The CEO's Secret Affair with My Sister

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After I divorced my cheating ex-husband, I moved thirty-three times, and every time, he found me.

He slit his wrists, swallowed sleeping pills, threw himself into a river. He begged me back with his own life on the line.

The last time, he cut open his throat, and his blood sprayed across my face.

When he came out of the ICU, he still gripped my wrist so hard it hurt, eyes red, begging to remarry me.

That time, I finally softened.

He wept with joy, and after we remarried, he gave me every reassurance I could ask for.

He changed all his passwords to my birthday, handed over his bank cards, kept the location on his phone open twenty-four hours a day.

Slowly, I let my guard down.

In our third year, I nearly died in a difficult labor, and he took care of me with a tenderness that missed nothing.

Even a frown from me sent him rushing over to ask if the incision hurt.

That night, late, I finished nursing and got up to use the bathroom.

Passing through the living room, I saw the iPad on the coffee table light up.

On the secret account he'd forgotten to log out of, a message from my sister popped up.

【Still didn't touch her tonight? No live show for me again.】

In the bedroom, rocking our baby to sleep, he answered almost instantly.

【Relax, you jealous little thing. I haven't touched her since she got pregnant.】

【Stop watching the camera and go to sleep. Stay up again and you'll feel awful tomorrow.】

So he had never cut ties with her.

The camera in our bedroom wasn't there to make it easier to watch over me and the baby.

It was there to prove his innocence.

Before the tears could fall, I made up my mind.

The inescapable pursuit of three years ago would not happen again.

......

From the bedroom came the sound of Giles Rowe humming Rainey to sleep, soft and patient.

But my whole body had gone cold.

The thought of it—every day, in that bedroom, baring my chest to nurse with no guard up, all of it seen by the person I hated most.

It made me gag and retch, and I couldn't stop.

He heard the noise and hurried out.

"What's wrong? Not feeling well again?" His brow creased.

I quietly turned the iPad's screen off.

"My stomach hurts a little. Get me a glass of water?"

He did, feeding it to me carefully.

"Any better?"

When I didn't answer, he touched my face, then my forehead.

"Still feeling bad? Should we go to the hospital?"

I looked at the concern in his eyes and asked softly.

"Giles, are you still in contact with Beatrice Sullivan?"

His eyes flickered. "I cut things off with her ages ago. Why are you suddenly asking?"

When I said nothing, his eyes reddened and he dropped to his knees, his voice pleading.

"I promised you, and I won't go back on my word. Nanette Sullivan, you can't leave me again."

"Is there something I did wrong that made you misunderstand?"

My nails dug into my palm. I forced down the trembling and managed a smile.

"It's nothing. I just suddenly thought of the past."

He let out a breath, took my hand, and led me back to the bedroom, his tone helpless.

"You never sleep. You just lie there and overthink everything."

Once we were lying down again, he reached for me out of habit.

I flinched away on reflex, turning my back to him. "It's hot."

He paused, then lowered the air conditioning two degrees.

"Nanette, I've already changed. You can't punish me over some baseless suspicion."

I said nothing.

A long while passed. He must have thought I'd fallen asleep.

In the dark, the light of his phone came on.

The sound of typing was unusually clear in the quiet room.

Light and fast, mixed with the breath of his soft laughter.

I had no urge to sleep at all.

Without warning, tears slid down and soaked the pillow.

I didn't sleep all night.

The next morning, before he left for work, he kissed my forehead.

"Don't sit at home overthinking. If you feel bad, call me right away."

The moment the door shut, I clapped a hand over my mouth and rushed to the bathroom.

A moment later.

I turned on the tap and rinsed the mess from my lips.

Back in the living room, I opened the iPad.

His chats with Beatrice Sullivan were easy and familiar. They clearly had never broken contact.

Just like three years ago, when I walked in on the two of them tangled together against the hotel's floor-to-ceiling window, cheek to cheek.

I bit down hard on the soft flesh of my tongue, forcing my eyes wide, reading every single word.

Reading how the man who had stopped touching me "for safety" ever since I got pregnant was playing dangerous games with Beatrice Sullivan.

Reading how the man who refused to let me come along on business trips because he "didn't want the distraction" had taken Beatrice Sullivan with him to conference after conference in other cities, sightseeing along the way.

When Beatrice Sullivan asked him,【Your sister or me—who do you like more?】, the line he shot back in a second.

【Her figure's gone to hell. She's no match for you.】

Eight little words.

They nailed me—the woman who dropped her guard to remarry him and bear his child—to a pillar of shame.

Tears crashed down onto the screen and blurred my sight.

I opened my phone, withdrew my resignation letter, and applied for the overseas posting.

My boss called back quickly.

"Nanette, it's wonderful that you're willing to come back, but Miami—are you sure?"

"This one's a confidential project. You can bring your family, but you won't be able to contact the outside world for at least three years."

I touched Rainey's face:【I'm sure.】

This time, I would take my child and leave quietly, and Giles Rowe would never find me again.