Chapter 5

The black silk lingerie felt foreign against my skin as I studied my reflection in the bedroom mirror. The delicate lace trim caught the lamplight, creating intricate shadows across my collarbone. I had spent an hour preparing for this moment—showering with my most expensive body wash, applying the perfume Wyatt had once said drove him wild, styling my hair in loose waves that cascaded over my bare shoulders.

Tonight, I would fix this. Tonight, I would remind my husband why he had fallen in love with me in the first place.

The hallway stretched before me like a runway, the Persian runner soft beneath my bare feet. Each step carried me closer to our bedroom, closer to the reconciliation I desperately needed. The house was quiet except for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs and the whisper of silk against my thighs as I moved.

I had rehearsed what I would say, how I would touch him, the way I would apologize with my body for all the misunderstandings between us. The memory of his anger from dinner still stung, but surely this—this gesture of vulnerability and desire—would bridge the gap that had opened between us.

But as I approached our bedroom door, voices drifted from down the hall. Kylan and Betty's room. The sounds were muffled but urgent, carrying an edge that made me pause mid-step.

"—can't keep living like this, Kylan!" Betty's voice cut through the silence like broken glass. "It's been months. Months!"

I froze, my hand instinctively moving to cover the exposed skin of my chest. I shouldn't be listening to this. I should continue to my room, focus on my own marriage, my own problems. But something in Betty's tone—raw frustration mixed with desperation—rooted me to the spot.

"I know," came Kylan's voice, so low I had to strain to hear it. "I'm trying, Betty. You know I'm trying."

"Trying?" Her laugh was bitter, sharp enough to cut. "You won't even touch me anymore. You can barely look at me. What kind of marriage is this?"

My breath caught in my throat. Through the partially open door, I could see shadows moving against the wall—Betty pacing back and forth while Kylan remained still, probably sitting on the edge of their bed in that rigid posture I'd come to associate with him.

"It's not your fault," Kylan said, and there was something broken in his voice that made my chest tighten with unexpected sympathy. "You know it's not your fault. It's me. It's always been me."

"Then fix it!" Betty's voice cracked with emotion. "See a doctor, take medication, do something! I'm a woman, Kylan. I have needs. I can't live like a nun forever."

The silence that followed was deafening. I pressed myself against the wall, my heart hammering so loudly I was certain they would hear it. This was private, intimate, the kind of conversation that should never have witnesses. But I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but listen as my understanding of this family shifted once again.

"I've tried everything," Kylan whispered, and the defeat in his voice was palpable. "The doctors, the therapy, the medications. Nothing works. I can't... I can't perform, Betty. Not with you, not with anyone. Maybe I never will again."

The confession hung in the air like a physical presence. I had always wondered about Kylan's marriage, about the careful distance he maintained from his wife, the way he never seemed to touch her even casually. Now I understood. The man who commanded boardrooms and intimidated business rivals was powerless in his own bedroom.

"Please," he continued, his voice barely audible. "Just be patient with me. I know it's asking too much, but please. I'll find a way to fix this. I promise."

"Patient?" Betty's voice rose to a near-shriek. "I've been patient for two years, Kylan. Two years of sleeping next to a man who acts like I'm contagious. I'm done being patient."

The sound of footsteps approached the door, and I scrambled backward, pressing myself behind one of the marble pillars that lined the hallway. My heart thundered against my ribs as Betty burst through the doorway, her silk robe flowing behind her like liquid fire.

But instead of heading toward the stairs or the guest bathroom, she turned in the opposite direction. Toward my bedroom. Toward Wyatt.

Confusion clouded my thoughts for a moment. Why would Betty be going to see Wyatt? Maybe she needed to borrow something, or wanted to complain about Kylan, or—

The truth hit me like a physical blow as I watched her slip through my bedroom door without knocking. The door that should have been locked. The door that should have been protecting my husband while he waited for me.

My legs moved without conscious thought, carrying me closer to the partially open door. Through the gap, I could see into the room that was supposed to be my sanctuary, my marriage bed, the place where Wyatt and I would rebuild our relationship.

Instead, I saw my husband rise from the bed where he'd been waiting—not for me, but for her. I saw Betty's robe slip from her shoulders as she moved into his arms. I saw them come together in an embrace that spoke of familiarity, of practiced intimacy, of a relationship that had nothing to do with sisterly affection or family loyalty.

And then I saw them kiss.

Not the polite peck of in-laws, not the careful brush of lips that might be explained away. This was passion, raw and desperate and real. Betty's hands tangled in Wyatt's hair while his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him with a hunger I had never seen him show me.

The gasp that escaped my lips was involuntary, a sharp intake of breath that seemed to echo through the hallway like a gunshot. The sound of my world shattering, my marriage crumbling, my naive trust exploding into a thousand irreparable pieces.

They didn't hear me. They were too lost in each other, too consumed by whatever had been building between them while I played the obedient wife, the apologetic daughter-in-law, the woman who blamed herself for noticing what everyone else pretended not to see.

I stood there in my black lingerie, prepared to seduce a husband who was already in another woman's arms, and finally understood the truth that had been hiding in plain sight all along.