Chapter 54 - 0054: It Was Just A Stupid Mistake

Chapter 54: Chapter 0054: It Was Just A Stupid Mistake

Elena’s Point Of View

I watched him walk away, and the sight left me breathless, trembling, and completely ruined.

My fingers shook violently as I braced myself against the edge of the marble sink, staring blankly at the polished porcelain while trying to breathe, trying to think, trying with everything in me not to remember how it felt when his mouth was on me. When my body gave in, when I whimpered his name like a dark prayer I swore I’d never let slip past my lips again.

I hated how easily he had pulled that sound out of me, how little resistance I’d actually offered once his hands found their way beneath the fabric of my dress. I hated it more because some traitorous part of me hadn’t wanted to resist at all.

The bathroom echoed with a heavy, suffocating silence, but I wasn’t alone.

Not really.

His presence lingered like an imprint scorched into my skin, trapped in my lungs, humming under my ribs. My knees were still wobbling from the aftershocks, from the raw, relentless way he had completely dismantled me, as if I had been built for the sole purpose of being undone by him.

Every nerve in my body still hummed with the memory, refusing to let me forget, refusing to let me pretend this had been anything less than catastrophic. I pressed my palm flat against the cool marble, willing the stone to leach the heat from my skin, but it did nothing. Nothing could touch what he’d left behind.

And God, his eyes.

The way he had looked at me right before he stood up... lips glistening with the explicit proof of my weakness, licking them slow, so fucking slow, as if he wanted to etch my humiliation into eternity. I remembered thinking, in that hazy, wrecked moment, that I had never seen anything so filthy and so beautiful at once. I remembered, too, the shame that followed that thought half a second later, sharp and cold, chasing the heat right out of me.

Then he had leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of my ear, sending a lethal shiver straight down my spine.

His voice had rasped low, thick, and dripping with a dangerous, unspoken promise: "If you need me..."

Then, God, he had actually bent down, picked up my ruined lace panties from the floor, and with a lazy, smug flick of his wrist, tucked them directly into his inner suit pocket, as casually as a man pocketing his keys.

A trophy.

My dignity, folded neatly into the silk lining of a devil’s jacket.

That maddening, sinful smirk curled his lips as he finished, "...you know where to find me," before he turned on his heel and walked out.

Just like that.

Like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just wrecked my entire world in under ten minutes. Like I was some conquest already filed away and forgotten, while I stood there falling apart in the wreckage he left behind. I hated him for that most of all... not the wanting, not even the shame, but the ease with which he seemed to walk away unscathed while I remained shattered on the tile.

I leaned heavily against the marble counter, panting, my nails clawing at the stone edges. My throat was dry, my chest heaving up and down as though I’d just run a marathon, or fallen headfirst off a cliff. The silence pressed against my eardrums, thick and suffocating, broken only by the ragged sound of my own breathing.

I finally forced myself to look up into the mirror.

God.

What the hell had just happened?

My lipstick was smeared, my eyeliner slightly smudged. My cheeks were flushed a deep, feverish pink, my pupils so dilated my dark eyes looked nearly black. I didn’t even look like myself anymore. I looked marked, possessed, like a stranger had borrowed my face and left something wilder, something hungrier, in her place.

I searched my own reflection for some trace of the woman I recognized... the composed wife, the dutiful hostess, and found only a stranger staring back, someone undone and unrepentant.

"Shit," I breathed out.

I grabbed my clutch with shaky, unstable hands, digging out a compact powder and a lipstick. I could fix this. I had to fix this. I could at least fix my face, even if my insides were completely crumbling into dust. My hands refused to cooperate, fumbling with the compact twice before I managed to snap it open.

"Get a grip, Elena," I muttered to my reflection, my voice cracking in the quiet space. "It was just a stupid mistake. A slip. A momentary lapse in judgment because of the alcohol and the humiliation. That’s all."

But I was lying to myself, and my body knew it. I wasn’t wearing a damn thing beneath the thin silk of this dress now, and the absence felt like a confession I couldn’t take back. Every step I would take for the rest of the night would remind me of exactly what I’d let happen, and exactly how much I had wanted it.

That fucking scumbag. I stared myself down in the glass, my jaw setting tight. "This doesn’t change anything. Jaxx is an arrogant, predatory asshole. Always remember that."

I dabbed the powder across my face with aggressive strokes, reapplied my lipstick, and took three long, controlled, agonizing breaths.

One. Two. Three.

I unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway. But the second I moved, I felt it: the cool, terrifying breeze filtering beneath the hem of my gown. That sharp, undeniable nothingness, a reminder with every step.

Damn him. He took my fucking panties.

And now I had to walk right back out into that ballroom, past the high-society snakes, and pretend I wasn’t still breathless from being devoured by a man who wasn’t my husband. I squared my shoulders, forcing my spine straight, rehearsing the mask I would need to wear for the rest of the night. I had worn masks before, countless nights of forced smiles and empty toasts, but none of them had ever felt this heavy.

I walked carefully, acutely aware of every step, every whisper of fabric brushing against my bare skin. My dress clung to my hips, flowing down like silver moonlight, but it did nothing to shield how utterly exposed I felt. Every glance from a passing guest made my pulse spike, certain that somehow they could see straight through the silk to the truth beneath it. My smile felt brittle, stretched too thin across my face, threatening to crack with each step closer to the exit.

I prayed no one would look too closely. I was almost at the grand exit when a voice cut through the noise: "Elena? Where the hell have you been?"

I froze, the blood in my veins turning to liquid lead.

Graham.

Of course. He stepped up beside me, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back, a gesture that felt less like affection and more like a mark of ownership. His voice was low, laced with irritation. "I’ve been looking for you for the last twenty minutes. The board members are asking where my wife is."

I blinked, forcing every ounce of panic deep down into my gut as I faced him. "I went to the restroom to adjust my dress, Graham. Is there an emergency?"

He narrowed his eyes slightly, his sharp, calculating gaze scanning my features. For a terrifying second, I wondered if he could see the flush on my skin, or the tiny, microscopic trembling of my lower lip. I held my breath, waiting for the accusation, for the moment he might finally see me clearly for the first time in years. Some small, wounded part of me almost wished he would.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his tone skeptical. "You look... flustered."

No. I’m not okay. Your pregnant mistress is currently floating around the room rubbing her stomach like she won a prize, and I just got undone against a counter by a man who looks at you like you’re dirt under his shoe.

Instead, I offered him a tight, razor-thin smile. "Actually, I’m not feeling well at all. I have a splitting headache, and I need to go home."

His brows pulled together in an instant display of displeasure. "Now? Elena, the main toast hasn’t even happened yet. I need you on my arm when we speak to the investors."

"I’m leaving, Graham," I said, my voice dropping into a hard, unwavering register. I didn’t ask. I didn’t beg for permission. "You have plenty of company here to keep the investors entertained."

Before he could process the jab or reach out to grab my arm, I stepped neatly out of his touch, turned on my heel, and walked out into the cool night air. The chill hit my exposed skin like a slap, and I welcomed it, welcomed anything that might ground me back into my own body.

I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.

**********

The front door of the estate slammed shut behind me, the loud thud echoing through the silent, empty foyer. I didn’t bother turning on the lights as I practically ran up the grand staircase, my heels clicking sharply, almost tripping over the long hem of my silver dress in my haste to escape. Every step felt like it carried the weight of the entire evening, threatening to buckle beneath me.

The second I reached the guest room, I shut the door, turned the key in the lock with a sharp clack, and leaned my head back against the heavy wood, my chest heaving violently.

God. My heart.

It was beating against my ribs like a trapped bird, wild, chaotic, completely out of control. I clutched my chest, trying to force my lungs to settle, but the silence of the room only made the roaring in my ears louder. I slid down an inch against the door before catching myself, forcing my legs to hold me upright.

I walked over to the dark vanity table, my hands trembling so hard I had to grip the edge of the wood to keep my balance as I leaned forward into the glass.

"What the hell did you do, Elena..." I whispered into the darkness.

My makeup had held up, but my eyes were wild, dark, and haunted, staring back at me like they belonged to someone I hadn’t yet met. I searched that reflection for the girl I used to be, the one who had married for love and believed in forever, and found no trace of her left.

He had touched me in ways Graham hadn’t in years. In ways Graham never had. I could still feel the scorching heat of Jaxx’s skin against my inner thighs, the unyielding strength of his broad hands holding me pinned, the explicit, unforgiving way he had taken control of my body until I had nothing left to give but shameful, desperate moans. The memory alone was enough to make my breath catch all over again, traitorous and unwelcome.

"No," I snapped bitterly at my reflection, dragging my cold hands down my face. "Snap out of it. Right now."

This wasn’t me. This wasn’t the woman who had spent five years enduring cold nights, doctor visits, and emotional isolation trying to keep a marriage intact. I was not a woman who threw herself at dangerous men in dark corridors out of spite. I didn’t recognize the reflection staring back: flushed, undone, hungry for something I refused to name.

I thought of all the nights I had lain awake beside Graham, aching for even the smallest touch, and how quickly one stranger’s hands had unraveled years of that careful, practiced numbness.

What happened tonight was nothing more than a sick, chaotic reaction to heartbreak and betrayal. A momentary loss of sanity triggered by Graham’s disrespect and Jaxx’s predatory charm.

I unbuckled my heels and kicked them into the corner, letting out a long, shuddering breath as I unzipped the silver dress and let it pool at my feet. I threw on a heavy silk robe, tying the belt tightly around my waist, trying to hide my own skin from myself, as if the fabric alone could erase what had happened beneath it.

As I reached for a face wipe on the dresser, my eyes caught on something resting beside the jewelry box.

A sleek, heavy business card with silver-embossed lettering.

JAXX MORETTI

It lay there like a trap. Like an invitation to ruin.

A wave of intense, bitter anger surged through my blood. I snatched the card off the wood, staring at his name for one long, furious heartbeat, before marching straight over to the trash can and tearing it directly down the middle. I shoved the pieces deep into the wastebasket beneath a pile of crumpled tissues, as though burying the evidence might also bury the memory.

"That’s where men like you belong," I spat into the quiet room, my voice trembling with a mix of rage and lingering adrenaline.

Yet, as I walked over to the balcony windows and pulled the heavy velvet drapes aside, the quiet of the estate felt entirely too loud. My thoughts were screaming, circling back again and again to hands, and a voice, and a promise I refused to let myself want. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, hoping the chill might quiet the storm inside me, but it only sharpened every memory instead.

The reality of my life was still waiting for me in the morning. Graham was still my husband. The Sinclair name was still attached to mine. As broken, hollow, and downright insulting as our dynamic had become, with his pregnant mistress parading around in public, the legal fact remained: I was still married to him. I was still bound by vows, contracts, and five years of my life that I couldn’t just erase overnight.

I wasn’t going to play the pathetic, helpless victim, nor was I going to play the foolish, spineless wife who just took the disrespect lying down while Graham tried to force me into a corner. I was going to fight him for every single piece of what I was owed when those divorce papers were finally drawn up. I would stand my ground, demand my dignity, and tear my piece out of his empire before I ever walked away.

But until those papers were signed, until the ink was dry and the legal ties were severed, I was still tied to that name. And throwing myself into the fire with a man as ruthless and unpredictable as Jaxx Moretti wasn’t freedom; it was playing with dynamite.

I looked out at the dark, starless sky, wrapping my arms tightly around my middle as the memory of his low, raspy voice echoed in the back of my mind.

You know where to find me.

I closed my eyes, a harsh shiver running down my spine.

"Let our paths never cross again," I whispered softly against the cold glass.

But deep down, in the quietest, darkest corner of my soul, God help me, I wasn’t so sure I meant it.