She leaned in, lips brushing against my ear as she whispered the words that shattered me completely.
“The grand staircase. Four years ago. You weren’t dreaming. Reagan and I are having a blast sex.”
My breath hitched.
I had forced myself to forget.
The night I thought was just a twisted hallucination—a fever dream, a nightmare—came rushing back with brutal clarity.
The sound of laughter. The scent of alcohol and perfume.
Reagan. Dulcie.
Their bodies tangled together on the grand staircase. His mouth on her skin. Her moans echoing through the halls. I stood there, frozen in time. Watching my best friend and my husband destroy me in real time. I was sick that time and I remember I collapsed on the floor and everything went dark.
Dulcie sighed, running a finger down the diamond on her ring. “You were so easy to fool. Always so obedient.”
Something inside me cracked.
I lifted my head, meeting her gaze.
She expected tears. A breakdown. Begging, maybe. Instead, I smiled. Slow. Cold. She faltered. Just a flicker. But I saw it.
Good.
I stepped closer, forcing her to step back.
“Well,” I murmured, voice calm, “enjoy it while it lasts.”
She frowned. “What?”
I brushed past her, unlocking the door.