Chapter 1 Open Marriage

Aaron didn’t even look guilty when he said it.

“I don’t want a monogamous marriage anymore, Sarah.”

The words came out calm, almost courteous, like he was suggesting we switch to a different internet provider instead of ending our life together. He leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, completely relaxed.

“I want us to open things up.”

For a second I thought the room had gone mute. Everything looked too normal—the lamp still on, the bed still made—for words like that to exist.

“Open?” I echoed. My own voice sounded foreign.

He gave a small, tired sigh. “You’ve heard the talk. No point acting like you haven’t.”

The talk.

For weeks the office had been full of it—side glances, sudden quiet when I passed, people dropping my name and his in the same breath then going silent. They said my husband was sleeping with anyone who’d let him.

I hadn’t believed a word. I loved him. I trusted him.

Apparently, love makes you blind. And stupid.

“I don’t want an open marriage, Aaron,” I said. My chest felt like it was caving in. “I want a divorce.”

He laughed.

A real laugh—head thrown back, eyes sparkling as I’d just delivered the punchline of the year.

“Go for it,” he said. “I dare you.”

My stomach plummeted.

“You leave, and I’ll make sure your brother’s company burns. I’ll sell every asset, leak every dirty deal, ruin the legacy he spent his life building. And I can’t wait to watch his face when he realizes his perfect little sister couldn’t even keep her man happy.”

The threat lodged deep, cold, and heavy.

Then I saw her.

My operations manager.

Sitting on my side of the bed.

Wearing nothing but one of Aaron's button-downs.

The sight punched harder than anything he’d said. I’d trusted her with deadlines, with secrets, with access to our home.

She didn’t look sorry. Not even a little.

Aaron walked over, cradled her face in both hands, and kissed her—slow, deep, right in front of me. Making sure I saw every second.

When he pulled back he glanced my way. “Go find something useful to do with yourself.”

I turned before the tears could spill.

I didn’t let them fall. Not yet. I swallowed the scream rising in my throat and walked out of the house before I did something that would put me behind bars.

The grocery list was crumpled on my bed floor, I had made it earlier now I think I will really go for it.

i feel sick being here, I see some eggs, milk, bread, the same boring staples I’d bought a hundred times before. I’d told myself I just needed air, normalcy, something ordinary to anchor me after the chaos of the last few days. Aaron was still in his bedroom (probably with her), and the house felt too quiet, so I grabbed my keys and left.

The supermarket was twenty minutes away, one of those bright, sterile 24-hour places that smelled like fresh bread and cleaning solution. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Carts rattled. Muzak played softly—some instrumental version of a pop song I vaguely recognized. I pushed my cart down the produce aisle, pretending to care about the ripeness of avocados, when really I was just trying not to think.

About Aaron’s latest text: Don’t wait up.

I turned into the cereal aisle—and froze.

They were there.

three brothers from my childhood and obviously my brother best friends, I can't believe I was seeing them right now. I used to have a crush on them when I was like 15.

Lucien stood at the end of the aisle, black hoodie pulled up, sleeves pushed to his elbows, studying a box of oatmeal like it personally offended him. The fluorescent light caught the sharp line of his jaw, the faint scar near his eyebrow I’d never noticed before. He looked… ordinary. And somehow more dangerous for it.

Vincent was two aisles over—I caught his profile through the gap in the shelving. Charcoal jacket, collar open, one hand absently spinning a box of granola as he read the back. That lazy, knowing half-smile was already in place, like he’d sensed me before he even looked up.

Zane leaned against a display of protein bars a few feet away, arms crossed, dark T-shirt stretched across his chest. He wasn’t pretending to shop. He was watching. Quiet. Steady. The moment our eyes met, his mouth curved—just enough to call it a smirk.

My cart squeaked to a stop.

Heat rushed up my neck.

What the hell are they doing in a grocery store at 10:47 p.m.?

Lucien glanced over first. Recognition flickered in those ice-blue eyes, then something warmer—amused, interested. He set the oatmeal down and started walking toward me. Casual. Unhurried. Like running into his best friend’s little sister in the middle of the night at a random supermarket was the most natural thing in the world.

Vincent appeared at the end of my aisle a second later, hands in his pockets, grin spreading slow and wicked. “Fancy meeting you here, princess.”

Zane pushed off the display and closed the distance on my other side. No words. Just that quiet intensity that always made my pulse skip.

I gripped the cart handle tighter. “You… shop?”

Lucien stopped a few feet away, close enough that I caught the faint scent of cedar and night air clinging to his hoodie. “We eat,” he said dryly. “Occasionally.”

Vincent leaned one elbow on the cart, peering into the basket. “Eggs, milk, bread… classic. Very domestic, kitten.”

My cheeks burned. “I needed groceries.”

Zane’s voice came low from my right. “You needed to get out of the house.”

It wasn’t a question.

I looked between them—three men who shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be looking at me like this under fluorescent lights next to instant oatmeal and boxed mac-and-cheese.

Lucien’s gaze dropped to my left hand—no ring tonight. I’d taken it off days ago and hadn’t put it back on. His eyes flicked back to mine. “He still not home?”

I swallowed. “He’s… out.”

Vincent’s smile sharpened. “With company?”

I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

Zane stepped closer—close enough that his arm brushed mine. “You don’t have to do this alone, Sarah.”

The use of my real name—not princess, not kitten—hit different. Softer. More serious.

Lucien tilted his head toward the end of the aisle. “Come on. We’ll help you finish the list.”

I laughed—short, disbelieving. “You’re going to… grocery shop with me?”

Vincent shrugged. “Beats standing around looking at cereal boxes.”

Zane’s hand brushed the small of my back—just a graze, light enough to be accidental, firm enough to feel like a promise. “Unless you’d rather be alone.”

I looked down at the cart—half-empty, pathetic. Then up at them.

Three men who’d known me forever.

Three men who’d kept their distance for years.

Three men who weren’t keeping it anymore.

I exhaled. “Fine. But no judging my snack choices.”

Vincent’s grin flashed. “No promises.”

We moved through the aisles like some surreal, overprotective entourage.

Lucien grabbed the milk—whole, not skim, like he already knew my preference.

Vincent tossed in a bag of dark chocolate almonds “for emergencies.”

Zane quietly added fresh basil and tomatoes to the cart without a word—things I hadn’t even written down.

At the checkout, Lucien slid his card across the counter before I could protest.

I glared. “I can pay for my own groceries.”

He didn’t look at me—just signed the receipt. “I know.”

Vincent leaned close as the bags were handed over. “Consider it foreplay.”

Zane carried both paper bags in one hand like they weighed nothing.

Outside, the night air was cool. My Mini sat under a streetlamp next to a sleek black SUV that definitely wasn’t there when I arrived.

Lucien nodded toward it. “We’ll follow you home.”

I opened my mouth to argue—then closed it.

Because the truth was, I didn’t want to walk into that empty house alone tonight.

I didn’t want to face another night of silence and Aaron’s absence.

I wanted them there.

Even if just for a little while.

“Okay,” I said softly.

Vincent’s smile softened—just a fraction. “Good girl.”

Zane opened my car door for me.

Lucien waited until I was buckled in before closing it gently.

Then they walked to the SUV.

I started the engine.