Aurora POV:
The hum of the ovens at The Rolling Pin was a familiar comfort, but today it did nothing to quiet the storm in my head. I spent the day locked in my office, calling the friend who had introduced me to Julian years ago.
"Drugged? Aurora, my God, no!" she'd shrieked, her voice thick with horror and concern. "I would never!"
I knew she was telling the truth. Which meant the person who did this to me was a stranger.
Or...
A sickening thought surfaced. Was it Julian? Why would he do that?
I couldn't hide anymore. I needed answers. I needed to see his face when I asked him.
I drove back to the townhouse in Lincoln Park, the one I'd once thought was my dream home. Now, the elegant brick facade felt like a prison.
The house was quiet when I pushed open the front door. Too quiet.
Then I heard it. A woman's laugh drifting down from the second floor. The same laugh I'd heard on the phone that morning.
My blood turned to ice.
My feet felt like lead as I climbed the stairs, each step a new form of torture. The door to our master bedroom was slightly ajar.
I didn't knock. I shoved it open.
The scene was ripped from a cheap drama. Julian, wearing nothing but a silk robe, held a glass of red wine. And lying on our bed—our marital bed—was a blonde with a surgically perfect body, wearing one of his white button-down shirts and nothing else.
I recognized her instantly. Sienna Sharpe. An Instagram model who clung to the fringes of the Chicago WAGs circle—the wives and girlfriends of professional athletes.
Julian's surprise lasted only a second before it hardened into annoyance. He didn't even have the decency to look ashamed or ask her to leave.
Sienna, however, looked directly at me. A triumphant, smug smile played on her lips as she casually placed a hand over her flat stomach.
"Aurora," Julian said, his brow furrowed. "You're back early. We were just discussing business."
A laugh, sharp and bitter, escaped my lips. "Business? In our bed? While she's wearing your shirt?"
Sienna's voice was sickly sweet. "Oh, Aurora, don't be mad at Julian. It's my fault. I... I'm pregnant with his baby, and I wasn't feeling well. He was just taking care of me."
Pregnant.
The word exploded in my mind, shattering the last fragile pieces of my heart.
I stared at Julian, searching his face for any sign of denial. There was none. Only impatience. He looked at me as if I were an inconvenience.
Eight years of love. Two years of marriage. All of it turned to ash in that single, devastating moment.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, pulling strength from a place I didn't know I had. My voice was steady, cold, and clear when I spoke.
"Julian Lowery, I want a divorce."
He froze. For the first time, he looked genuinely shocked, as if that possibility had never occurred to him. The shock quickly morphed into a condescending smirk.
"A divorce? Aurora, don't be ridiculous." He started towards me, reaching for my hand. "I know you're upset, but let's not play these games. You can still be my lawful wife."
I recoiled from his touch. "I'm not playing games. My lawyer will be in contact with you tomorrow."
I turned my back on them, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing my pain. As I walked away, I heard Sienna let out a soft, victorious laugh.
The moment I stepped out of that house, a massive weight lifted from my shoulders. There were no tears. Just a profound, hollow sense of relief.
Evander POV:
I sat in the back of my Bentley, my thumb tracing the edge of a simple platinum band. I'd found it tangled in the sheets that morning.
Fragments of the night surfaced, and my jaw tightened.
When I'd returned to my hotel room, I found a woman lying in my bed. Unconscious. Naked. Drugged, by the look of her.
I was the Chicago Blackhawks' superstar—women threw themselves at me constantly. But I had a condition. A severe aversion to physical contact with the opposite sex. The media had branded me the "Ice Prince"—cold, untouchable, allergic to women.
But this woman—something about her burned through me. An inexplicable pull I couldn't resist. I climbed into that bed.
The woman beneath me trembled, cried out—not in pleasure, but in pain. Her body was stiff, reluctant. And I realized too late. A virgin.
Then the light had hit her face just right.
Aurora Sweeney. My half-brother Julian Lowery's wife. Married two years and still a virgin. Julian really couldn't get the job done.
My grip on the ring tightened. This was a setup. A calculated trap aimed at me.
My eyes turned cold as ice. One suspect rose to the top of my list. I slipped the ring into my pocket and pulled out my phone.
"Dig into Julian Lowery," I said, my voice flat and cold. "Everything. The deals, the debts, the women. I want every piece of filth he's buried, and I want it by morning."
"Wait, and Aurora Sweeney..." At the thought of last night, a smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth.
