CHAPTER SIX
The past revealed.
Ella woke up cold.
The sheets beside her were empty, crumpled, and smelled like Jayden. Faint traces of his cologne clung to the pillow, but the man himself was gone.
She sat up slowly, her body sore from the night before—sore in the best, most sinful way. Her legs still trembled when she stood, memories of his touch making her knees weak. But the room was silent. Too silent.
Jayden's apartment was darker than she remembered—shades drawn, air heavy. She pulled the sheet around her and wandered out of the bedroom barefoot, heart pounding.
Where did he go?
The living room was neat. Too neat. Not a single photo on the walls. No trace of a life being lived here—just clean lines and emptiness. She spotted his leather jacket on the armrest of the couch and reached for it without thinking.
That's when she saw it.
A folded paper sticking out of the inside pocket.
Ella hesitated, then pulled it free.
It wasn't just paper—it was a photo. Worn. Bent at the edges. A woman stood beside Jayden in a white lace dress, smiling too brightly. His arm was around her waist, his smile forced.
Ella's heart stopped.
It was a wedding photo.
She dropped the sheet.
Just then, the door opened.
Jayden walked in, coffee in hand—and froze the moment he saw her.
Her eyes met his, the photo dangling from her fingers.
"You're married?" she asked, voice barely a whisper.
He set the coffee down slowly. "It's not what you think."
"No?" She laughed, dry and bitter. "Because it looks like what I think."
Jayden ran a hand through his hair, frustration crackling off him. "Ella—"
"Don't." Her voice broke. "Don't call me like that unless you're going to be honest."
He exhaled sharply. "Yes. I'm married. Technically. But it's been over for a long time."
"Technically?" she snapped. "That's not something you get to downplay. You slept with me. Twice."
"I didn't plan for this to happen," he growled. "You weren't supposed to—"
He stopped himself. Too late.
"Wasn't supposed to what?" Ella stepped forward, the photo crushed in her fist. "Make you feel something?"
His silence was answer enough.
She backed away. "Wow. So I'm just some reckless detour while your wife waits at home, clueless?"
"She's not waiting for me. We haven't spoken in months. We've been living separate lives for almost a year." He looked down. "But I haven't filed for divorce. Yet."
Ella sat on the arm of the couch, legs crossed, arms tight around herself.
"Why?"
Jayden leaned against the wall, eyes dark. "Because leaving her wasn't clean. She—she got pregnant once. Lost it. After that, something broke between us. She blamed me. And I stayed longer than I should've… out of guilt."
Her jaw clenched.
"And now?"
"Now?" he said bitterly. "Now she's a ghost. And I don't even recognize who I am anymore."
Ella looked at him—really looked. Not just the man who made her moan into pillows, but the one who carried silence like a scar.
She swallowed. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't want to lose this," he admitted. "You make me feel like myself again. Like I could start over."
Her heart ached.
"But I can't ask you to stay," he added. "I won't do that to you."
He turned, walking toward the hallway like it was settled.
Ella's voice stopped him.
"I'm not leaving."
He froze.
"I should," she said. "God knows, this is a mess. But I'm not leaving. Not until you tell me everything."
Jayden turned back slowly.
The fire was still there. The lust. But now it burned beneath something deeper—truth. Emotion. History.
He walked toward her.
Close.
Close enough to
touch.
But he didn't.
Instead, he said, "Then you'd better sit down. Because it's a long story."