"Someone's opening the door downstairs…" Anirudh whispered, his brow tightening.
A door? Aurora and Amy froze. The housekeeper was long gone. Who'd come in now? They strained to listen, catching the soft hum of the automatic gate. What the hell?
"Amy, go look," Aurora said, trapped under Anirudh, unable to move.
Amy nodded, scrambling off the bed. She yanked her nightgown straps up and darted to the rooftop garden, which overlooked the villa's entrance. A black Mercedes idled outside, the electric gate sliding open. A man in a sharp suit strode in. Her stomach dropped—she knew him. Spinning, she bolted back to the bedroom.
"Aurora, it's bad—your husband's here!" Amy gasped, bursting in.
"Husband?" Aurora's eyes widened, her face ashen. "How? He's supposed to be in Australia!" Shock hit her like a freight train. He'd left Chicago for Australia years ago, vanishing. Calls were rare. She'd tried reaching out at first, but he was always "busy." Eventually, she gave up, their marriage a ghost. She'd all but erased him, as if he were dead.
Now he was back, no warning, and she'd just been with another man, his traces still inside her.
Their marriage held no love, but he was her husband in name, their families bound. If he found out…
Aurora's mind raced. The Ural family, once a Chicago titan, had faded. Her marriage had propped them up. She'd clawed back some of their business, but his family's power dwarfed hers. If he learned she'd betrayed him, the Ural family was finished.
"Get downstairs, now!" Aurora snapped, panic flaring. If it were just her, she'd shrug it off—she never cared for gossip. With no love, divorce was simple. But the Ural family's survival forced her hand.
Anirudh flinched. "Husband" meant Aurora's spouse. He'd just slept with the guy's wife, and now the man was here. Hell.
Even his nerve cracked. He started for the stairs, but Aurora yanked him back.
"No, I'll go. Amy, stay with Anirudh. Say he's your boyfriend," she said, glancing at the wrecked bed. If her so-called husband saw this, it'd be over.
She threw on her nightgown, slipped into lace panties with a pad for cover, and raced downstairs. This villa was hers, bought after he left—he wouldn't know her room.
Amy and Anirudh locked eyes, slammed the door, and dove under the covers, too spooked to budge.
"Damn it…" Anirudh muttered.
"What?" Amy hissed.
"My clothes—they're in the guest room." He'd snuck up naked.
"You idiot, you came up without clothes?" Amy glared, stuck.
Grabbing them now—by either of them—would scream guilt. They could only pray Aurora pulled it off.
As Aurora hit the third floor, the front door creaked. She frowned. He knew the gate code—his company bought the place. But a key? She'd changed the locks.
Shoving her confusion aside, she glanced at Amy's room and started down. The guest room door hung open, Anirudh's clothes on the bed. No time—she shut it, faked a sleepy shuffle, and reached the stairs. Loch stood there, suit crisp, hands clasped behind him, staring up.
Aurora's face flashed shock, like she'd seen a ghost.
"Darling, I'm back…" Loch grinned, smug. He'd nailed the surprise.
He took a step up, but Aurora's voice cut like ice. "Loch, what are you doing here?"
Her tone was arctic, stripped of warmth, sharp as a blade.
Loch froze, staring at his wife. Her face was stone, eyes cold—no trace of joy.
"You're my wife. Why else would I be here?" Loch's voice turned to steel. No woman had ever dared speak to him like that.