Loraine's Pov
Three days had passed since the "my-jerk-of-a-husband-thought-it-was-funny-to-carry-me-up-to-his-bedroom-prank." I still roll my eyes every time I thought about it.
It was 9:00 a.m. on a Tuesday.
Drey—or Stranton, as he was increasingly becoming in my mind—was already at work, as usual.
I was taking my time with a late breakfast when Lisa, our forty-seven-year-old housekeeper, walked in holding a brown envelope.
"Good morning, dear," she said warmly. "I have something here for you. Would you like me to bring it up to your room?"
I shook my head and patted the vacant space beside my meal, gesturing for her to leave it on the table. She smiled at me—that familiar, loving expression—and placed the envelope down before heading back to the kitchen. I mouthed a "thank you," not wanting to speak with my mouth full of toast.
If you’re wondering what happened after I walked out of Drey’s room three days ago, the answer is simple:
nothing.
I had retreated to my room and locked the door, consumed by a cold, blistering rage.
He hadn’t bothered to talk to me since, and frankly, I preferred it that way.
Out of sheer frustration the following day, I had finally accepted a modeling offer from a famous denim brand. It was a simple gig: pose for the camera, wear their clothes, and watch as my face was plastered across billboards and magazines nationwide.
Who knew I was a natural? It was a shame I’d spent my entire life playing the "good, obedient daughter" instead of realizing I had something in me that's worth celebrating.
I had been too focused on my studies and my own business—designing men’s suits. There was just something inherently sexy about a man in a well-tailored tux.
My mother had passed away when I was six, leaving me to grow up surrounded by my father and three older brothers.
They were all successful businessmen, blessed with the family wit.
Growing up, I was the conservative tomboy, the one expected to eventually inherit the family empire. I had dreaded that future, but my father had saved me from it by merging our company with the Strantons' and marrying me off.
That was how I ended up here: with a husband I loathed, managing our joint companies, while I pursued my own passion for fashion.
It was a deal I couldn't break, a sacrifice I made for my father’s sake. I had gambled my heart and lost the chance to truly be loved, all to keep the peace.
I sighed, snapping out of my thoughts, and opened the envelope. Inside was the magazine containing my shoot. I flipped to the right page and smiled in satisfaction.
Oh boy, did I look smoking hot.
In the photo, I was wearing a pair of tight-fit, distressed dark denim jeans and a black crop top that was little more than a bra. I had my signature blood-red lipstick on, staring down the camera with total confidence. Next to me was Dilan, the male model. He was charming, handsome, and undeniably built.
Dilan had his hand hooked into the belt loop of my jeans, while I had my hand rested on his nape, fingers threaded through his hair—a pose he’d directed me into with professional ease. We looked incredible. We looked like we were burning up the page.
Afternoon: The Shop
"Anne," I called out to my assistant.
"Yes, Ms. Nash? Shall I take these designs to the safe?"
I smiled. She was my angel—she knew exactly what I needed before I even asked. "Yes, please. I’m going to stay for a while; I want to work on these fabrics." I gestured to the array of materials laid out on the table.
"Very well, Miss. Would you like some tea?"
"Yes please, thank you."
"Coming right up!" she said merrily.
I went back to work, lost in the rhythm of pinning fabric to the mannequin.
I was so occupied that I didn't notice someone enter until strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against a solid chest.
I gasped, my heart racing, but as the scent of him hit me, my panic turned into a heavy sigh. Drey.
He rested his chin in the crook of my neck, and I shivered, tensing instantly.
I looked toward the ceiling, silently asking the universe why I had to be tortured like this. My movement, however, only gave him better access to the vulnerable spot on my neck. I let out a giggle.
He let out a low, shuddering groan. "I love that sound. I love it when you make that sound, love."
His voice was a deep, husky vibration against my ear. My heart hammered, and for a terrifying second, my knees turned to water. He was holding me so tightly I didn't need my own strength to stand.
Then, his mood shifted. His grip hardened, and his voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl.
"Why haven't you told me about that shoot you had with that asshole?"
So much for a peaceful afternoon.
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A/N: See you guys on the next Chapter!
Updated (2026)
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His HOT wife
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