Chapter 2: Get Out of My Clothes Or Get Out Of My Room?

Angela POV

"Whatever it is, it can wait until you're not at risk of pneumonia."

I stopped talking and stopped resisting, just lying quietly in his arms.

Just like the two girls at the club said, Sean was unbelievably handsome—strong, sexy, and easy to fall for.

With his dark, wavy hair, olive-green eyes, and that classic Italian look, it was hard not to be drawn to him. His family had come to America from Italy generations ago.

Who wouldn’t be captivated by him? Some of the younger women at the company even joined just because of him.

When Sean carried me into the bathroom, he immediately went to turn on the hot water. The steam began to fill the room, curling around us like a thick, warm mist.

As I started to unbutton my shirt, I noticed he was still standing there, watching me.

I paused, the soft sound of the water filling the silence between us.

"Can you... can you leave?"

He didn’t move. Instead, he leaned casually against the doorframe, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Get out of my clothes or get out of my room?"

Heat rushed to my face.

“That’s not funny!”

I pushed him out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a force I hadn’t intended.

What the hell was he doing? A low laugh escaped my lips, cold and bitter.

Just hours ago, he’d been with Christina at the club. And now, here he was, flirting with me like nothing had happened.

What was I to him? A backup? A distraction? Something to pass the time with?

The pregnancy report was still in my blazer pocket, now wrinkled and damp. I pulled it out carefully, the paper threatening to tear under my shaking fingers.

Six weeks.

The words were starting to blur, whether from tears or water damage, I couldn't tell.

I couldn’t help but think that, when I went to bring him the umbrella, Christina was probably upstairs, watching me through the floor-to-ceiling windows, laughing at me.

Thirty minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom wearing dry clothes.

Sean sat in the living room, his laptop open on the coffee table. A steaming cup of tea waited beside it.

"Drink this," he said without looking up. "It'll help prevent a cold."

"Thank you." I settled into the armchair across from him, wrapping my fingers around the warm cup.

The familiar scent of ginger rose with the steam – he'd remembered my preferred tea for warding off illness.

I opened my mouth to speak, though I wasn't sure what I planned to say.

Before I could decide, Sean closed his laptop and moved to stand in front of me.

"Are you mad at me?" Sean asked, his voice tense. "I asked you to bring the umbrella, but I didn’t go down to see you. So, you purposely got soaked?"

I wanted to scream yes. I wanted to shout at him, to let him know how hurt I was. But in the end, I just pretended like it didn’t matter.

"No," I said calmly. "I gave the umbrella to a pregnant woman who didn’t have one. She needed it more than I did."

It was a lie. I didn’t tell him about the pregnancy. And now, with Christina back, everything was more complicated than ever.

He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around my waist. His hot breath brushed against my face, and I realized I was only wearing a thin nightgown.

Through the fabric, I could feel the hard muscles of his chest pressed against me,and the hard cock...

"Really?" he murmured, his eyes locked onto mine.

I lowered my gaze, unable to meet his stare. But then, he lifted my chin, and before I could react, his lips were on mine.

His kiss caught me completely off guard.

“Don’t. I’m not in the mood, Sean.”

“I know you’re pissed,” he murmured, tugging it loose despite my weak grip. It fell to the floor, leaving me bare—my skin prickling, my breasts heavy under his gaze, the soft patch between my thighs suddenly too exposed.

“Let me make it up to you”

“Sean, I said no,” I snapped, but my voice wavered as his hands found my waist, warm and unyielding, sliding down the curve of my spine to cup my ass.

I pushed at his chest, half-hearted, my resolve crumbling as he pressed me back against the bed.

His lips crashed into mine, hot and insistent, tasting of scotch and unspoken apologies.

I wanted to fight it, but my body betrayed me, arching into him as he parted my thighs with his knee. His hardness pressed against me, teasing the wet heat aching for him.

“You’re an asshole,” I breathed, even as I felt him nudge closer, the tip of him brushing my entrance.

Then the phone rang—sharp, insistent—snapping us out of the haze, leaving me trembling and furious all over again.

Sean pulled back as if waking from a dream, his expression shuttering closed once more.

"Drink the tea and get some rest," he said, already turning away, phone in hand.

The night air on the terrace was cool against my skin as I leaned against the railing, listening to Sean's voice drift through the partially open door to his study.

"Yes, of course I'll stay." His tone was gentle, nothing like the clipped businesslike manner he typically used. "Don't worry about it. Get some sleep."

I closed my eyes, remembering a similar gentleness two years ago, when my family's investment bank was collapsing and Sean had appeared in my office with an unexpected proposition.

"Marry me," he'd said, no preamble, no romance. "My grandmother's health is declining, and she needs to know the family legacy is secure. You need financial stability and social protection. It's a sensible arrangement."

We'd laid out the terms like any other business deal: a two-year minimum commitment, shared public appearances, separate bedrooms, and absolute discretion.

Elizabeth Shaw got her picture-perfect granddaughter-in-law, and I got a shield against the worst of the social fallout from my family's downfall. It had seemed so logical then.

I didn't hear Sean approach until he spoke.

"We should get divorced."

I turned to face him, oddly calm. The words should have felt like another blow, but instead they were almost a relief. At least this was honest.

"When?"

"Soon." He leaned against the railing beside me, our shoulders not quite touching. "After grandmother's heart surgery."

"Thank you," I said softly, "for these two years."

Sean's jaw tightened. "Don't be sentimental."

But he didn't move away, and for a while we stood in silence, watching the lights of passing planes blink across the dark sky.

Somewhere in the city, Christina Jordan was probably still awake, perhaps planning her triumphant return to Sean's life.

Not that it mattered now.

I walked back into the bathroom, and the tears I’d been holding in finally came rushing out. I didn’t dare let myself sob aloud—if I did, Sean might think I was trying to drag him into some drama. My pride wouldn’t let me show any weakness.

I took the physical exam report I’d carefully dried earlier and, with a steely resolve, I tore it up.

Just then, I heard a knock at the door.

"Are you okay? Do you need any help?" Sean’s voice was soft, but there was a hint of concern in it.

I quickly wiped away my tears. "I’m fine."

He didn’t give up. "Dinner’s ready. Come join me."

I hurriedly tossed the torn report into the trash and took a deep breath.

The report lay in shreds at the bottom of a bathroom waste basket, along with the last of my illusions about my marriage.