Chapter 11: FELL FOR ANOTHER MAN

Betty's POV

I turned back into the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror with trembling hands. My reflection looked calm enough on the surface, but my heart was beating far too fast. I adjusted my dress, smoothing the fabric over my thighs, then brushed my hair quickly behind my ear. For a brief moment I asked myself if I was really ready to face whoever it was at the door.

Taking a deep breath, I left the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to calm my nerves. Then, as though testing my patience, the knock came again—firmer this time, echoing through the quiet hotel room.

“Come in,” I called, though my voice cracked slightly.

The door opened slowly, almost too slowly, as though whoever stood outside was afraid of being caught. My pulse raced. It didn’t feel like the careful politeness of room service; it felt deliberate, secretive… criminal.

When the door finally creaked wide enough for me to see, my eyes widened in shock.

“Jack?” The name fell from my lips before I could stop it. “How did you… how did you even know I was in this hotel?”

He stepped inside without answering, his expression tight and unreadable. “We’ll talk about that later, Betty,” he muttered. Closing the door behind him, he walked past me and sank onto the sofa, exhaling as if he’d just run from a storm.

Confusion knotted in my chest. “Jack, what are you doing here? What’s going on?”

His voice was heavy when he spoke. “Your husband is trying to kill me.”

The words hit me like cold water. I blinked rapidly, trying to process them. “What? How? Why would you even say something like that?” My face drained of color as I moved closer. “What happened?”

“I don’t know what triggered it,” he admitted, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “But yesterday, on my way home, two black Prado SUVs started tailing me. They tried to corner my car, but my driver managed to escape before anything worse happened. If we hadn’t been quick…” His voice trailed off, but the implication was clear.

I shook my head in disbelief. “You’re telling me Darius sent people after you? That he wants you dead?”

“Yes,” Jack said firmly. “Your husband wants me gone.”

“He is not my husband!” I snapped, the words bursting out of me sharper than I intended. My throat tightened with anger and bitterness.

Jack looked at me curiously, tilting his head. “Then who is he to you? Because from the way he stormed into your apartment that day, insulting me like I was some unworthy intruder… I assumed he was the man in your life.”

His words cut deep, and I glanced away.

“I respected you enough to walk away with the humiliation that day,” Jack continued, his tone softer now. “But the truth is, I thought you were his woman.”

Silence fell between us. The air grew heavier, thick with things unspoken. I wanted to explain, but how could I? How could I unravel the complicated knot that tied me to Darius, my sister Jenna, and all the wounds that still bled beneath the surface of our families?

So instead of telling him the whole truth, I said nothing.

Time passed as we sat together, the tension slowly shifting into something else. We talked—about life, about fears, about meaningless little things to avoid the bigger ones. We shared wine from the minibar, and laughter slowly slipped into the room where moments earlier there had only been dread.

At some point, Jack’s mood changed. He leaned closer, his smile playful yet strangely intense. His hand slid lightly across the cushion toward my leg. Instinctively, I stopped him, placing my hand firmly on his wrist. “Don’t,” I whispered, shaking my head. I knew what would come next if I didn’t stop him now.

But Jack was persistent. His knee brushed against mine, and when I looked down in alarm, his hand shot up and cupped my breast.

“Jack—” I gasped, startled.

He met my eyes with a hunger that made my chest tighten. “We shouldn’t do this,” I told him, though I heard the hesitation in my voice.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his touch deepened, and the air around us thickened with desire and danger. I closed my eyes briefly, fighting with myself. I knew this was wrong. He was a stranger in so many ways. And yet, deep inside, I also knew how desperately I craved to be wanted—truly wanted—for once.

Jenna never valued me. Darius treated me like I was nothing more than an inconvenience, a shadow trailing after his perfect wife. I had been forgotten, dismissed, crushed under the weight of our childhood wounds.

And yet, here was Jack—looking at me as if I mattered. As if I was something worth desiring.

Memories of how Darius changed after meeting my sister tore through my mind. He had acted like he had never seen another woman before, like Jenna was the answer to every prayer. My heart had shattered then, and the wound never fully healed.

Now I stared at Jack, and though I knew it was reckless, I let myself lean into the madness of the moment.

His hands drew me closer, his lips tracing along my neck. I trembled, torn between guilt and surrender. For the first time in a long while, I felt alive—seen. The room spun with the weight of what we were doing, but I didn’t stop it.

We lost ourselves in each other, in stolen touches and desperate kisses. Passion blurred into need, and need into something even more dangerous. I let him take me, even as a part of me whispered this would only end in regret.

When it was over, I lay breathless against the sheets, my skin flushed, my body trembling. The reality of what had just happened began to seep in like a slow poison. Tears stung my eyes, though Jack didn’t notice. He had pulled away, sitting at the edge of the bed, chest heaving, his gaze distant.

I wrapped the sheet around myself, staring at him, wondering if he regretted it as much as I already did.

“Betty…” His voice was low. “I need to explain something to you.”

I sat up, swallowing hard. “Then explain.”

“Not like this,” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s freshen up first.”

So we went into the bathroom together. The sound of the running shower filled the silence between us. I let the water wash over me, but it couldn’t rinse away the guilt burning in my chest.

I never planned for my life to be this way—entangled in betrayal, sleeping with my sister’s husband once, and now with a man I barely knew. I was drowning in secrets, in choices I could never take back.

Tears slipped down my face, hidden by the water. Jack didn’t notice. He was lost in his own thoughts.

“How did I step so low?” I whispered to myself.

Strangely, Jack was thinking the same thing. He leaned against the tiles, his eyes shut, breathing heavily. He too wondered why he had let this happen, why he couldn’t stop himself when every part of his mind told him he should.

Breaking the silence, I asked the question that had been gnawing at me. “What if my parents find out?” My voice cracked as the words echoed in the steam-filled bathroom.

Jack snapped his eyes open, startled. “Find out what?” he asked sharply, his voice louder than he intended.

I turned toward him, ready to answer, ready to confess what we had just done, when suddenly the quiet was broken by another sound.

The faint creak of the apartment door. Someone was entering—slowly, carefully, as if trying not to be noticed.

Jack’s eyes darted toward the sound. Instinctively, he pressed his hand over my mouth, silencing me. My heart leapt into my throat.

“Who is th

at?” he whispered urgently.

And then came the knock.

A single, deliberate knock at the door.