Chapter Twenty-One

Hunter’s POV

Third fucking night in a row. Sleep wasn’t going to come. It wasn’t even close.

Those damn pills haunted me like a bad dream I couldn’t wake up from. I didn’t know what the fuck I was supposed to do, or think, or even feel. Everything between him and Helena had been tense since then, thick with silence neither of us wanted to break.

I stared at the ceiling while Helena slept beside me, turned away. Even asleep, she was miles away, unreachable.

Last night she’d tried again to get him to have sex with her. The seduction had included a silk negligee and candles. Her mouth sliding along my neck had left me cold. I’d wanted it. Fuck, I’d tried. I needed sex like the next guy, but every time I closed my eyes, all I saw were those pills and whatever the hell Helena was hiding.

So my body refused to cooperate. Helena had tried hiding her anger behind the forced sweetness, but I saw the flash of fury beneath her careful mask.

“Is it work stress?” she’d asked, her voice tight and measured. “Or something else? Us?”

I didn’t answer her. Couldn’t even fucking breathe. I saw no reason to stay in bed if I wasn’t sleeping or having sex.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up slowly, I didn’t want to wake Helena up. Every day this circus got messier. Grace was in the next room, maybe pregnant with our kid, and Helena was busy pretending our marriage was prefect like a shitty daytime soap.

I might as well head to the gym in the basement.

My life had been perfect on paper: beautiful loving wife, booming company, flawless reputation. And now? It was one big fucking disaster, spiraling out of my control. If only I hadn’t found those pills.

Last year, Helena’s desperation for a baby had taken over our lives. Was it then the cracks had started showing up? Or maybe I was just imagining them because it was easier than facing the truth. Fuck, what even was the truth anymore?

I headed downstairs before dawn, my thoughts screaming louder than ever. I needed to know if Grace was pregnant before I did anything.

Grace’s POV

“It’s just dinner with family,” I whispered to my reflection, trying and failing to convince myself.

The woman staring back looked ready to bolt. I tugged at my navy dress again—too formal? Too casual? God, when had everything become so complicated?

What the hell was I doing? I pressed shaking hands into the cold marble countertop, breathing hard. Insanity. Pure fucking insanity.

A soft knock at my bedroom door startled me.

“Grace?” Hunter’s voice filtered softly through the door. “They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“Coming,” I called back, somehow keeping my voice steady.

When I opened the door, Hunter was still there, leaning casually against the wall. Jeans and a charcoal sweater clung to his frame, unfairly perfect. His gaze traveled down my body slowly, scorching through my skin, before he straightened abruptly.

“You look nice,” he said, voice gruff.

“Thanks,” I muttered awkwardly. “Is this okay? I wasn’t sure—”

“It’s perfect,” he interrupted, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Just family tonight.”

Family. Right. The word lodged itself painfully in my chest.

I followed Hunter downstairs, trying not to notice how his sweater stretched across broad shoulders or the way his jeans hugged him just right. Seeing him every day was torture. Especially when every night ended with him invading my dreams.

God, those fucking dreams. Just the memory heated my face instantly—Hunter pressing me into a wall, hands rough and demanding, his mouth hungry and merciless on mine. I’d wake tangled in my sheets, desperate and aching.

Get a grip, Grace. He’s your boss. Your sister’s husband. Completely off-limits.

Helena was already in the kitchen, bossing staff around like a queen, every hair meticulously placed, makeup flawless like a porcelain doll.

“There you are,” she said sharply, eyes flicking over me critically. “Mother’s bringing that photographer from the charity gala. She wants family photos.”

Of course she did. Margo Wilson never passed up a photo op.

“She didn’t mention that to me,” I said quietly.

Helena shrugged dismissively, eyes cold. “Why would she?”

Her casual cruelty sliced right through me, familiar and bitter. In the Wilson family, I’d always been invisible. Helena was their pride and joy, the golden child who’d married the rich, handsome billionaire. And me? I was just Grace—forgettable, replaceable Grace.

Hunter frowned sharply. “We didn’t agree to a photoshoot, Helena.”

“It’s just a few pictures, darling,” Helena cooed, her tone sugar-sweet. I’d watched her wield that voice since childhood, manipulating anyone in earshot. “For the family album. Besides, if Grace is pregnant, it’ll be a lovely memory for the baby.”

Hunter’s jaw flexed, irritation clear in every tense line of his body. “We haven’t even confirmed the pregnancy yet. There’s nothing to document.”

A tense, uncomfortable silence stretched between them, something unspoken and heavy hanging in the air. I’d felt this tension often lately. Hunter pushed back against Helena’s demands now, standing up to her in ways he never had before. Something had definitely shifted, something fragile and raw.

Helena recovered instantly, her fake-as-hell smile snapping firmly back in place. “Of course, you’re right,” she purred, touching Hunter’s arm possessively. “I’m just excited. Can you blame me?”

The doorbell rang sharply, cutting off Hunter’s reply and releasing us from the heavy silence. Helena turned on her heel, slipping effortlessly into hostess mode.

“That’ll be Mother,” she called lightly. “Coming, darling?”

Hunter hesitated, eyes fixed on mine. “You okay?” he asked quietly, genuine worry roughening his voice.

The unexpected softness twisted something deep in my gut. Don’t, Grace. Don’t you dare make this into something?

“I’m fine,” I lied softly. “Just nervous about all this… attention. What if I’m not pregnant? I don’t want to disappoint Helena.” But I wasn’t sure how I felt about it with her cheating on Hunter like she was. Would the baby bring them closer together?

His eyes darkened slightly. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll run interference.”

“Thanks,” I said, surprised and oddly touched.

He started to say more, then stopped himself, nodding toward the front door instead. “Shall we face the firing squad?”

Despite everything, I smiled weakly. It was the perfect description of our mothers combined, and maybe the only thing either of us would honestly smile about tonight.