IN BED WITH MY EX-HUSBAND’S UNCLE

Evie woke to the fresh scent of two dozen red garden roses and a big box on her bed. She picked up the handwritten note beside the box and read it. [Ten years since I fell for you at the school prom, four years of marriage, and I’m still falling for you every single day. Happy Birthday, my love.] She pulled out her phone and dialed her husband. He picked up on the second ring. “Baby,” she cooed. “Happy birthday, my queen,” Julian’s voice came through the speaker. “You were asleep when I left for work this morning. I didn’t want to disturb your beauty sleep.” Evie blushed as she unwrapped the box and took out the gifts inside. “Baby,” she said, tears in her eyes, “you cleared my shopping cart and my birthday wishlist.” “There’s something else. Keep opening,” Julian laughed. Evie opened the last velvet case, and her hands flew to her mouth. It was a clear diamond necklace of 24 carats. She recognized it from an auction she had attended with Julian last month. It had once belonged to a European duchess and had sold for $2.4 million dollars to a buyer who bid by phone. “You were the buyer that night?” Evie asked in surprise. Julian laughed. “I noticed you couldn’t stop staring at it, so I asked my assistant to bid under his name. I wanted it to be a surprise.” “Oh, my baby, this is so thoughtful. Thank you so much.” “Anything for my queen. I’ll call you back. I need to get back to work. I love you so much.” “I love you too.” Then the line went dead. Julian was the man every woman in the city openly envied her for: the brilliant, devoted young real estate mogul who still looked at her like she was the only woman on earth. Evie rolled out of bed and happily set about cooking several dishes and preparing everything for her birthday dinner with her husband. He called again at six in the evening, his voice filled with regret. “Baby, an urgent board meeting just came up, and it’ll take a while. I’m so sorry I can’t join you for your birthday dinner, but I promise to make it up to you.” Evie’s smile fell, but she reminded herself that he was building an empire for them, after all. At least, that was what she believed until 10:14 p.m., when her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. [You should check on your golden boy. Your trophy husband can’t get enough of me.] Evie read the text again and again, confused. She was about to dismiss it as spam when another text came in: a picture of Julian’s head resting against a woman’s bare chest. Her lips parted in disbelief. The photo stabbed straight through her chest, but it couldn’t be her Julian. It just couldn’t. She was still zooming in on the picture when the third message arrived, with the address of a hotel downtown and a room number. Her heart didn’t break immediately; it froze. A part of her screamed that it was a sick joke, a prank, but her hand was already grabbing her coat, her fingers trembling as she snatched up her keys. The drive felt suffocating. Her mind reeled through ten years of memories: Julian wrapping his jacket around her shoulders on the cold hockey bleachers in high school, Julian crying quietly as they exchanged vows in front of three hundred people, Julian kissing her forehead before leaving for work that very morning. When she lost her parents in college, he had become her rock, the ground beneath her feet. She parked, walked past the front desk, and took the elevator to the top floor. Standing outside Room 1402, she noticed the door wasn’t fully shut. Her legs were so weak she could barely stand, but she pushed the door open slowly, her pulse thudding in her throat. The scent of cheap vanilla perfume hit her first. Julian’s designer suit, shirt, and boxers lay scattered across the floor, along with a woman’s gown and the contents of her handbag. And then she saw them. Julian was pinned against the leather sofa, naked, his eyes half-closed in pleasure, his fingers laced in the woman’s dark hair as she kissed her way down his body and sucked his c**k. The air rushed out of Evie’s lungs in a sickening gasp. She pressed her hand to her mouth to keep from throwing up. A moment later, the woman climbed over him, running her manicured nails down his bare chest while riding him wildly. “Julian,” she purred. “Now tell me, who’s sweeter, me or your precious wife?” Her voice dripped with fake sweetness. Julian didn’t even hesitate. He let out a breathless laugh, his hands gripping her hips. “C’mon, there’s no comparison. You’re ten times sweeter than her by far.” Then he flipped her beneath him, and the room filled with their moans. The words didn’t just hurt; they stabbed her like a knife to the heart. No comparison? After four years of her total loyalty and devotion? Evie backed away from the door, her knees almost buckling. Her vision blurred, and air refused to reach her lungs. She stumbled to the elevator and frantically pressed the button, her chest aching so badly she thought her heart might physically tear apart. She knew she couldn’t drive, her hands were shaking too hard to hold a steering wheel. She flagged down a cab and barely whispered the address of an exclusive VIP lounge to the driver. She just needed the burn of whiskey right away. She stepped out in front of the lounge and finally broke down in tears. With trembling fingers, she dialed her best friend. “Chloe,” Evie choked out the moment the line connected. “Evie? Hey, birthday girl! Hope you and Julian are out celebrating?” “Please, I need you to call your sister, the divorce lawyer,” Evie sobbed. “I want a divorce.” Chloe went silent before launching into full panic. “Wait, what? Evie, what are you talking about? Divorce? Julian literally worships the ground you walk on. Did you two have a misunderstanding?” Evie tried to explain, but a wave of nausea clamped down on her throat. She couldn’t say a word. “Evie, listen to me. Stop crying,” Chloe pleaded. “Where are you right now? Send me your location. I’m coming to get you.” “I’m at the lounge,” Evie whispered, wiping her face with a shaking hand. “The one where we celebrated the night Julian proposed.” “That’s clear across town from me,” Chloe said quickly. “Give me fifty minutes, okay? Go inside, find a booth, sit down, and don’t do anything until I get there. Fifty minutes.” Evie ended the call, sent Chloe her location, tucked her phone away, and walked inside. She went straight to the bar, took a tall leather stool, and ordered a glass of dark scotch without hesitation. The first burn down her throat did nothing to dull the memory of Julian’s moans, so she ordered another. And then another. “You look like you’re either celebrating a murder or planning one,” a deep, smooth voice observed from the stool beside her. Evie turned her head slowly. The man sitting next to her was absurdly handsome: broad shoulders, an expensive leather two-piece, a sharp jawline, and dark eyes so intensely focused they made her forget how to breathe. He radiated a calm, dangerous confidence that felt light-years away from Julian’s polished charm. “Maybe both,” Evie said with a smirk, swirling the liquid in her glass. “Are you going to report me, or buy me another drink?” The stranger chuckled, a rich sound that surprisingly warmed her chest. “That depends. If I buy you another drink, do I become an accomplice?” “Only if you stay for the messy parts,” she shot back, a sudden surge of bold, reckless energy coursing through her. For ten years, she had been the careful, perfect, forgiving housewife. But right now, being reckless felt like the only way to breathe. “Fair enough,” he said, signaling the bartender. “I’m Riven, by the way.” “I’m not giving you my name,” she said playfully, leaning closer. “Names make things complicated. Let’s just say I’m a woman having the worst birthday of her life.” Riven regarded her with a mix of amusement and genuine curiosity. “A birthday? Then we definitely need a toast. What are we drinking to?” “To absolute bastards,” she said, raising her glass. “Are you here because some woman broke your heart too?” Riven smiled slowly. “No. My heart is intact. I just landed back in the country a few hours ago for a quick business matter. I’m flying out again tomorrow.” Flying out tomorrow. The words rang like music in Evie’s ears. He was a stranger, a gorgeous, intoxicating stranger who didn’t know her, didn’t know Julian, and would be on a plane out of her life before sunrise. She didn’t have to be the heartbroken wife with this stranger. She could just be a desirable woman taking something back for herself. “Good,” she whispered with a flirty smile. “I like men who don’t stick around.” She shifted on her stool to face him, but her foot missed the metal footrest and she slipped. Riven’s warm hand caught her easily by the waist and pulled her close. “Well, I can stick around just tonight, if you want me to,” he whispered, his lips grazing the sensitive spot behind her ear.