the past? You think moving abroad and coming back a ‘medical genius’ changes the fact that your body still remembers mine?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
He grinned, smug. “You moaned my name last night in your sleep.”
I froze.
“What?”
He leaned in. “Your guest room is too close to mine.”
Bastard.
“You’re disgusting.”
“No, sweetheart. I’m just honest. You’re the one lying. You think you can come back after six years, walk into this house wearing her old perfume, and expect me to act like I don’t feel you everywhere?”
My chest rose and fell with every labored breath. “This isn’t happening.”
He tilted my chin up, and I saw it in his eyes—madness. Regret. Obsession. Love.
“You’re lying to yourself, Ella. You’re still mine. And deep down… you want to be.”
I slapped him.
The sound echoed through the hallway, but he didn’t flinch.
Instead, he smirked.
“You always did like it rough.”
I hated him.
I hated how right he was.
I hated how my thighs clenched when he spoke like that.
He walked away, finally. Leaving me in a mess of adrenaline, guilt, and something far worse.
Want.
⸻
The party raged on downstairs. My parents were celebrating my “triumphant return” with champagne and laughter, unaware that their perfect daughters were playing a dangerous game upstairs.
I looked at my reflection in the hallway mirror. My lipstick was smudged. My pupils were dilated. My pulse throbbed at the base of my neck like a secret waiting to be exposed.
And the worst part?
I hadn’t said no.
Not really.
⸻
Back in my childhood bedroom, everything looked smaller—my old books, my teenage journals, the glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to the ceiling. I collapsed onto the bed, staring up at them, wishing I could rewind time.
Back to before I met him.
Back to when love didn’t taste like guilt and fire.
His name wasn’t supposed to be written in my story anymore. It had been six years. He was married now—to my little sister, for God’s sake.
But my body… my heart… hadn’t gotten the memo.
⸻
A knock shattered my thoughts.
I sat up. “Who is it?”
“It’s Ava,” came her voice—soft, delicate, sweet. The one person I was supposed to protect. My baby sister.
I wiped my face and opened the door.
She walked in, barefoot and glowing, still in her ivory dress. Her ring sparkled in the low light. His ring.
“It was so nice seeing you today,” she said, hugging me tightly. “I missed you, Elina.”
I smiled, holding her close. I could feel the guilt burning like acid behind my ribs.
“I missed you too.”
She pulled back, frowning a little. “Are you okay? You seem… off.”
I forced a laugh. “Jet lag. Long flights, you know?”
She nodded, then sighed. “I’m so glad you’re back. Especially now.”
“Now?”
She hesitated. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. But not tonight. I want you to rest first.”
I studied her. “Is everything okay?”
She smiled. “Perfect. Now that you’re here.”
I wanted to scream.
Because nothing was perfect.
Not when the man she called husband had cornered me hours ago and claimed me like I still belonged to him.
Not when my heart still betrayed me every time he was near.
Not when I couldn’t sleep in this house without hearing his voice in my head.
⸻
The night dragged on. Every creak of the floorboard made my skin crawl. I kept waiting for him to come back, to push the door open, to say something I couldn’t unhear.
But he didn’t.
He was probably with her.
Making love to my sister with the same lips he kissed me with in that hallway.
I curled under the blanket, furious at myself. Furious at him. Furious at fate.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
I came back to start over.
I didn’t come back to fall… again.
But love doesn’t ask for permission.
And desire doesn’t care who it burns.
