Nyra's Point Of View
"Hope you guys don't mind having company?"
The silence that followed wasn't silence. It was impact, like a bomb going off underwater.
Everything moved at once.
They sprang apart so fast the sheets twisted between them, bodies jerking in opposite directions, panic ripping through the air like something alive.
I tilted my head slightly, irritation prickling under my skin.
And then, to my own surprise… I hissed.
A sharp, annoyed sound.
Like someone whose favorite show had just buffered at the best scene.
"Oh, come on," I muttered, rolling my eyes, the bitterness coating my tongue thick and metallic. "And it was just getting to the best part."
My voice sounded wrong.
Too light.
Too amused.
Like I was mocking my own life.
He turned then.
Fully.
And I watched the exact second reality hit him.
His face drained so fast it was almost fascinating. Color vanished. Gone, like someone had pulled a plug somewhere behind his eyes.
Let's name him.
Ethan.
The name echoed in my head like something cracked and hollow.
Ethan stared at me like I had crawled out of a grave.
His lips parted, but nothing came out.
Just air.
Sharp.
Uneven.
Broken.
He was breathing too fast.
Too loud.
Every inhale scraping his throat like glass.
Sweat had already started forming along his hairline, rolling down the side of his face in thin, panicked trails. His chest heaved like he'd been running.
I'd never seen him look afraid before.
Not like this.
Not primal.
Not cornered.
"Nyra…" he croaked.
My name sounded fragile in his mouth, like it didn't belong there anymore.
I didn't answer.
I just watched him.
Studied him.
Like I was trying to memorize the anatomy of betrayal.
The way his hands trembled slightly.
The way his eyes kept flicking between my face and the floor like he couldn't decide which version of reality to choose.
Then the other man moved.
Slowly, deliberately. No panic. No shame. No scrambling for dignity.
He leaned back against the headboard like this was mildly inconvenient at best, dragging a hand through his hair with lazy annoyance. His gaze slid over me… not startled, not guilty.
Assessing.
Cold.
Unimpressed.
Like I was an interruption.
Not a discovery.
My stomach turned.
Not from pain.
From clarity.
He looked at Ethan, not me.
And when he spoke, his voice was calm.
Almost bored.
"Why are you scared, Ethan?"
The words dropped into the room like stones.
Heavy.
Blunt.
Ethan flinched.
Actually flinched.
"I…I didn't, she wasn't supposed to—" he stammered, the words tangling over each other, collapsing before they could stand.
The other man sighed.
A long, tired sound. Like this was exhausting for him, like betrayal was an inconvenience.
He dragged his gaze back to me then, and this time he didn't bother hiding the disdain.
It sat openly in his eyes.
Sharp.
Cutting.
Clinical.
And suddenly I understood something in a way that made my bones feel hollow.
I wasn't a surprise. I was a problem, a loose end that had walked in too early.
"That's what you're scared of?" he said quietly, one brow lifting slightly. "Her?"
Something hot flickered in my chest.
Not hurt.
Something darker.
Ethan shook his head quickly, voice cracking. "You don't understand—"
"No," the man cut in smoothly. "You don't."
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely like we were having a civil conversation over coffee instead of standing in the wreckage of my life.
"This," he gestured lazily between them, "isn't new."
The words slid under my skin like knives.
I didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe properly.
But something inside me was listening very, very closely now.
Ethan's eyes snapped to him, horror flashing across his face. "Stop."
Too fast. Too desperate. Too late.
The other man didn't even look at him, his attention stayed on me.
Pinning.
Measuring.
Like he was deciding how much damage to do with each sentence.
"Isn't this what we've always wanted?" he continued softly.
The room tilted.
Not physically.
Internally.
Like gravity had shifted somewhere inside my chest.
Ethan looked like he might collapse.
"Don't," he whispered, shaking his head, voice splintering apart. "Please."
But the man smiled.
Not wide.
Not dramatic.
Just a small, knowing curve of his lips.
Cruel in the quietest way.
"You never wanted her," he said simply.
The sentence didn't explode.
It sank.
Deep.
Slow.
Permanent.
And I felt it land. Somewhere below my ribs, somewhere irreversible.
Ethan made a broken sound then.
Low.
Animal.
Like something inside him had been exposed and couldn't be covered again.
But the man wasn't done.
Of course he wasn't.
Men like him never stop at the first wound.
He leaned back again, completely at ease now, like the worst part was over and all that remained was cleanup.
And then he looked straight at me.
No hesitation.
No softness.
No apology.
Just truth dipped in poison.
"And it's perfect this happened," he said coolly. "Now she can know her place."
I blink. Slow. Once.
Because I genuinely need a second to process the audacity that just hit me in the face like a slap I didn't see coming.
Then I tilt my head.
"Excuse you?"
My voice comes out light.
Too light. Mock-light. The kind of tone you use when someone says something so ridiculous you don't know whether to laugh or check if they're mentally okay.
He doesn't hesitate.
Not even a flicker.
"Yes," he says calmly. "Know your place."
The words hang in the air.
Ugly. Heavy. Sharp enough to cut skin. My brows lift before I can stop them.
My place?
"My place?" I repeat softly, almost curious.
He nods like he's explaining basic math to a child.
"You were never anything more than a cover," he says flatly. "A name. A role. A convenience."
Each word lands clean.
Precise.
Like he's been holding them in for a long time and finally gets to let them breathe.
"Nothing more."
Behind him, Ethan makes this strangled sound that doesn't even sound human.
"Stop," he whispers hoarsely. "Just… stop talking."
But the man didn't even look at him.
His eyes stay on me.
Cold.
Unapologetic.
Almost bored.
"I'm tired of hiding," he adds, voice lower now. "And frankly? You've always been irrelevant in this."
Irrelevant.
That word should hurt. It should split me open, it should dig its fingers into something soft inside my chest and rip.
That's what he expects.
I can see it.
That tiny flicker in his eyes.
Waiting.
Waiting for me to cry. To scream. To break. To crumble into the version of a woman men like him understand.
But instead? I laughed.
It starts small, just a breath.
A crack.
Then it grows, and grows. And suddenly it's ripping out of me like something feral. I fold slightly, my hand flying to my stomach because oh my God, it actually hurts.
I'm laughing so hard it burns.
It's not pretty.
Not soft.
It's loud. Sharp. Almost unhinged.
The kind of laugh that makes rooms uncomfortable. Because somewhere between the betrayal and the humiliation and the sheer insanity of this moment.. something inside me just snapped.
Clean.
In half.
"I… I'm sorry," I gasp, holding up a hand like I physically need a second. "Wait… wait—"
I suck in air, wiping the corner of my eye, still shaking with laughter.
"I didn't hear you properly," I say, voice trembling with fake sincerity. "Say it again."
My smile stretches wider.
Dangerously wide.
"I'm just the girl who wore the ring, right?"
Silence.
Thick. Electric. I can feel both of them watching me now. Trying to understand me. Trying to recalibrate.
Good.
Let them.
"And you?" I continue softly, tilting my head. "What does that make you?"
Something shifts in me then.
Subtle.
But sharp.
Because I'm not reacting anymore. I'm choosing. And once I choose something, I don't do it halfway.
"The disgrace. The shame. The filth. The garbage he couldn't drag into the light, because we both know… oh God, we both know, what would happen if this, if this…"
My hands shook as I gestured, my fingers trembling like leaves in a storm, "...ever saw the light of day. Ethan's family's reputation? Gone. His career? Ash. His perfect, polished, pristine image? Shattered like glass under a hammer."
His face twisted, ugly with rage. "Shut your mouth, bitch. You know nothing."
Something in me snapped.
My palm connected with his cheek before I even realized I'd moved. The crack of skin against skin echoed through the room, sharp as a gunshot. His body jerked back, crashing onto the bed, the headboard slamming against the wall with a shuddering thud.
My breath came fast, my chest heaving like I'd run a mile, but my voice? Oh, my voice was ice. Cold. Deadly. The kind of cold that burns.
"Don't you ever," I hissed, my words a blade dragging slow across stone, "in your rotten, pathetic life, open that filthy mouth of yours and call me a bitch." My hands clenched into fists, my nails biting into my palms hard enough to draw blood.
"Don't you dare call me the problem. Don't you dare look at me like I'm less, when we both know the truth." My lips curled, a sneer so sharp it hurt. "You're both animals. And you, Ethan?"
His face twisted… shame, maybe, or the ghost of guilt flickering in his eyes like a dying flame. "And you?" I tilted my head, letting the light catch the venom in my gaze, letting him see the storm brewing behind my eyes.
"Today, of all days, you brought him here. To our home. On our anniversary. You had him in our bed. You let him touch you, fuck you, mock me…"
Something inside me shifted. Subtle. But sharp. Because I wasn't reacting anymore. I was choosing. And once I made a choice? There was no halfway. No turning back.
"You're not the love story," I said, my voice a whisper of steel, so quiet it made him lean in just to hear. "You're not some brave, tragic truth. You're not some grand, forbidden romance."
My eyes narrowed, just slightly, locking onto him like a predator zeroing in on prey.
"You're the secret."
I saw it, the way his jaw tightened, the way his breath hitched, that tiny, microscopic flicker of fear in his eyes. Weakness. And God, I leaned into it, pressing the blade deeper, twisting it just to watch him bleed.
"The shame," I added, my voice so soft it was almost a caress.
There it was again… that tension, that fracture, the way his body seemed to coil in on itself like he was trying to disappear.
"The thing he keeps hidden," I continued, stepping forward, my heels sinking into the carpet with each deliberate step. "The part of his life that can never see the light of day."
Behind him, Ethan's breathing turned ragged, his chest rising and falling like he was drowning, like the air itself was too thick to breathe.
"Nyra," he whispered, his voice breaking, "please—"
I didn't look at him, because if I looked at him too soon, I might feel something. And I couldn't afford that. Not now. Not when the rage inside me was so hot it could melt steel.
"You think I'm the embarrassment?" I asked, my voice quiet, almost gentle.
My smile vanished. Just like that. Gone. And what replaced it was ice.
"No," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper so cold it burned. "You are."
The words hung between us, heavy, final. A verdict.
And the worst part? I meant them.
"And you know it."
A second passed. Then another. Then, finally, I looked at him.
And God. That was worse.
Because the second I really saw him… the man I'd loved, the man I'd built a future with, the man who'd just shattered everything, something inside me twisted. Violently. Painfully.
There was no love left in my chest. No softness. Just something raw and blistering, a storm of betrayal and humiliation that threatened to rip me apart from the inside out.
"Today," I said slowly, my voice thinner than I wanted, "of all days…"
Ethan flinched like I'd struck him.
"You brought him here," I continued, my voice trembling under the weight of it all. "Here. Tonight."
My chest felt tight. Too tight. Like something was pressing against my ribs from the inside, crushing the air out of my lungs, stealing my breath.
"Our anniversary," I whispered, my voice cracking just once. "You let me plan it. You let me believe in it."
I swallowed hard, my nails digging crescents into my palms, grounding me.
"I kept trying," I said quietly, my voice raw, exposed. "I kept thinking if I loved you harder, if I held on tighter, if I just… fixed whatever was breaking between us—"
A hollow, bitter laugh escaped me.
God, I really tried.
"And all this time," I whispered, shaking my head slowly, the truth settling over me like a shroupd, "you were already gone."
His eyes filled with something shattered… regret, maybe, or the hollow echo of what we'd lost. But it didn't matter.
Not anymore.
Because I was done.
"Nyra, I—"
"No."
The word slices out of me like a blade.
He shuts up instantly.
My gaze burns into him.
"And the worst part?" I say, my voice going dangerously calm. "It's not even this."
I gesture lazily between them.
"It's the lying."
Each syllable tastes like iron.
"You could have told me," I say. "You could have looked me in the eyes and told me the truth. You could have told me that the problem was never me, but you. That you like men."
My lips curl.
"But that would've required courage, wouldn't it?"
Silence.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
I tilt my head slightly, studying him like I don't recognize this man anymore. Like he's a stranger wearing someone I used to love.
Then I smiled… small, cruel.
"Oh," I murmur softly. "What am I saying?"
My chest feels cold now.
Hollowed out.
"You were never brave enough for that."
I step closer.
Close enough to feel the tension snapping in the air between us. Close enough to see the fear in his eyes. And suddenly, I don't feel sad anymore.
Just sharp.
Clear. Done.
I tilt my head slightly, looked him straight in the eyes.
And I said it slowly.
Carefully.
Like I want every single word to stay with him forever.
"Tell me something, Ethan…"
I don't blink.
Not once.
"How wide is your asshole?"