Page 4 of A Sinful Gravity

"Yes... right there... come on..."

I clamped my mouth, fighting tears, praying it wasn't the worst. I forced a smile, hand shaking as I pushed the door open.

"Evening, darling, I'm here to—"

Sloane Reed, that damn secretary.

Blood froze in my veins, chill racing from heels to neck. Eyes burned, vision blurring. I opened my mouth, but no sound came.

Her suit jacket lay tossed on the floor. She was half-naked, just black lace lingerie.

Straps slipped off her shoulders, exposing pale skin like a perfume ad. Dark hair cascaded over her chest. One hand on Cassian's shoulder, body pressed against him—my husband's outline—in a way that screamed familiarity, like it was routine.

Cassian faced away, oblivious I was there.

"Sorry, don't you knock?"

Sloane spotted me first. No panic, no scream. She lifted her head and flashed a taunting smile.

She stood, adjusting her skimpy clothes. "Oh, it's you, Luna. Look, this isn't what it seems..."

I watched her red lips move, but heard nothing. Cassian, my husband, still turned away.

"What the hell are you doing!"

Rage erupted like lava from my toes, scorching up to my head, heating my whole body. I shook uncontrollably, fists clenched, nails biting palms. The quick pain sharpened my mind.

Air reeked of perfume and booze, turning my stomach.

Chest squeezed like a vise, breaths short. Our wedding vows flashed. "Love only you forever." What a joke now, like the thermos in my hand.

Fury made me tremble. I hurled the thermos at the floor. It shattered with a crack, echoing like fireworks, shards flying like tiny knives under the lights, mirroring my crumbling marriage.

"You disgusting bastards!" I screamed, voice raw and piercing. Sloane's smile froze, she ducked behind her boss—my husband—like a pitiful victim, making me gag. Cassian finally turned, stunned, like he'd just woken up.

"Luna?" He slurred, eyes foggy with booze. No guilt, just annoyance. "What're you doing here? And making this mess?"

"Don't say my name, you cheating asshole!" Rage shook me.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?!" He growled, rubbing his temples in pain. Sloane paled in his arms, but her eyes gleamed with triumph, making me want to claw her face off.

How pathetic. My husband shielded another woman, while I looked like a total lunatic.

Was this what you wanted, Luna Crawford?

I stood frozen in the doorway, staring at them glued together, feeling like a century had passed.

Enough. I was done.

I turned, heels muffled on carpet, like my heart suffocating in cotton. Rage fueled my steps. Behind me, silence.

Elevator doors closed. I leaned on the wall, sucked in a breath. Don't cry, Luna, you're not some sniveling mess.

But that image burned like a brand: Sloane's smirk, her chest practically in his face, his hands... Fuck, I shook my head, trying to shake it loose, but it stuck like gum. Anger had me biting my lip till I tasted blood. Why me? Why pour everything into this marriage for betrayal?

The elevator hit the lobby. I bolted out, ignoring the receptionist's call. Now I got her weird look earlier. Everyone knew I was the punchline.

Night wind sliced my face like ice blades. My heart sank deeper.