Chapter 19

Chapter 19
Willow POV
I found a pair of lace panties in my husband's coat pocket.
There were white stains on them.
Any adult would know what that was—semen.
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"Willow, you're the most beautiful bride in the world today."
The makeup artist gazed at my reflection with satisfaction.
I wore a custom Vera Wang wedding gown, white silk satin shimmering with a pearlescent glow.
"Thank you." I smiled at the mirror, my heart pounding so hard it felt ready to burst from my chest.
Today, I was finally marrying Charles.
Five years together—from the campus of Boston University to the high-rises of Manhattan—he'd been by my side the whole time.
My family background was as ordinary as they came. My father passed away, leaving behind my seriously ill grandmother.
Charles, on the other hand, was the heir to the Lancaster fortune.
Wharton MBA, running the family's New York investment firm at twenty-eight.
He drove an Aston Martin, lived in a penthouse on Central Park West, and rubbed shoulders with names from the Forbes list.
At first, I thought his pursuit of me was just for fun. I'd seen enough rich playboys and their games.
But Charles pursued me for three years.
He'd stay up until two in the morning helping me meet deadlines. He'd drive two hours to get my favorite pastries when I had a cold...
He'd done so much for me.
After we got together, Charles practically worshipped me, announcing his love to the entire world.
I couldn't figure out what someone as exceptional as Charles could possibly want from me.
It could only be because he loved me.
So tonight, I'd prepared a surprise.
After the wedding ended, Charles returned to the bedroom reeking of alcohol.
"Wife, you look absolutely stunning today."
The moment he saw what I was wearing, desire flared in his deep gray-blue eyes.
An Agent Provocateur black lace negligee, revealing yet concealing, showing off my curves.
I'd never worn anything like this before. I felt shy.
"I've kept you waiting long enough." Charles pulled me into his arms, voice husky. "The rest of the time is just for us."
He lowered his head to kiss me.
Suddenly, I caught a strong whiff of perfume.
Not my usual jasmine fragrance—something else. A sickly sweet women's perfume.
"Charles," I instinctively turned my face away. "You smell like—"
"Hmm?" His lips grazed my cheek.
"Perfume."
He paused, releasing me. His smile remained perfect. "Aunt Rachel wouldn't stop talking to me today. You know how she is—always drowns herself in perfume."
Aunt Rachel was a distant Lancaster relative who did indeed favor heavy fragrances.
"I see." I smiled back.
"Let me grab a shower," Charles said, shrugging off his suit jacket and tossing it carelessly onto the bedroom sofa. "Wait for me."
He walked into the bathroom.
I stared at the jacket. Something seemed to have fallen from the pocket.
I walked over and picked it up—a soft piece of fabric.
Black lace panties with white stains.
Half-dried.
My mind went blank for several seconds. My hands trembled.
My heart felt like someone had squeezed it in their fist.
No.
Impossible.
Charles loved me. How could he cheat?
He'd worn that jacket today, standing before the priest and guests at St. Patrick's Cathedral, saying "I do."
The shower stopped.
I quickly shoved the panties back into the pocket, dove onto the bed, pulled the covers over myself, and shut my eyes.
Pretending to sleep.
I didn't know why I was pretending.
Maybe because I wasn't ready to face this. Maybe because I needed more evidence.
Maybe just because I was too terrified.
The door opened. Charles stepped out.
"Willow?"
I didn't respond, forcing my breathing to stay even.
He sighed.
Then his phone buzzed.
Charles cursed under his breath, grabbed his phone, and headed toward the balcony.
"I already told you, not tonight." His voice was low, but I could still catch fragments. "This is my wedding night."
"I don't care what you think, Rachel."
"Stop this," Charles's voice took on an edge of impatience. "I'm warning you—"
He hung up, came back into the room. I quickly closed my eyes again.
He stood by the bed for a long time.
Then he got dressed, tiptoed out of the room.
The door closed softly.
I grabbed a robe, threw it on, and followed.
Outside a guest room, Charles slipped inside.
"You'd better have a damn good explanation. This is my wedding night, Rachel."
Rachel?
The Smith family's daughter. Charles's former—fiancée.
My world shattered completely in that moment.
"Explanation?" Rachel's voice turned shrill. "What explanation do you need from me? I'm your fiancée!"
"That was five years ago," Charles cut her off. "We called off the engagement."
"You think breaking the engagement ended things?" Rachel laughed coldly. "Charles, have you already forgotten how good it felt this afternoon in the dressing room when you fucked me?"
This afternoon. The dressing room...
While I was getting my makeup done. While I was dreaming of a beautiful night ahead.
And he was... screwing another woman?
"That was an accident! You planned it!"
Rachel laughed. "But your body loved every second of it."
"Charles," Rachel's voice turned soft, seductive, "do you really love that girl? What can she give you? An ordinary background, a boring personality, and in bed—does she even know how to please you?"
Charles said nothing.
"We're the perfect match. Lancaster and Smith—that's what equals mean. That Willow—she's just your flavor of the month."
"Enough!" Charles roared.
Then everything went quiet.
I heard the rustle of fabric.
Ragged breathing.
Muffled moans and the sound of flesh against flesh...
My legs started to give out.
No.
I didn't want to hear this.
I turned and fled.
All the doors in the hallway looked the same.
I shoved one open and stumbled inside.
Then I realized—
Wrong room!
The next second, a scorching hand grabbed my wrist.
Before I could react, I was yanked forward, crashing into a man's hard, burning chest. The scent of male hormones flooded my senses.
"Sorry, I—" My voice came out choked. "I got the wrong—"
Hot lips crushed down on mine, swallowing the rest of my words.
Everything happened so forcefully, so suddenly.
His kiss was aggressive, prying my lips apart without mercy, invading deep.
I could taste whiskey and a hint of cigar tobacco.
I tried to push him away.
My hands pressed against his chest—hard muscle, his heat radiating even through his shirt, his perfect physique unmistakable.
A wild thought bloomed in my mind.
If my brand-new husband was cheating on our wedding night, why the hell shouldn't I?