Chapter 1
Rosalyn's POV
Four minutes ago, I wasn't here.
No. I was in the main hall where the annual awards giving ceremony of the organization where Philip works was being held. I was happily chatting and chirping over a glass of Mojito with some woman in red who was telling me about her dog’s Instagram while I waited for my husband to return from 'a quick call.'
Three minutes ago, my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
The content of the text made my stomach lurch so hard that I didn't know when my feet started moving.
Two minutes ago, I stood frozen at the entrance to the men's room despite not being very familiar with the layout of Javier Conglomerate, my breath lodging somewhere between my ribs and my throat as I contemplated if the text would be worth it. Or if it was just another one of my baby brother, Henry's prank text. But Henry never had the patience for detail. Heck, he didn't even know where I am presently.
'Want to know why Philip has been acting up? Here is your chance. Take the door to your left, the one close to the hall's second entrance, you'd find the gent's restroom. Check the third stall. Do. Not. Knock.'
One minute ago, I opened the door.
And now-
Now, here I was with my mouth wide open and eyes almost bulging out of their sockets at the scene unfolding before me.
Phillip was naked. Completely, unapologetically naked. But that wasn't what my brain felt like wet cotton.
It was the fact the man I called my husband, the one I had lived the past three years of my life pleasing, the very reason my father disowned me, was on his knees, his back turned to me, slurping on another man's cock.
God. This must be a dream. I blinked rapidly, wanting this charade to vanish but it didn't.
Instead, it felt like the eyes of the man using my husband which were locked to mine could see through my soul. The man stared at me like he could hear my heart thumping hard, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he continued to throat-fuck Philip, not minding my intrusion.
He yanked Philip’s head back by the hair in a rough manner, never breaking eye contact with me.
“Tell me what you want, slut.”
Philip’s voice was hoarse, desperate even, nothing like the man who shouts at me when I mistakenly touch his things. Nothing like the man who I almost thought to be asexual because of the way he behaves when I initiate sex.
"Choke me, harder, Daddy!"
Oh my goodness.
My eyes snapped shut in shame, bile rising in my throat as a broken mewl escaped from my husb- Philip. Tears welled up in my eyes, my knees threatening to give up on me as my mind reels, red flags I'd ignored because Phillip's Job requires him working overtime now flapping violently in hindsight.
The way he'd never had time for sex since our honeymoon, always complaining of being stressed. The sum total of our sex life this year was in July when I decided I was tired of using dildo on myself and I wanted to feel the real deal.
Despite wearing the latest lingerie model I got from ZARA store the week before to set the mood, all he did that night was push inside me like he was ticking a box. Thirty seconds, maybe forty. He came with a polite grunt, rolling to his side of the bed.
“Night, Ros,” he whispered, already half-asleep while I stared at the ceiling, thighs still trembling from nothing.
The most recent one was when he fell asleep on the couch three nights ago with his phone still in hand, and the screen lit up the dark living room. I'd leaned over to plug it in for him and saw a familiar orange-and-black logo at the top of his notifications.
My heart had stuttered when I clicked it and a grid of shirtless torsos filled the screen - Grindr. But I hadn't mind it because I wanted so badly to stay blind that I actually believed a spam ad had auto-installed the app on its own.
thought the app had auto-installed on his phone through spam ads which was quite feasible at the time.
My knees finally gave in. I catch the edge of the sink to keep from hitting the tile. Opposite me, the stranger let out a low chuckle of satisfaction and Philip made that same shameless sloppy sound again.
My mind spiraled out of control, the world I built for three years collapsing with a single, brutal truth.
Phillip is gay. Or he is bi. Either way, he loves doing the bending.
My fists clench unconsciously into my palms, nails digging half-circles into my palms, trying to hold it all in. The realization that I had been deluding myself while my marriage partner had strung me all along is too heavy.
I can’t breathe in here.
My feet moved before my brain caught up. The door banged open so hard it bounced off the wall. I didn’t look back; I couldn't. Philip still doesn’t notice. Of course he is busy enjoying himself. Preparing his ass to get fucked.
A cracked, ugly laugh escaped from my throat just as the service hallway blurred before me, everything tilting. Hot tears flowed down, ruining the makeup I spent an hour perfecting for him. I swiped at my cheeks with the heel of my hand, smearing black across my knuckles.
Three fucking years... and I needed an anonymous text to rip the blindfold off ?
A goddamn fool is what I am.
I turned -- left, right, I don't know -- anywhere. The hallway beyond the restrooms was half-lit with emergency bulbs only, like this wing of the building had been forgotten tonight. Laughter drifted from the main hall, music blaring softly, some idiot on stage reading out ‘Employee of the Year' names, and every syllable sounded like glass breaking in my skull.
I can’t go back there. I can’t smile and clap while my husband is—
I turned another corner too fast and slammed straight into a wall of muscles.
Strong hands caught my arms before I hit the floor.
“Whoa—easy. Are you okay?”
The voice was deep, calm and oddly familiar. I looked up through wet lashes, but his face wasn't very visible due to the lack of light in the corridor. All I could decipher was that he was wearing a midnight-blue colored suit that probably costs more than my car over his prominent shoulder blades.
His thumbs brushed the bare skin of my arms, just above my elbows like he’s checking for injuries. The touch was gentle, but it burned me anyway.
“I’m fine,” I lied, trying to pull away.
“You’re not.” He didn’t let go. “You’re shaking.”
He glanced past me, down the empty hallway, then back to my ruined makeup. Something flickered across his expression -- concern, maybe pity, maybe something darker.
“Come here,” he said, his voice leaving no room for excuse. He steered me two steps to the left, pushing open a door I didn’t even notice before.
I stepped inside and saw it was a small meeting room with lights dimmed to embers. The door clicks shut behind us and the party noise dies instantly.
Silence swallowed me whole.
I stood there shaking, arms wrapped around my ribs like I’ll fly apart. He leaned back against the long table, hands in his pockets, studying me the way a wolf studies something wounded but still breathing.
“Want to tell me what happened?” he asked quietly.
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out except a cracked, ugly laugh.
He didn't say anything. Just waited.
I wrapped my arms around myself, nails digging into my ribs. “I just found my husband,” I started, the word 'husband' felt wrong in my mouth now, “on his knees in the third stall of the men’s restroom with another man’s cock down his throat. And he didn’t even stop when I walked in.”
The stranger's jaw tightened. He was quiet for a moment, and then he exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Christ," he muttered. "I'm sorry that happened to you."
The sympathy in his voice made something crack inside me. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to hold back the fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.
"Hey," he said softly, and suddenly he was closer. His hand lifted hesitantly, then settled on my cheek, brushing a streak of mascara with his thumb slowly. “You don’t deserve to fall apart in a hallway where anyone can see, Rosalyn.”
The hand slid to the nape of my neck possessively. I should have pulled away. I didn’t. and the fact that he knew my name without me telling him should have bothered me but it didn't. If anything, it made my stomach flip all over again.
"You didn't deserve that," he said firmly. "Whatever's going on in his head, whatever he's dealing with— you didn't deserve to find out like that."
I let out a shaky breath. "I should've known. There were signs. So many signs, and I just—" My voice cracked. "I just kept making excuses for him."
"That's not on you." His palm cupped my jaw and something inside me -- something furious and starving -- leaned into it before I could stop myself. I hated how good it felt to be touched like I matter. "That's on him."
Creator of the universe.
I stared at this stranger who was offering me more kindness in five minutes than my husband had in months, and something desperate and reckless stirred in my chest.
He studied my face for a long moment, then seemed to come to some decision. “Let me take care of you tonight,” his voice dropped, rougher now. “You don't have to go back out there and pretend."
My breath caught. I should have said no. I should have slapped him. I should have run.
But the thought of walking back into that hall, of smiling through the rest of the night while Philip eventually returned, straightening his tie, smelling like someone else—
"Just for a little while," he added, his thumb tracing the edge of my jaw. "No one has to know."
The way he said it made heat coil low in my belly, dangerous and intoxicating.
I knew what this was. What it could become. And maybe that's exactly what I needed—to feel wanted, even if it was by a stranger in a dark room. To be touched like I mattered, even if just for one night.
"Okay," I heard myself whisper.
