Chapter One
Jules
Bright. Everything is obnoxiously bright as I peel open an eyelid. This isn’t my bedroom ceiling. It’s white. Sterile. Gross. Ceilings were made for color. For dashes of cobalt and copper and crimson.
I shift on the too-firm mattress, my body sore in places I haven’t felt in a long time. Wait. Am I naked?
I lift the white sheet.Yep, naked.
My stomach twists when I recognize the room. Uh oh. My pulse pounds in my ears as I take in the pristine white sheets, the perfectly aligned picture frames, the scent of crisp cologne lingering in the air. No!No, no, no.
I force my gaze to the adjoining bathroom. A silhouette moves behind the water-stained glass shower door.Hissilhouette.
Corbin.
What the hell did I do last night?
Moving carefully, I inch out of the bed, ignoring the way my thighs protest from overuse. I barely suppress a groan as I crawl along the glossy marble floor, scanning for my clothes. They’re nowhere in sight.
And then I see them. Folded neatly on his white dresser, like some kind of a twisted farewell gift. Jeans, blouse… and my bright green thong.
Who the hell folds a thong?
Corbin. That’s who.
I swipe my clothes off his dresser, my hands fumbling as I slip into my jeans. I need to get out of here before he catches me.
The shower hums in the background as I tiptoe past, but my traitorous gaze flicks sideways.
His broad, toned back shifts under the spray of water, every inch of him rigid and controlled, just like always. But lower… my god. His ass is absolute perfection.
I tear my eyes away, muttering under my breath, “Focus, Jules!” I need to find my purse. My phone. If Tate calls and I don’t answer—
Tate.
A wave of nausea rolls through me, hot and sudden, tightening in my chest. He can’t find out about this. We’ve spent two years making sure he knows his parents aren’t getting back together. One night isn’t a reason to give him false hope.
Last night was a weak moment. That’s all it was. A moment of looking in those icy blue eyes over a bottle of wine—or two—and letting myself remember. Remember what we used to mean to each other before our differences made it hard to live together. Before we tossed around the word ‘divorce’ one day, and Corbin filed papers that afternoon—without a fight. He let me go without a fight. I mean, how could he? It doesn’t matter now.
The immaculately furnished house is eerily quiet as I make my way down the stairs, my heart tight in my chest.
When I used to live here, this place had color. Life.Me. Vibrant sunsets, watercolor landscapes, dark cityscapes dotted with twinkling stars. My art filled these walls.
Corbin took them all down when I left. I can’t say I blame him. But still.
Now, the walls are white. Just like the furniture. The only splash of color in this mausoleum is the stainless steel appliances.
What a shame. Life is so vibrantly beautiful. Why would anyone want to live like this? Without a deep green dining room wall covered in violets and sunflowers. Or a bright pink coffee table stacked with books and gold cat statues. Or the funny little Christmas gnome that was too cute to pack away with the decorations.
I bite my lip, pushing the thought aside as I grab my purse off the counter.
“Mom?”
My stomach drops.
Oh, no. I’ve been caught.
I quickly tuck a strand of curly amber hair behind my ear, pasting a too-wide smile on my face before I turn.
