How dare you bring a man into my house? Daniel’s hand connected with his wife’s face with a sickening crack. Grace held her cheek, silent, while his mistress smirked behind him.
But the shirtless man on the couch slowly stood up, and what he said next made Daniel’s blood run cold. You just made the biggest mistake of your pathetic life.
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The black BMW pulled into the driveway at exactly 3:00 in the afternoon. Music thumping from the speakers, laughter spilling out before the doors even opened. Daniel stepped out of the driver’s seat,
his skin tanned from two weeks under the Caribbean sun, designer sunglasses perched on his head, looking like a man without a care in the world. From the passenger side emerged Bianca, his mistress of two years, in a tight sundress that left nothing to the imagination—
her highlighted hair cascading over her shoulders, shopping bags from every luxury store imaginable dangling from her arms.
“Baby, I still can’t believe you bought me that Chanel bag!” Bianca squealed, throwing her arms around Daniel’s neck right there in the driveway, kissing him with the kind of passion usually reserved for newlyweds, not adulterers.
Daniel grinned, his hands sliding possessively down her back. “Nothing’s too good for you, Bianca. You deserve the world.”
They didn’t bother lowering their voices. Didn’t bother hiding. Why should they? Daniel had made his choice, and he wanted the whole neighborhood to know it. Let Grace see. Let her finally understand that he’d upgraded—moved on to someone younger, more exciting, more appreciative of everything he provided.
He grabbed their luggage—expensive matching sets he’d charged to a credit card he didn’t realize was connected to accounts he didn’t actually own—and headed toward the front door, with Bianca giggling beside him, recounting their vacation adventures loud enough for anyone within earshot to hear.
The door was unlocked. That was the first sign something was different—though Daniel was too caught up in his own arrogance to notice. He pushed it open, already planning how he’d pack Grace’s things and send her to stay with whatever family member would take her pathetic, abandoned self.
Then he saw him.
A man sat on the living-room couch—Daniel’s couch, in Daniel’s house, in Daniel’s kingdom. And he was shirtless. Not just any shirtless. This man was built like someone who had a personal trainer, a private chef, and all the time in the world to perfect his physique.
His dark skin gleamed in the afternoon light streaming through the windows. Every muscle defined like he’d been carved from stone. He wore expensive-looking black slacks, and on his wrist was a watch that caught the light—gold and intricate, the kind of timepiece Daniel had only seen in magazines he couldn’t afford.
The man sat with one leg crossed over the other, completely relaxed, scrolling through his phone as if he owned the place. A half-empty glass of what looked like expensive whiskey sat on the coffee table beside him—Daniel’s whiskey, from the bottle he’d been saving for special occasions.
For a moment, Daniel just stood there, his brain struggling to process the scene. Then rage—hot, pure, and overwhelming—flooded through his veins.
“Who the hell are you?” Daniel’s voice exploded through the house as he dropped the luggage with a crash. “Grace! Grace, get out here now!”
The man on the couch didn’t even flinch. He looked up slowly, dark eyes cold and assessing, taking in Daniel and Bianca with an expression that somehow managed to be both bored and contemptuous.