She twirled for the camera, spinning like she was in a perfume commercial. She ran toward the waves, arms outstretched. She turned and smiled, radiant and playful.
And then—Troy moaned her name.
“Bianca…”
Not once. Twice. His voice was breathless. Reverent. I staggered back a step, the world spinning around me. The floor felt miles beneath my feet. My ears rang.
This wasn’t the first time.
I remembered the first time I caught him watching something on his phone late at night. He had fallen asleep with it in his hand. I told myself it was nothing. Then another time, I found printed photos of her in his desk drawer. Casual shots from family vacations. Bianca by the pool. Bianca in a sundress. Bianca smiling up at the sky.
I asked him about it, and he said he was archiving old memories. I believed him. But tonight, there was no denying it. He was watching a video of his stepsister—and pleasuring himself to it.
I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.
The first time I met Troy was at a yacht party Nathan hosted. I couldn’t look away. He was nothing like the men I’d dated before—he was mystery. And I fell. So hard. So fast. So stupid. I begged Nathan to introduce me. I made sure we crossed paths again and again. Eventually, he agreed to marry me.
No proposal. No ring. Just a quiet, emotionless: “Marriage works for me. If you want it, I don’t mind.”
Our wedding night was a disaster. He never came to the room. He slept in his study. And every night after that was a variation of the same rejection. I tried everything. Lingerie, weekend getaways, wine, massages, midnight kisses. He wouldn’t touch me.
For two years, I’d been nothing but a ghost in this marriage. A pretty shadow that cooked his meals, smiled at galas, and went to bed cold every single night.
But tonight made everything clear. He didn’t reject me because he didn’t feel desire. He rejected me because his desire had nothing to do with me.
That night, I didn’t sleep. I just lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the sun to rise. Waiting for this nightmare of a marriage to be over.
And when dawn broke, I got up and dressed. When I walked into the kitchen, he was already there, sipping his morning coffee, flipping through a financial report.
He didn’t look up.
“Where’s breakfast?” he asked absently, like I was the maid.
I opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water, and answered without turning around.