Chapter 2
Elena didn’t remember how long she stood there, staring. Her body was frozen, her feet rooted to the floor like her soul had left and taken everything with it.
Chloe gasped when she finally noticed her. “Elena—!”
Andrew cursed and scrambled to cover himself with a blanket, but it was too late. Everything had already been seen—heard—felt.
Elena’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her mouth was dry, her chest tight, like her heart had collapsed in on itself. She took one step back, then another.
“Elena, wait, please! This isn’t—” Chloe began, but Elena cut her off with a single glance.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice low and cold, trembling with the effort to stay calm. “Just don’t.”
Andrew had the audacity to try and speak, reaching for her like nothing had happened. “Let me explain—”
“Explain what?” Elena asked, laughing bitterly. “That my husband and my best friend are screwing behind my back? That you missed our anniversary dinner because you were too busy calling someone else ‘baby’ in my place?”
Neither of them had anything to say.
She shook her head slowly, lips trembling, eyes glistening but not crying. She refused to cry. Not here. Not in front of them.
“I should’ve known,” she whispered. “I always gave you the benefit of the doubt. Always made excuses for you, Andrew. Always stood by you. And this is what I get.”
Andrew stepped forward again. “Elena—”
But she turned around and walked out, slamming the door behind her so hard it rattled the walls. Her vision blurred as she stepped into the elevator, but still—no tears.
She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
Out on the street, the cold air slapped her like a wake-up call. Her chest was burning, her fingers clenched into fists. She walked aimlessly, not knowing where to go, her legs moving faster and faster until she was almost running.
She didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want to go anywhere that reminded her of her life—because that life was a lie.
Eventually, she stopped outside a tall hotel. Fancy. Expensive. The kind of place people checked into when they wanted to escape their own reality for a while.
She booked a room with shaky hands, went up without luggage, and stood by the window once inside. The city lights glittered beneath her, alive and bright—so unlike her.
She opened the minibar and downed a tiny bottle of whiskey. Then another.
Still no tears. Just that horrible, hollow feeling that made her chest ache.
She didn’t even know what time it was when she found herself at the hotel bar. All she knew was that she wanted to feel something—anything—other than this gnawing emptiness inside her.
The bar was dimly lit, smooth jazz humming in the background. She slid onto a stool, ordered a drink, and stared at the glass as if it could fix everything.
That was when he walked in.
Tall. Dark suit. Sharp eyes that seemed to see straight through people. He took the seat next to her like it belonged to him.
He didn’t try to flirt. Didn’t say anything cheesy. He just glanced at her, saw the pain she wasn’t hiding, and said, “Rough night?”
She gave a bitter smile. “You have no idea.”
He raised a brow, then held out a glass. “To letting go.”
They clinked. And just like that, something between them clicked. She didn’t ask his name. Didn’t want to. He didn’t ask hers either.
Hours passed like minutes. Drinks blurred into touches. Pain blurred into heat.
And when they stumbled into his room, lips locked, clothes falling away, it wasn’t love—it was escape. Elena didn’t think. She didn’t feel. She let herself forget, just for one night.
In his arms, she could pretend none of it had happened. That she wasn’t broken. That she wasn’t betrayed. That she wasn’t still bleeding inside.
But when morning light spilled across the room, reality crashed back like a slap.
She sat up slowly, head pounding, heart uncertain.
The man beside her stirred, his voice low and familiar. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Elena froze. Her eyes snapped to his face.
“What?” she asked, confused.
He leaned back against the headboard, watching her calmly.
“I’m Sebastian,” he said. “Sebastian Evans.”
The name punched the breath from her lungs.
Her eyes widened. Her pulse stopped.
Evans.
As in—Andrew Evans.
No.
No, no, no.
She stared at him in disbelief, heart racing. “You’re Andrew’s… brother?”
Sebastian didn’t blink. “Older brother, yes.”
Elena shot out of bed, grabbing the bedsheet to cover herself. “You knew who I was?!”
“I did,” he said casually, like they were discussing the weather. “Didn’t expect you to walk into that bar, though. But I didn’t stop you, either.”
“You—what kind of sick game are you playing?” she demanded, rage rising in her throat.
He stood, pulling on his shirt, unfazed by her anger. “No game, Elena. Just… consequences.”
She gaped at him, heart pounding like a war drum. “Are you trying to punish me? For what your brother did?”
Sebastian turned to her then, eyes darker than night.
“No,” he said. “I’m punishing him.”
And just like that, Elena realized her life had just gotten even more complicated.
Because in trying to forget Andrew, she had walked right into the arms of someone who might destroy everything.
And worst of all?
A part of her wasn’t sure if she wanted to stop it.