Chapter Twenty-Seven

Hunter’s POV

I jolted awake, drenched in sweat.

The dream had been so vivid… Grace beneath me, her eyes darkening as I moved inside her, her lips forming my name. I sat up, glancing at Helena’s sleeping form beside me, shame washing over me in hot waves.

What the hell was wrong with me? Last night I’d been with my wife, but in my mind, it had been her sister. And now even my dreams were betraying me.

I slipped out of bed quietly, heading for the shower. The cold water did little to wash away the guilt or the lingering images from my dream. I’d promised myself after last night that I would get these feelings under control. That I would be the husband Helena deserved, the man I was supposed to be.

Yet here I was, first thing in the morning, already fucking it up… failing.

Downstairs, the kitchen was empty, but the coffee was already made. Grace must be up. The thought of facing her after that dream made my stomach knot.

I poured a cup, staring out at the garden, not really seeing it. Last night with Helena had been mechanical, empty… me going through motions while my mind betrayed me. And afterward, lying next to my sleeping wife, I’d made myself a promise: no more noticing Grace, no more lingering glances, no more allowing these inappropriate feelings to grow.

“Morning.”

I turned, nearly spilling my coffee. Grace stood in the doorway, already dressed for work in a simple blue blouse and pencil skirt. Her hair was pulled back, face scrubbed clean of makeup. She looked… No, not going there. She looked like my sister-in-law.

“Morning,” I replied, my voice rougher than intended. “Coffee’s good.”

She nodded, moving to pour herself a cup, careful to maintain distance between us. Had she always done that, or was it new? Was she sensing something from me that made her uncomfortable?

“The Wentworth presentation needs your sign-off,” she said, voice professional but tired. “And Quinn’s been texting about those Harrison docs.”

“Yeah, fine,” I muttered, stabbing at my eggs. “Just forward everything. I’ll call Quinn this afternoon.”

Silence fell between us, heavy and, well… weird. Grace sipped her coffee, eyes anywhere but on me. This was what we’d become—polite strangers sharing a kitchen. Was it because she felt I had overstepped or is she really picking up something from me? If she was, then my poker face must be slipping.

“We should leave in twenty,” Grace said, standing to rinse her cup. “I checked the traffic report this morning. Traffic’s backed up on the bridge.”

I grunted acknowledgment, watching her move around the kitchen. When had she become so familiar with our home? A few days of living here and she knew where everything belonged better than Helena did.

Fuck. I needed to stop this. Stop noticing her. Stop thinking about her. Stop wondering what her hair smelled like or how her skin would feel under my hands or—

“I’ll be in the car,” I said abruptly, shoving back from the table.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” she replied without looking up. “Just need to finish this email.”

I escaped to the garage, slamming the car door harder than necessary. I gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, and let my head fall forward.

What the hell was wrong with me? I was married. To her sister. She might be carrying our child. Three gigantic fucking reasons I needed to get my shit together.

Grace appeared a few minutes later, sliding into the passenger seat with a folder of papers. “The reports for the morning meeting are ready,” she said, all business. “And I’ve rescheduled the call with Singapore for later today.”

I nodded, starting the car. This was good. Work talk. Safe territory.

The drive was silent except for occasional comments about the day’s schedule.

At a red light, I caught myself watching her in my peripheral vision… the way she bit her lower lip as she checked something on her phone, the slight furrow between her brows. I forced my gaze back to the road, gripping the wheel tighter.

This had to stop. For all our sakes. Before I burn all our lives to the ground.

In the office, things were worse. I couldn’t escape her there. Every time she handed me something, I was careful not to let our fingers brush. Every time she leaned over my desk to point at something on a document, I held my breath, fighting the urge to inhale her scent.

By six, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m working late,” I told her as she packed up. “Reports to finish. I have one of the security guards taking you home. They are waiting in the lobby.”

She gave me a look that said she didn’t quite believe me but wouldn’t call me on it. “Should I tell Helena?”

“I’ll text her. She is my wife.”

She nodded, hesitated like she wanted to say more, then just grabbed her bag and left.

I exhaled when the elevator doors closed behind her. Alone. Finally.

Except being alone meant being alone with my thoughts, which were increasingly centered on someone I had no business thinking about.

I pulled up a photo on my phone… Helena and me on our wedding day. She’d been beautiful, perfect. The ideal wife for a man in my position. We’d looked good together. The kind of couple people expected us to be.

But lately the cracks had started to show… Had I ever really loved her? Or had I just wanted what she represented? Her mask had started to slip, and I was starting to realize there was more underneath the surface.

The thought hit me like a punch to the gut. Where the hell had that come from?

My fingers hovered over my contacts. Ready to call Helena, let her know I would be late. Instead, I found myself pulling up the security app on my phone, the one that let me access our home cameras.

I hesitated, finger hovering over the icon. This was invasive. Wrong. But I tapped it anyway.

The kitchen came into view. Empty. I switched to the living room feed. There was Helena, dressed to go out, talking on her phone. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but her body language was animated, intimate.

I switched off the app, disgusted with myself. What was I doing? Spying on my wife? Looking for evidence of... what? That she was unhappy too? That she had secrets?

Or was I just looking for an excuse?

An excuse for these feelings I couldn’t seem to control. These thoughts about Grace that kept invading my mind, my dreams. I sent a text telling her I wouldn’t be home for dinner. It didn’t look like she was planning on being home, anyway.

I shut down my computer and grabbed my jacket. I couldn’t sit here brooding all night. Couldn’t go home either, not yet. I needed air space to think. To remember who I was supposed to be. To remember, I wasn’t a fucking cheater.

As I rode the elevator down, my phone buzzed with a text. Grace.

“Left the Davis contract on your desk for signature. Courier picks up at 8am.”

So professional. So proper. Always doing everything right while I was here, coming apart at the seams.

I typed back a quick thanks, then shoved the phone in my pocket. I’d deal with the contract later. Right now, I needed a drink and some perspective.

Outside, the evening air was cool against my face. I walked without direction, eventually finding myself at a small bar several blocks from the office. Dark, quiet, the kind of place where no one would recognize me or care who I was.

I ordered a whiskey and found a corner booth, loosening my tie. How had I gotten here? How had my carefully constructed life started to crumble?

It had started with those damn pills. Finding Helena’s birth control had cracked something open… doubt, suspicion, questions I’d never allowed myself to ask before. Why had she kept quiet about the pills? Was she lying about other things too, or kept things from me?

And then there was Grace. Living in our home, a constant reminder of everything Helena wasn’t… softer and friendly to everyone, including the staff. I hadn’t known it when I married Helena, but she could be rude to people she saw below her.

No. I couldn’t go there. Wouldn’t go there. I wouldn’t start comparing Helena to Grace. They were different people with different goals in life.

I downed my drink and ordered another. One night of drowning these thoughts, then tomorrow I’d be better. Stronger. I’d recommit to my marriage to being the husband I was supposed to be.

Grace deserved better than to be the object of her brother-in-law’s inappropriate attraction. Helena deserved a husband who was fully present, fully committed.

And I deserved the consequences of the choices I’d made.

The second whiskey went down easier than the first. I checked my phone—a missed call from Helena, no message. It was nearly ten. I should head home, face whatever was waiting there.

Outside, the city had grown quiet. I decided to walk, hoping the cool air would clear my head. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

I just had to keep reminding myself of that.