Liam's small fingers dug into Jace's trouser like claws. "Daddy please don't go." His tiny voice wasn't a whimper…it was a plea, raw and desperate, the kind that melts hearts
Jace's breath seized. Liam's tears weren't just falling…they were breaking him. Shattering tips off his resolve by the minute. He crouched, gripping his son's small shoulder and said softly, "Look at me." His thumb swiped a tear away. "Daddy's coming back in time for your birthday."
The lie tasted bitter. Liam's birthday. The one promise he couldn't keep.
"Presents?" Liam whispered. His eyes large and hopeful.
Jace forced a grin. "So many, you won't stop opening."
Liam laughed. Jace final resolve shattered.
"Close your eyes and count to ten," Jace coaxed, his voice softer now. "I will be back before you even finish counting."
Liam squeezed his eyes shut, and sniffled, "One… two… three…"
Jace pressed a kiss to his forehead, then slipped out the door before his son could reach 'four.'
The morning air was dewy, the scent of dew-kissed grass filling his lungs as he strode toward the waiting Bentley.
"Good morning, sir."
The chauffeur's voice was polished, rehearsed…the same blank cheer he had used every day for six years.
Jace didn't answer. He slid into the leather seat—cold, despite the summer heat, and stared at the mansion shrinking with every passing minute. Liam's face, pressed to the window…gone.
"Aye sir. Will you like ye music?"
"No."
Jace's voice was a Blunt blade and the chauffeur's smile faltered.
Silence swallowed the car.
Once, Jace had been a wildfire…an energetic boy who laughed louder, fought harder, dreamed bigger than any orphanage could contain. Now? Now his life is grey.
Stella Whitman had not just married him.
She had destroyed him.
A sharp inhale and a frantic head shake. Then he turned to look at the file beside him—useless. Just like his pleas.
Botswana. A two hour meeting. Eight days of flight.
Absurd? Senseless? Ofcourse it was.
But the Whitmans didn't care. The had sent the car at dawn, like he was a prisoner, not a husband.
As he couldn't change things, he could as well see the beauty of the trip—Africa.
He smiled sadly and picked up his phone to google out the country of Botswana and what he saw, lifted his feelings—an inch.
Airport chaos buzzed around him as Jace mechanically sorted the files out in an alphabetical order, just like the Whitmans demanded…when his hands froze.
No wallet.
His stomach dropped
No ID. No boarding pass. No passage.
He searched his pockets frantically, then checked the seat beside him. Nothing. His green animal-skin wallet—a gift from Stella, one of the few things he actually liked—was missing.
"Damn it!" he hissed through clenched teeth.
Without his wallet, he couldn't board the plane. And that meant only one thing.
He had to go back.
Back to the Whitman mansion.
************************************************
"Sir, are you back so soon?"
The bellboy's voice cracked with something between shock and….warning.
The huge mahogany door swung open.
Silence.
The foyer stretched….too pristine, the marble too polished, the chandelier glows too softly. It looks too perfect.
But Jace's pulse thundered in his throat. Something was wrong.
"No" Jace replied hurriedly as he rushed towards his bedroom quarters to quickly pick up his wallet, before he misses his flight.
He stormed into his private sitting chambers on his way to the bedroom but froze when he noticed his wife's clothing and shoes scattered all over the place.
Unable to understand why the room was this dirty, he made a mental note to send one of the servants to clean up the place.
Then he heard it—faint but unmistakable.
A breathy moan. A deep, masculine chuckle.
The sounds were coming from the bedroom.
Jace's lungs locked.
His brain hammered on the truth—but his heart still refused to fucking beat.
Then he saw it.
Stella's black lace panties…torn at the seam
Her two thousand La Perla bra, dangling off the Ming vase and a man's tie.
A man's tie?!
Jace stared at the piece of clothing in shock as the realization washed over him—Stella is cheating on him. On their matrimonial bed.
The shock lasted only a second before anger filled his reasoning. His hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening as another moan—louder this time—seeped through the door.
"Oh God—yes! Harder!" Stella's voice, thick with pleasure, sent a white-hot rage surging through his veins.
He didn't think. He didn't hesitate.
He stormed into the bedroom angrily, inorder to let her know that he was aware of her treachery, but stopped abruptly in his tracks when he saw who was on his wife. If anyone had told him of this earlier, he would have denied it.
Because the man in bed with his wife wasn't just any man.
It was Ethan Montgomery.
His best friend since college. His most trusted confidant. The godfather to his children.