She had read me perfectly.
Marcus glared but left. So did my parents.
They didn’t like Valentina anymore—ever since she started being herself. Gay and not interested in me. They also saw her partying on social media with Jordin and Ciarán.
She pulled up a chair next to me, crossing her legs. “You look like shit.”
I nodded. “Feel like it too.”
We talked. About nothing. About everything.
Eventually, I told her I was tired.
Instead of calling the nurse to help me into bed, I sat in my chair, staring at nothing. I was just starting to doze off when I heard footsteps.
I opened my eyes.
Ciarán.
He stood over me, holding his phone up.
“Since you don’t want to get your ass up and try—just because you should—I figured I’d give you some motivation.”
I stared. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
He smirked. Tapped the screen—
And suddenly I was looking at a video.
Jordin was in the white dress she’d worn earlier. It was pushed up around her waist.
She was bent over the balance beam I’d used in therapy.
He was fucking her from behind.
Her head was thrown back, eyes closed, mouth slack.
His dick was coated in her. My vision blurred, and every muscle in my body seized. I jerked forward, ready to lunge at him.
But my legs didn’t move.
Not even a twitch.
I gripped the wheels of my chair so tight my knuckles went white.
I wanted to flip the whole thing over. Slam into a wall. Throw something. Break something. Scream.
Instead, I shook.
My body trembled like a man coming apart at the seams.
Ciarán was unnervingly calm.
“See how much of this dick I’m pushing in your wife’s pussy? Do you remember how she damn near sings when she cums?” he said, tapping the screen like he was showing me a highlight reel. “Listen to the way she moans—ready—begs for it? You want to experience that again, don’t you?”
My hand shot out and slammed a nearby tray table, sending a water bottle flying.
The sound echoed.
