Travis got up and left.

I touched the spot where my heart had skipped a beat, then rubbed my suddenly warm ear. I was embarrassed and angry at the same time. Couldn’t he just talk like a normal person? Did he have to radiate that sexy vibe right then?

That afternoon, I swung by a private clinic on my way out. The doctor said stress was throwing my hormones out of whack and suggested I find a way to release it, preferably in bed. Wendy jumped at the idea, practically vibrating with excitement, offering to “lend” me a few eight-pack pretty boys from her modeling agency.

I was eating watermelon and mindlessly scrolling on my iPad. I shut her down immediately.

“Have you been breaking out lately?” she asked.

My chest tightened.

There really were two pimples, right on my chin.

“Come on, babe. A little taste of something new beats reheated leftovers.” Wendy leaned in, coaxing. “And you two are basically signing divorce papers. Why not?”

I put my phone down and thought it over. I had nothing else going on, so maybe I could at least go look. Isn’t it just hormones? Once I was free, I could have a hundred models if I wanted.

But not now.

That wasn’t cowardice. It was my line. My moral line, as a socialite.

Wendy laughed a couple times, clearly not buying my self-control.

I felt confident at first, but then reality hit.

That night, I had a ridiculously hot dream. In it, I was kissing a man and couldn’t pull away. Our breathing tangled together, his heat and those wet, suggestive sounds dragging me deeper. I gave in completely, reckless under his teasing, drowning in the pleasure we shared.

Right at the peak, I saw Travis’s face up close.

I jolted awake, heart hammering, drenched in cold sweat. My legs felt weak. I wanted to go downstairs and pour a drink just to steady myself.

Then I heard a few careless jeers from the living room.

“Some men want it so bad they’re going crazy, but because they’re afraid of scaring the woman they love, they play the saint.” One of Travis’s friends lounged on the sofa with a whiskey glass in hand, his voice lazy and dripping with mockery. “Not naming names.”

“Women can’t stand being ignored, man,” another added. “Keep bottling it up and your wife’s gonna be partying in Vegas with somebody else. Then you’ll be the one crying with nowhere to go.”

They were all close with Travis and never watched their mouths. Travis just sat there, sipping his drink in silence. His handsome face gave nothing away.

Then he said something that made them burst out laughing.

But I caught it. A sharp sense that something was off.

They mentioned Travis had a secret Reddit account.

Hoping to catch him, I dredged up the username I vaguely remembered and searched it. An account popped up with the same profile picture. The pinned post stopped me cold.

It read:

“I finally married the girl I’ve secretly loved for years, but my sex drive is extremely high. How can I make her enjoy it without leaving emotional scars?”

The next post:

“There’s too much temptation out there. If she thinks I’m boring, that’s on me. If I try pleasing her this way, will she kick me out?”

And beneath it was a photo.

Revealing clothes. Metal chains.

My blood went hot in an instant…