The atmosphere in the mansion that afternoon felt heavier than usual. The construction dust floating in the second-floor corridor seemed to freeze when the roar of a luxury car engine stopped in the front yard. I stood behind the curtains of my bedroom window, clutching the silk fabric so tightly that my knuckles turned white. My heart pounded, a painful mix of fear and hope.
Dante was home. My lawful husband. The man who was supposed to be my protector in this house of demons.
I took a deep breath, trying to smooth out the house dress I was wearing—a dress I had deliberately chosen with a high collar to cover the traces of sin still lingering on my neck. I had to act normal. I had to be an obedient wife so that the secret of that night would remain buried under the rubble of this renovation.
When I went down to the main hall, Dante was handing his briefcase to the butler. He was still wearing his perfect three-piece suit, not a single wrinkle out of place. His stern, handsome face looked like a marble statue—beautiful, but lacking any warmth of life.
"Dante... you're back," I whispered, stepping closer hesitantly.
Dante turned slowly. His sharp, dark eyes stared at me blankly. There was no spark of longing, no faint smile, not even a glimmer of recognition that I was his wife. His gaze swept over my body for a second, as if he were checking the inventory of goods in his company's warehouse.
"This house is a mess. Why didn't you tell the maid to clean the dust in the hallway of the master bedroom?" Dante asked, his voice low and sharp, without preamble.
I froze. My heart was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of coldness. "I'm sorry, I... I'll take care of it right away."
I tried to step closer, daring myself to touch his arm, hoping for at least one familiar touch. However, just before my finger touched his expensive suit, Dante turned away with a very stiff movement, avoiding physical contact as if I were a plague he had to avoid.
"I need a shower. Don't bother me until dinner time," he said coldly before walking up the stairs without looking back.
I stood frozen in the middle of the empty hall. The tears I had been holding back since earlier were about to spill over. Dante's coldness today had completely destroyed what little hope I had left. This man... this man who wouldn't even look me in the eye, could he be the one who gave me that wild warmth in the darkness of that first night?
My memory returned to that night. I remembered the heavy breaths chasing my neck, I remembered the rough fingers tearing my dress with passion, and I remembered how the man's body trembled violently as he hugged me at the peak of sensation. The man that night was very thirsty, alive, and wanted me very much.
Very different from Dante, who had just passed me by as if I were dust under his shoes.
I walked slowly towards the kitchen area to get a drink of water, trying to calm the turmoil in my chest. However, at the end of the kitchen hallway, I saw another figure leaning against the wall, sipping a glass of whiskey.
Jax.
He wasn't wearing a shirt, only black jeans hanging low on his hips, revealing his tight abs that pulsed with his breath. The dark tattoos on his chest glistened under the dim corridor light. When he saw me, a familiar mischievous grin appeared on his face.
Jax looked at me in a way that was very different from Dante. His gaze wasn't cold, but hungry. His eyes scanned every inch of my body, lingering on my neck, which I covered with a high collar. It was as if he could see through the fabric, seeing the red mark he had made with his teeth the night before.
"Your husband is home, Reia. Why does your face look like you've just seen a ghost?" Jax asked, his voice heavy and hoarse, very similar to the whisper of the man in the darkness.
I turned my face away, trying to avoid him, but Jax stepped forward, blocking my exit. He leaned in, the strong scent of tobacco and whiskey wafting from his body—the same scent that had filled my senses when I walked into the wrong room.
"Dante is stiff as a board, isn't he?" whispered Jax, his face now only inches from my ear. "He'll never be able to give you what I give you in that bed. You know that, Reia. You feel it."
I trembled violently. My intuition grew stronger until it felt like a bitter certainty. The cold Dante and the wild Jax... the contrast was too stark. The corridors of my mind began to scream that the man in front of me was the one who had taken everything from me on that first night. This man was the culprit.
My footsteps felt heavy as I entered the dining room that evening. The clinking of silver cutlery on porcelain plates sounded like death knells in my ears. There, Dante sat at the head of the table with perfect posture, as if his back were made of steel. He had changed into a black shirt buttoned up to the neck, without a tie, yet still exuding an aura of authority that froze the room.
To his left, Jax sat lazily, leaning back and twirling a whiskey glass in his hand. The tattoo at the base of his neck was occasionally visible beneath the loose collar of his T-shirt, reminding me of every inch of skin that had touched mine in the darkness of the previous night.
I sat in the chair opposite Jax, directly to Dante's right. We were so close, yet Dante didn't even turn his head when I pulled out my chair. He continued to cut the steak on his plate with precise, mechanical movements. There was no greeting or comforting touch.
"Aren't you eating, Reia?" Dante's voice broke the silence, but his eyes remained fixed on his plate. He was so cold, flat, emotionless.
"I... I'm not very hungry," I whispered, squeezing the napkin in my lap.
"Eat. You look very weak. I don't want people to think I'm letting my wife starve," he said again. His words weren't concern; they were a command.
My inner self screamed. The man beside me, who spoke as if I were some neglected company property, could he be the one who moaned softly in my ear last night? Could the hand that cut the meat so neatly be the same hand that brutally tore my wedding dress?
Suddenly, I felt something hot touch my foot under the table.
I gasped, almost dropping my fork. Under the table covered with a long white tablecloth, a rough, muscular leg began to rub against my bare calf. The movement was bold, demanding, and wildly aggressive. I looked up and my eyes immediately met Jax's.
Jax was sipping his whiskey, staring straight at me with an unabashedly hungry gaze. The corners of his lips curled into a thin smirk that only I could see. He felt no guilt. He was celebrating his victory right in front of his own brother.
His foot moved higher, past my knee, creeping up my inner thigh. I trembled violently, trying to hold my breath so I wouldn't let out a moan in front of Dante. The heat from Jax's skin seemed to burn through the thin fabric of my dress. The scent of tobacco wafting from his body filled my senses, triggering a powerful sensory memory of that night.
This scent, and this pressure. This boldness.
My premonition has now turned into a suffocating certainty. Dante beside me is dead ice, while Jax in front of me is living fire. It's impossible for Dante to turn into a passionate monster in just one night. Only Jax has that kind of madness. Only Jax is brave enough to sleep with his brother's wife on their wedding night.
I glanced at Dante, hoping he would notice something. But Dante remained calm, sipping his mineral water gracefully, as if his wife wasn't being sexually harassed right in front of him. His coldness made me feel helpless, isolated in a scandal created by my own brother-in-law.
"Jax, stop playing with your glass and finish your meal," Dante said suddenly, his flat voice carrying a warning tone.
Jax laughed low, a raspy sound that made my hair stand on end. He didn't pull his leg off my thigh; instead, he pressed it harder, sending a very clear message of ownership.
"I'm just enjoying tonight's meal, sis. It tastes much better than I expected," Jax replied with a double tone that made my face flush with embarrassment and anger.
The tension in the dining room was so thick that I found it difficult to swallow. I was caught between an indifferent husband and a sister-in-law who treated me like prey. I had to get away from this table before Jax did something even bolder.
But just as I was about to ask permission to leave, Dante put down his fork and turned to look at me for the first time since he had come home. His gaze was piercing, drilling straight into my eyes, as if he could read all the sins I was hiding under the table.
"Reia," Dante called. "Why are you trembling? Is there something under the table bothering you?"