Night had gone hazy to the extreme.
The hotel suite was dark, no lights on, the whole room dipped in a heavy dimness, with that lingering, decadent air that came after pleasure had already burned through.
Men’s and women’s clothes were tossed all over the floor, a total mess.
Serena Whitmore listened to the rush of water from the bathroom. Ever since the drug had worn off, her heartbeat hadn’t dropped below a hundred for a second.
Compared to the sore, aching pain left in her body after being manhandled by a man, that abnormal, too-fast heartbeat made her feel even more panicked, like she could barely breathe.
She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, carefully going over in her head how she was supposed to explain this to her husband later—the man in the bathroom. Why had she shown up at that filthy, chaotic party? Why had she ended up drugged there of all places?
If he hadn’t suddenly shown up back then, she probably would have...
The bathroom door clicked open without warning, and the man stepped out.
Fresh from the shower, he was bare from the waist up, a bath towel wrapped low around his hips. On that inverted triangle frame sat eight clean-cut abs, not an ounce of extra fat anywhere. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long straight legs full of power. The body was absurdly perfect, and paired with it was a face so handsome it almost felt unfair.
When his gaze landed on her, his brows drew together slightly. "You awake now?"
His voice was low and rough, magnetic in a way that hit harder than it should. Add to that the way he looked right now—basically walking hormone overload—and one glance was enough to make anyone flush on the spot.
She knew he was talking about the drug. The scenes from just now, all heat and tangled sheets, flashed through her head again. Serena’s cheeks instantly reddened. Her fingers twisted tightly in the blanket as she gave a tiny response, soft as a mosquito’s hum. "Mm."
Ethan Whitmore strode over to the sofa and sat down. He pulled a cigarette from the pack, held it between his lips, and with a flick of the lighter, a brief flame lit up the gloomy room.
He narrowed those peach-blossom eyes of his halfway. "Mrs. Whitmore, don’t you think you owe me a proper explanation? Instead of staying home like you should, what exactly were you doing at the Berlin Hotel?"
The second he brought that up, Serena’s heart clenched hard.
It felt like someone had dumped a basin of cold water over her head. All the tiny excitement she had felt, all the happiness of finally seeing her husband, got crushed in an instant. What was left was only thick inferiority, and that ugly, guilty feeling of being caught doing something shameful.
"I wanted to see you." Serena swallowed, trying her best to steady herself so she wouldn’t sound like some bitter, neglected wife waiting in an empty house. "You haven’t been home in three months. I didn’t go there for that party. I really didn’t know they were doing... those things."
Ethan Whitmore was her husband, yes, but theirs had been a business marriage from the very start. He didn’t love her.
In the three years since they got married, him staying away for one or two months at a time was practically normal. As for the number of times he had touched her, it was pathetic—so few she could count them on one hand.
The Ashford family now depended completely on the Whitmore family to survive. Her mother was terrified she wouldn’t be able to hold on to Ethan’s heart. If one day he really divorced her, and the Ashfords lost the Whitmores as their giant shade tree, the whole family would be done for sooner or later.
Her mother, Miriam Stanton, had always looked down on her. She had never expected Serena to win Ethan Whitmore’s heart. The only thing Miriam had ever really wanted was for her to give Ethan a son.
Even if they got divorced, for the child’s sake, the Whitmore family would still cut the Ashfords a little more slack.
Someone had even picked today on purpose—right on her ovulation day—set everything up, and sent her here.
As for why, Serena Whitmore felt almost numb by now.
But she didn’t dare say any of that to Ethan Whitmore, her husband.
He already couldn’t stand her as his wife...
Ethan Whitmore let out a slow breath of smoke and gave a mocking laugh. "You wanted to see me? Or is your family short on cash again? Or do you want something else this time?"
Serena’s face went pale at once. She clutched the blanket tighter around herself, so ashamed she wished the floor would just open up and swallow her whole.
"I wanted to see you." She kept her head lowered, not daring to meet Ethan’s eyes, afraid he would see straight through her awful lie. "If you don’t like me coming to find you, I won’t do this again."
She had no idea how pitiful she sounded right then, her voice trembling with tears, soft and wronged enough to make anyone’s heart ache.
Ethan’s expression shifted slightly, his eyes turning darker. "What, you think you’re the one being wronged here?"
Serena bit her lip. "I’m sorry."
"Heh." Ethan let out a cold laugh. He crushed the cigarette in his hand, then bent down to pick up the clothes tossed on the floor and put them back on.
"You sleep here tonight. And don’t let there be a next time. The last thing I want is some trashy entertainment headline saying Ethan Whitmore’s wife was lonely in her room and went fooling around with some random guy, slapping a green hat on me."
Bang.
What closed wasn’t just the hotel room door.
It was her heart too, shattered clean through.
Serena curled up on the bed, her eyes burning, aching badly, but she refused to cry.
Because no one had ever cared about Serena Whitmore’s tears.