Chapter Twenty-Six

Hunter’s POV

I looked at Grace sitting in the passenger seat beside me. She had been mostly silent all day unless she had to talk to me. The “Sir” was starting to rub me the wrong way.

She hadn’t said a single word since we left the office. She stared out the window like I didn’t exist. And maybe I deserved that.

I’d been a prick all day.

And I knew it. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself. Every time I looked at her, my chest pulled tight in ways I didn’t understand. Then Max showed up like he had some goddamn right to her time. The smile she gave him wasn’t even big. But I knew Max would get her in bed. He was charming and funny and very good with the ladies.

Why the fuck did I care?

She was Helena’s sister. My assistant. Possibly pregnant with my child. That should’ve been enough of a reason to keep my distance. Instead, I was cataloging every expression she made, every shift in her mood. Like some desperate idiot trying to decode what wasn’t being said.

She didn’t deserve the way I acted. And Max… hell, even he didn’t. But the second he said her name, something inside me snapped.

I told myself it was just protectiveness. Because of who she was.

But the truth?

I didn’t like the way she smiled at him. I hadn’t liked the way he held her when the lifts opened that day. They’d been stuck in there together, and up until then, I’d never seen Grace with a man. Even at family events, she always flew solo. But now there was Max—Max, who had an appetite for something darker and wasn’t shy about it.

She’d gone with him so easily, almost relieved—and I hated myself for noticing.

When we got home, I grabbed my briefcase and muttered something about needing to catch up on paperwork, then headed straight to my office. She just nodded and disappeared down the hall. Not a flicker of emotion on her face. Cold. Polite. Just like she’d been all day.

I shut the door behind me and sat in silence. Didn’t even open my laptop. Just stared at the wall like it held answers I didn’t have.

What the hell was I doing?

I’d taken vows. Helena was my wife. Complicated or not, messy or not, we had built a life together. And Grace—Grace was young, vulnerable, tied to us in a way that already carried weight. Whatever was happening in my head needed to fucking stop.

It had to be the pregnancy. The possibility of fatherhood, even if it wasn’t confirmed, was messing with my head. I told myself it was stress. Lack of sex. I’d pulled away from my wife, and now everything else seemed to be getting in the way. All because of some stupid pills.

Helena had explained them. I’d even looked it up. Her story had been reasonable—common, even.

I told myself a lot of things.

Didn’t change the fact that when I closed my eyes, it wasn’t Helena’s face that haunted me.

I stayed in the office for hours. The housekeeper brought in dinner I didn’t touch. I wasn’t hungry.

Eventually, I forced myself upstairs. The house was silent telling me Grace was already in bed. I took a shower. Brushed my teeth. Climbed into bed alone. The sheets were cold. The storm outside had started to move in, low rumbles vibrating through the walls.

I was almost asleep when I heard the bedroom door open. Helena, finally home from her charity thing. The bathroom light flicked on, then the water started running.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, tense. Normally I would get up to join her. Not tonight.

I knew I shouldn’t have checked her phone this morning. I told myself it was just to clear my head. To prove I was wrong.

I hadn’t found anything. No strange names. No late-night texts. No smoking gun. There had been nothing.

I should’ve trusted her.

Maybe this—this bed—was how I fixed things. Maybe if we could connect again… if I could feel something… it would shut all of this down. Quiet the noise in my chest. Remind me of who I was supposed to be.

The bathroom door opened.

Helena stepped into the room wearing nothing but a towel, her skin damp and glowing. Hair piled high, eyes sharp with purpose. She walked like sex itself. She always had.

“You’re still up?” she asked, voice low.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

She dropped the towel. Just let it fall. Then walked toward me—naked and sure.

I swallowed hard.

It had been a few days. I needed sex, wanted it, but finding those pills had made me pull away. But she was my wife.

It didn’t look like she was taking no for an answer tonight.

She slid into bed beside me, her hand finding my chest.

“I missed you,” she said. Her voice was like honey—sweet, but sticky.

I didn’t answer.

She kissed my jaw, slow and deliberate. Then lower. Her hand slipped beneath the sheets, confident, practiced as she found my cock.

“Let me make you feel better. I need you, baby.”

I could’ve stopped her.

I didn’t.

Maybe this was how I reset. Maybe if I just focused, blocked everything else out, we could find our rhythm again.

My body responded before my brain could object—before my guilt could shout loud enough.

She climbed over me, straddling my hips, mouth dragging down my neck like she was starving. Her nails scraped down my chest. Her hips shifted. She was already wet. Already set on what she wanted as she sank down on my hard cock.

And for a moment—for just one moment—I let myself believe this could fix it.

I gripped her hips and let her move, let her take control. She rolled her body over mine, her head tipped back, her moan loud and sure. Her rhythm built, fast and hard, her body slick and demanding.

But I didn’t close my eyes. I didn’t lose myself in her. I watched her.

She knew how to work my body. She always had.

But I didn’t feel anything. At least, not where it counted. Fuck. This was just a physical release.

I focused on the task at hand—fucking my wife. I held her tighter, my breath coming fast. I slipped a hand between us, fingers finding her stretched tight around me. I rubbed her clit, then pinched it, just enough.

She gasped, her body locking down around me as she came. Her nails dug in. Her lips brushed my ear.

“Come for me.”

And I did, because the pressure of her core clamping down on me was just enough.

But it wasn’t her name I pushed down.

It wasn’t her face I saw.

It was Grace.

Her soft mouth. The quiet way she carried herself. The ache in her eyes she tried so hard to hide.

And I came undone beneath Helena, loathing myself for every pulse of it.

After, she curled into me, satisfied.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

I just stared at the ceiling, letting the guilt crawl under my skin like acid.

This had to stop.

I had to stop.

I wasn’t a fucking cheater.

Before I did something that couldn’t be taken back.