The night was ink-black, the moonlight liquid silver.

Ethan Sullivan stood beneath the sycamore tree outside the villa, his tall frame stretched long by the streetlamp. His tailored black shirt had rolled-up cuffs revealing sculpted forearms, the collar slightly open to hint at collarbones.

Sophia's voice floated through the phone, soft: "Are you coming tonight?"

His instincts prickled. She never asked about his schedule—always direct, never probing.

Then he saw it.

Through the floor-to-ceiling window, Sophia stood motionless in the living room. Facing her: Kyle Grant.

They stood locked in a gaze that sparked like flint. No touching, but their eyes spoke volumes.

That look—searing, intimate—belonged only to lovers reunited.

Ethan's jaw tightened.

For three years, Sophia had murmured "Kyle" in her sleep. And Kyle? Always there, bankrolling her dreams, answering her every call.

So who was the interloper here?

Humiliation detonated in his chest. He should walk away. Clean break. No debts.

But then her laughter echoed in his memory. Her tenderness had been real. Her care genuine. Those nights tangled in sheets—undeniable.

He'd wait for an explanation.

One excuse, and he'd forgive everything.

Sophia never turned. Her eyes remained glued to Kyle's face as if he held her universe.

Fifty yards away, their words were inaudible.

Then Kyle pulled a handkerchief, dabbing her tears with reverence—like handling a priceless artifact.

The pain hit like a blade between ribs.

Ethan pivoted, strides accelerating. His driver scrambled to open the Mercedes, but Ethan snatched the keys.

"Mr. Sullivan—"

The engine roared as the black sports car arrowed into darkness.

Cold wind whipped through open windows, tangling his hair. His knuckles bleached white on the wheel, veins standing rigid.

He drove until the river appeared.

A cigarette flared crimson in the dark, smoke blurring his sharp profile.

"Damn it!"

His fist smashed into a tree trunk. Blood seeped between fingers.

He'd owned every privilege—except her heart.

When the pack emptied, he returned to Moon Bay. The shower's scalding spray couldn't erase those images.

Their wedding photo mocked him from the bedroom wall—Sophia's radiant smile now a taunt.

He ripped the frame down, banishing it to the study.

Tossing in bed, he finally called Iris Evans.

"Sophia said she was meeting family," Iris offered.

Ethan's laugh was ice.

Family?

So Kyle was family. And he? Just a disposable stand-in.

Moonlight sliced through curtains, glinting off his frozen expression. Those perpetually warm eyes had turned arctic.