Chapter 77 - 0077: Tell Your Husband I Said Hi

Chapter 77: Chapter 0077: Tell Your Husband I Said Hi

Elena’s Point Of View

I was still seated squarely on his lap in the cramped, heated sanctuary of the SUV, my knees framing his thighs and my breath catching in my throat as his hands settled heavily at my waist.

The tension in the car felt thick enough to suffocate, every inch of space between us charged with an electric friction that left me entirely breathless. I could hear the rain drumming against the roof, a strange counterpoint to the roar of my own pulse in my ears.

"You’re not moving," Jaxx observed, his voice a low, gravelly hum that vibrated straight through his chest into mine.

"I’m thinking," I rasped out, clutching his shoulders just to anchor myself.

"Dangerous habit, Bambina," he whispered, a sharp, slow smirk curving his dark lips. "Especially when you’re sitting on me like you never plan on leaving."

Before I could huff out a breathless retort, his broad hands shifted, gripping me firmly by the waist. With frustrating, effortless strength, he lifted me up and guided me back down into the leather of the passenger seat. The cool distance immediately stung, a strange ache blooming in my chest at the sudden loss of his warmth, but before I could pull the heavy wool coat tighter around myself, Jaxx leaned over the center console, completely invading my space once more.

Then, with deliberate calm, he reached for my blouse. His fingers brushed my skin as they found the first button, lingering just long enough to make my breath hitch.

One. Two. Three.

Each button slid into place with maddening precision, his knuckles grazing me like he knew exactly how dangerous that touch was. I watched his face the entire time, searching for some crack in his composure, some sign that he felt even a fraction of the storm he was stirring in me. I found none. Only that infuriating calm, that quiet command he wore like a second skin.

"You make it very difficult to play the gentleman, Elena," he murmured into the small space between our lips, his breath hot against my mouth. "Don’t tempt me into changing my mind about taking you back."

"I’m not tempting anyone," I claimed, though my voice cracked, betraying the sheer havoc he was wreaking on my composure.

"Liar," he purred softly.

The whole time, his eyes never left mine... steady, unblinking, as if daring me to look away. Like he wanted me to know I wasn’t in control here... he was. And the worst part, the part I would never admit aloud, was how much some reckless corner of me wanted to surrender to that.

By the last button, my pulse was a drum in my ears. He smoothed the fabric over my chest with an infuriating gentleness, then, without breaking eye contact, settled me fully back into the passenger seat like a proper gentleman... even though Jaxx was the farthest thing from one.

I couldn’t stop trembling. My hands sat useless in my lap, fingers curling into the wool of my coat as if it could hold me together.

Before he shifted the car back into drive, Jaxx reached into the darkness of the back seat. He pulled out a sleek, heavy carton and set it directly in my lap with a low, knowing grin.

I looked down, blinking in shock as I recognized the wooden box. "Is this... the wine from the suite?"

"I told you I’d give you a whole case if you asked nicely," Jaxx said, his dark eyes gleaming under the dim console light. "I always keep my promises to you."

"I... I thought you were just teasing me," I murmured, genuinely stunned by the gesture as my fingers traced the polished wood. "Thank you, Jaxx."

"Don’t thank me yet, princess," he rasped, his eyes flashing with dark mischief. "Just make sure you drink it when you’re thinking of me."

He started the engine, the sound purring to life like a sleeping beast rousing from rest. The drive back felt like a fever dream I couldn’t wake from. Rain still streaked across the windshield in silver rivers, the world beyond a smear of dark greens and blacks, the wipers keeping time like a ticking clock counting down to something inevitable.

Jaxx had one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the console, close enough that the heat of his skin seemed to seep into me. I hated how aware I was of it. Every shift of his fingers, every subtle flex of muscle under his jacket, made my chest tighten in ways I refused to admit out loud. I stared out at the blurred scenery instead, willing myself to focus on anything but the man beside me.

We didn’t speak for most of the ride. Not because there was nothing to say. But because there was too much, and neither of us seemed willing to be the one to break the fragile quiet stretched between us.

The rain eased into a mist by the time we turned into familiar territory... the gates of the Sinclair Estate looming ahead like some ancient fortress. Jaxx didn’t slow his smirk as the guard let us through without a single question. Of course he didn’t. Men like him didn’t get questioned. Something about that ease, that effortless authority, twisted uncomfortably in my stomach.

He pulled up right to the front steps, killing the engine with a flick of his wrist. Before I could reach for my purse, he leaned in, eyes gleaming under the faint glow from the porch lights.

"Tell your husband," his lips curled in wicked disdain, "I said hi."

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he caught my bottom lip between his teeth, biting just enough to make me gasp. My pulse was a hammer. He released me, slow, deliberate, almost amused at the chaos he’d left behind in my chest.

I sat there frozen until he dangled my purse in front of me. "Don’t forget this, princess."

I snatched it, but he still didn’t move away. His gaze dragged over my face like he was committing every twitch, every crack in my composure, to memory. Then, without another word, he leaned back, turned his eyes to the wheel, and tapped twice against it in silent dismissal.

I stepped out, still breathing hard, my hands tightening around the purse handle and the wine box as I tugged the coat tighter against me. The cold night air wrapped around my clothes like a sharp slap, sobering in its bite.

I could still feel his teeth on my lip. Damn him.

I stood there for a beat, watching the sleek black car roll down the driveway until the taillights were nothing but fading red ghosts in the mist. When I turned back toward the house, the first thing I saw was him.

Graham.

Standing right at the threshold, hands in his pockets, face carved in sharp lines I couldn’t read. I didn’t greet him. Didn’t pause. Didn’t owe him that. I walked forward, brushing past him, when his voice cut through the quiet.

"Whose car was that you got down from?"

I didn’t even slow my stride. "My boyfriend."

His footsteps closed the gap between us like a predator closing in. "You’ve been with him all evening?"

I kept my back to him. "Why? You suddenly keeping track of my schedule?"

"I called your secretary," his tone was tight, clipped. "She said you’d already left the event hours ago. And yet you’re only walking in now." He stepped into my line of sight, blocking my path. "Are you cheating on me?"

I stared at him for a beat, then let out a short, humorless laugh. "Rich question, coming from someone who keeps his mistress in our matrimonial room."

His frown deepened, something sharper glinting in his eyes. "Don’t change the topic, Elena."

"Why not?" I took a step closer, voice low. "You seem to forget the topic works both ways."

His hand shot out, fingers clamping around my wrist with bruising pressure. "Are you still seeing him?"

I yanked against his grip, but he held fast. "I told you to stop," his voice dropped lower, harsher. "Are you fucking him?"

I said nothing.

"Answer me!"

I turned my head, keeping my expression unreadable, though my blood was already beginning to boil.

Then, in the quiet, he spat it. "When did you turn into a whore?"

For a moment, the entire world seemed to fall silent. The words echoed in my head, slow and poisonous, as if my body needed time to fully absorb the insult. My lungs locked. My fingers curled into my palm until my nails bit skin. Somewhere distant, I registered the drip of rainwater from the eaves, the tick of a clock in the hall, the mundane sounds of a world that hadn’t just cracked in half.

And then... something in me snapped.

Without a word, I raised my free hand, every muscle in my arm coiling with fury, and brought it down hard across his face. The sound was sharp, echoing in the space between us.

My palm still stung. The sound of the slap echoed through the high-ceilinged foyer like a gunshot, bouncing off the marble tiles, the chandelier, the cold, heartless walls of Sinclair Estate. For a second, everything froze... the air, Graham’s expression, even the frantic thundering of my pulse.

His head had whipped to the side from the force, his jaw tight, his breath stuck in his throat. A red mark was already blooming across his cheek, my handprint branded there like the proof of years of swallowed rage finally unleashed.

I could feel my own body trembling, heat radiating off me in violent waves. My chest heaved, the air burning as it rushed in and out of my lungs. He looked at me, eyes wide, stunned, like he couldn’t believe I had dared touch him.

Good. Let him choke on that shock.

I pulled my wrist out of his grip with a sudden jerk, needing space, needing distance before I tore into him with words sharper than any blade. My heels clicked against the marble as I took two deliberate steps back, my coat slipping slightly from one shoulder. I tugged it tighter around me, more for armor than warmth.

"Did you even care," I spat, my voice trembling with fury, "to ask how the event went tonight? Or how I was doing?"

His lips parted, but nothing came out.

"I almost died today, Graham." My voice cracked, sharp, loud, raw. "Somebody tried to murder me!"

The words ripped from my throat and slammed into him like bullets. He blinked, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

I laughed then... a bitter, hollow sound that scraped against the edges of my throat. "And you... my husband, the man who vowed to protect me, to stand by me, you don’t even ask if I’m alright. No. The first thing you do is accuse me of being a whore?"

His mouth opened again, faltering. "Elena... I..."

"How dare you?" I snapped, every nerve in my body trembling. My vision blurred with unshed tears, but I refused to let them fall. Not now. Not for him. "How dare you, Graham? You humiliate me, disrespect me, betray me with your plastic-faced mistress in our bed, and now you dare to stand there and call me a whore?"

He looked stricken, his face pale, his chest rising and falling unevenly. For once, he didn’t have his usual smugness to hide behind. For once, I had cornered him.

"Elena..." His voice cracked, and I saw his hands tremble slightly as he reached for me, then stopped midway, unsure. "I... I’m sorry. I didn’t know... what happened? You... someone tried to kill you?"

The words were pathetic, stumbling, belated.

My laugh was sharp and cruel this time, my fury pulsing in every word. "Oh, now you care? Now that you realize your wife’s blood could’ve been spilled tonight, suddenly you want to ask what happened? Where was this concern when you had your whore warming your side of the bed? Where was this husband when I needed him?"

"Elena, please," he stuttered again, his voice breaking. His hand scrubbed down his face, lingering where my slap still burned against his skin. "I... I didn’t mean it. I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know."

"Didn’t know?" I hissed, stepping closer now, my fury giving me courage I hadn’t felt in years. My face tilted up, just inches from his, my eyes blazing. "You didn’t know because you didn’t care to ask. You never ask. You never listen. All you do is accuse, belittle, and control. Do you even realize what I’ve been through tonight? Do you?"

He shook his head helplessly, his lips parting like a man drowning, searching for air.

I could feel the tears threatening to spill, but I blinked them back and spat the words at him like venom. "And you know what’s worse, Graham? I wouldn’t be shocked if it turns out your mistress was behind it. She’d gain more from my death than anyone. Did you think of that? Or are you too busy sinking into her fake lips and silicone body to notice the danger around me?"

"Elena, stop..." he started, but his voice faltered, guilt flickering across his face like a shadow.

"Stop?" I sneered, my voice slicing through him. "You think I should stop? You think I should just swallow it all down again? You call yourself my husband, yet tonight, in the one moment where I needed you to be a man... to be my safe place, you accused me of being unfaithful. You looked at me and saw not your wife, not the woman who carries your name, but a whore."

He flinched, visibly recoiling from the word he had hurled at me minutes ago. His lips trembled. "I... I didn’t mean it. Elena, I swear..."

But I was done.

I lifted my chin, forcing my trembling legs to steady beneath me. "Save your apologies, Graham. Save your excuses. Because right now, I don’t want to hear them."

The silence between us thickened, suffocating, as he stood there... cheeks flushed, chest heaving, guilt written all over his stunned face. And me, standing across from him, my coat still pulled tightly to my frame, my heart pounding against my ribs like a war drum.

I gave him one last glare, a look heavy with all the pain, betrayal, and fury boiling inside me. Then I turned sharply on my heel.

My footsteps thundered against the marble floor as I stormed toward the staircase, every step echoing with my rage. His voice called after me, desperate, broken, but I didn’t slow.

I gripped the banister, my nails digging into the polished wood, and forced myself upward... higher, away from him, away from the suffocating tension of the foyer. My heels struck the steps in a furious rhythm, my breath ragged, my body still trembling.

I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. Because if I did, I might shatter, and I refused to give him the satisfaction of watching the pieces fall.