Chapter 1

Isadora's POV

My hand wandered beneath the sheets, slipping into my wet heat, fingertips gently teasing the sensitive folds, eyes closed, imagining Alexander Sterling emerging from the swimming pool.

Water droplets trailing down his perfect abs, the maddening hard outline beneath his swim trunks, as if ready to burst through the fabric toward me.

"Fuck." I gasped, opening my eyes, angrily stopping my movements, fingertips still slick with arousal, my body arching involuntarily, nipples hardening beneath the thin sheets.

Three months. Three months of only being able to satisfy myself, while my husband—the man with the most attractive body I'd ever seen—was in the bathroom taking his second shower.

Another second shower. Every night, the same routine.

I sat up in bed, listening to the sound of running water, anger and desire burning in my chest. Back at that damned poolside, I thought I'd finally be able to legally enjoy this man's body.

And what happened? He'd rather sleep in his study than touch me once.

Maybe he really was gay? Or had some kind of problem in that department? But I'd seen his body—that size was definitely not for show.

Or maybe... he simply didn't like women? Damn it, had I married someone frigid?

I was going insane.

I walked to the walk-in closet, pulling open the drawer with sleepwear. That nearly transparent black lace nightgown lay there quietly, with a small pearl embedded at the crotch.

This was what I'd prepared for our wedding night. That night, Alexander had taken one look at me and said, "You must be tired. Get some rest."

But tonight I was going to use it to find answers.

I quickly slipped it on, the wetness from my earlier self-pleasure making the pearl press snugly against my sensitive spot, every step bringing cool friction mixed with lingering warmth, sending tremors through my core—not unpleasant, but a strange kind of pleasure.

The bathroom door opened. Alexander emerged wearing a charcoal silk robe, his damp hair still dripping.

My gaze swept over him from top to bottom—broad shoulders, the open V-neck revealing his solid chest, the loose belt showing his tight abs, the robe's hem exposing his long, powerful legs.

The moment he saw me, his steps faltered, his gaze involuntarily roaming over my body for several seconds. I felt myself tighten, that feeling of being desired making my whole body flush with heat.

My heart raced. Finally, finally a reaction.

"You..." his voice was hoarse, "should be sleeping."

I noticed his eyes—that flash of heat, like a flame being forcibly extinguished. I slowly walked toward him, each step full of provocation. If he really had feelings for me, why hide them?

"I'm not tired." I stopped within arm's reach, able to smell his fresh mint scent. "We're married, Alexander. Not roommates."

His Adam's apple bobbed visibly, but his expression grew more serious. "Isadora, this is better for both of us."

"Better how?" My voice began to tremble, not from fear, but from anger burning in my chest. "Better enough to have me sleeping like a widow in this bed every night? Better enough for the outside world to start speculating about problems in our marriage?"

Alexander stepped back, but his back hit the wall. I reached out and grabbed his robe's belt, my fingertips touching his warm skin.

"I thought you understood this arrangement." His voice grew more tense. "This is just a business partnership."

"Business partnership?" I nearly growled. That feeling of being dismissed made my whole body shake with rage. "Then why did you kiss me at the wedding? Why act like a husband who deeply loves his wife in front of the press?"

"That was just..."

"Just acting, right?" I cut him off, my anger blazing hotter. "But now there are no reporters, no cameras, just us. I want to know the truth, Alexander. What exactly do you take me for?"

Pain flashed in his eyes. After a long moment, he spoke slowly: "If you need... I can help you."

I stared wide-eyed. "Help me?"

"In other ways." His voice was low as a moan, "But we can't..."

Blood rushed to my head. I looked at him in disbelief. "You're saying you'd use your hands or mouth, but you won't actually make love to me?"

Alexander's silence was answer enough.

I laughed, a sound bordering on despair. Humiliation washed over me like a tide. "God. What exactly do you take me for? A client who needs to be serviced?"

"It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" My voice grew shriller, my chest feeling like something was tearing it apart. "Tell me, Alexander. When you're on your knees in front of me using your mouth to 'take care of my needs,' what will you be thinking? Duty? Charity?"

His face paled, but he still didn't answer.

I suddenly felt nauseous. Not disgusted by sex, but by this humiliation. I'd rather he honestly tell me he didn't love me than be treated like a problem that needed appeasing.

"Forget it." I turned toward the vanity, trying to keep my voice calm. "Forget what I just said."

"Isadora..."

"No need to explain." I resumed that professional coolness of a model in front of cameras. "I understand. This is how the Sterling family operates—even business partnerships must be conducted with dignity."

Alexander stood there looking like something had stung him. "You don't understand..."

"I understand perfectly." I looked directly into his eyes. "Three months of trial period is enough, isn't it? Alexander, you reject me in bed, but someone else will be happy to give me what I need in bed. I'm not going to waste my best years on a man who won't even touch me."

I picked up my phone as if to prove I had other options.

Alexander's pupils contracted sharply. "You want... other men?"

"I want to pursue the relationship I want." I released his belt and turned toward the vanity.

Silence lasted several seconds, then I heard his low voice: "As long as... as long as you come home every night, I can accept it."

His words stunned me. I turned around, looking at him in disbelief. "What did you say?"

"If you need... that kind of satisfaction." His voice was soft, almost talking to himself, "As long as you don't leave this house."

"Fuck." I glared at him. "What exactly do you take me for?"

Alexander turned and quickly walked toward the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

A few minutes later, muffled, pained moans came from the bathroom.

I stood there, staring at that closed door with complex emotions. That sound made my heart clench—if he really had no feelings for me, why would he make sounds like that?

But then, even greater anger surged up. His words echoed repeatedly in my mind—"As long as you come home every night, I can accept it."

He'd rather I cheat than touch me.

Why was that?

I slowly walked toward the bedroom, took off the transparent nightgown, and put on a regular silk nightdress. Tonight's attempt had completely failed, but at least I'd confirmed one thing—he definitely had a reaction to me.

So where was the problem?

I sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly finding this question absurd.

Three months. I'd been begging for my own husband's touch like a beggar, and he'd rather let me find other men than touch me himself.

This wasn't marriage.

What was it? Charity?

I, Isadora Dubois, had never needed anyone's pity.

Moonlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the empty bed. I lay down and closed my eyes.

Maybe it was time to consider other options.