My Husband Called Her Late-night Flirty Pic A Mistake

"I'm getting a divorce. Just seeing him with that woman makes me sick."

Sama Arthur swallowed the last of her whiskey, the burn in her throat nothing compared to the searing ache in her chest. She stared at the bottom of the glass as if it held the answers to why her eight-year fairy tale had ended in a rain-soaked villa with a ripped red nightgown.

"I still can't believe it," Zara Ozziy muttered, snatching the empty glass from Sama’s trembling hand. "He worshipped you. Everyone saw it. Are you sure it wasn't a misunderstanding? Maybe she set him up?"

A cold, jagged laugh tore from Sama’s throat. "A misunderstanding? Zara, I watched him hold her. I heard them. You don’t 'accidentally' end up in a bed at four in the morning with your secretary. It was real. Every disgusting second of it."

The neon lights of the bar flickered, casting long, sickly shadows across the table. Zara looked at Sama’s bloodshot eyes and felt a wave of helpless sorrow. "Don't do this to yourself. You're drunk and you're hurting. We need to get you somewhere safe. I’m taking you home."

"No!" Sama recoiled as if the word itself was a physical blow. "I am never stepping foot in that house again. Every corner of it smells like his lies. I won't do it."

Zara didn't push. She knew that look in Sama’s eyes—it was the same iron-willed defiance that had helped her survive her father’s control. "Fine. I'll book you a room at the Empire Skyview. You need sleep before you make any more decisions."

The drive to the hotel was a blur of streetlights and nausea. When they reached the grand marble entrance, Zara unbuckled her seatbelt. "Let me take you up to the room, Sama. You can barely stand."

"I'm fine, Zara. Go home," Sama insisted, clutching the plastic key card like a lifeline. "I need to be alone. Please."

She stepped out of the car, her movements stiff and overly deliberate. She looked sober enough to get past the doorman, but inside, her brain was a whirlpool of whiskey and betrayal. She made it into the elevator, swiped the card, and leaned her forehead against the cool mirrored wall as the lift hummed upward.

The doors opened with a soft, mocking ding.

Sama stumbled onto the thick carpet of the ninth floor. Her legs felt like lead, and the numbers on the doors began to dance and blur. 8917... 8918... she squinted at the card in her hand. Room 8919. She found the door and slid the card into the slot. It didn't beep, but when she leaned her weight against the handle, the door swung open on its own.

She stepped into the pitch-black room, the silence heavy and suffocating. Before she could reach for a light switch, a massive hand shot out of the darkness.

"Ah!"

The sound was choked off as she was yanked forward. A large, powerful body slammed her against the closed door. The light from the hallway was gone. The room was a void, smelling of rain, expensive tobacco, and a sharp, clean scent of pine.

"Mmph—!"

She tried to scream, but a warm, commanding mouth crushed against hers. The kiss was ravenous, desperate, and tasted of dark intentions. Sama’s head spun from the alcohol. She tried to shove at the wall of a chest in front of her, but her hands were limp, her strength sapped by the whiskey.

The man’s hands were everywhere, leaving trails of heat that made her traitorous body shiver. He caught her wrists, pinning them above her head against the wood of the door with a single hand.

"Let—mmph! Let me go!" she gasped when his lips moved to the sensitive hollow of her throat.

He let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated through her bones. "No need to play hard to get tonight. You've been leading me on for months."

His fingers hooked into the collar of her trench coat, tugging it down. The cold air hit her skin, making her gasp. She used every ounce of her remaining strength to knee him, but the man was an oak tree. He simply shifted, his weight pinning her tighter, and then he hoisted her up, throwing her over his shoulder.

"Put me down!"

He tossed her onto the bed. The mattress was soft, but the impact made the room tilt dangerously. She scrambled to get up, her nightgown tangled around her thighs, but he was already over her. His heavy frame pinned her into the pillows, his authoritative presence filling the room until she could barely breathe.

"Mister, please... I entered the wrong room," Sama whispered, her voice cracking with pure terror. "Let me go. I’m pregnant, please—"

"Tsk. Still playing?" the man’s voice was icy, impatient. "You came to my door, Sama. Don't act the innocent now."

In the struggle, Sama’s flailing hand struck a bedside lamp. The base clattered to the floor, and the sudden jerk of the cord flicked the switch.

The room exploded into light.

Sama blinked, her eyes burning as they adjusted. As the blurred shape above her came into focus, the blood drained from her face. The man pinning her to the bed, his shirt unbuttoned and his eyes dark with a hunger that turned to instant frost, wasn't a stranger.

He was Lyon Summer.

The youngest, most dangerous branch of the Monroe-Thorne family tree. He was Jack’s uncle—the mercurial, cold-blooded billionaire that even Jack’s father feared. He was the man she had been told to avoid at all costs during family gatherings.

"Uncle Lyon?" she breathed, the horror of the moment instantly sobering her.

Lyon’s face turned a bruised shade of black. His eyes, usually glacial and detached, were now burning with a mixture of rage and absolute shock. He looked down at her—disheveled, her nightgown torn at the shoulder, her eyes wide and wet with tears.

"Shut up!" Lyon hissed. He looked like he wanted to wrap his hands around her throat just to stop the sound of his name coming from her lips.

His gaze dropped to her exposed chest, and his pupils dilated for a fraction of a second before he jerked away as if he had been electrocuted. He stood up from the bed, turning his back to her, his shoulders heaving.

"Get dressed," he commanded, his voice a lethal rasp. "And get out before I lose my mind."

Sama scrambled off the bed, her hands shaking so badly she could barely pull her coat back over her shoulders. She caught a glimpse of him in the mirror—tall, imposing, and looking every bit the monster the family rumors claimed he was. She didn't wait for a second invitation. She grabbed her shoes and bolted for the door, not looking back.

Once she was safely in the hallway, she leaned against the opposite wall, her lungs burning. She looked at the door she had just fled. 8916.

She looked at her key card again. 8919.

She had been three doors off. She had walked into the lion's den and nearly paid the ultimate price.

Inside the room, Lyon Summer stood by the window, his knuckles white as he gripped the ledge. He could still feel the phantom weight of her body beneath his. He could still taste the whiskey and salt on her lips.

He reached for his phone, his movements sharp and dangerous.

"Delete it," he barked the moment the call was picked up. "Every second of surveillance footage from the ninth floor of the Empire Skyview tonight. If a single frame survives, I’ll burn the hotel to the ground. Do you understand me?"

He hung up without waiting for an answer. He moved to the bedside table, picking up a cigarette and lighting it with a shaking hand. The silence of the room was now a taunt.

He had almost taken his nephew’s wife. He had felt her heart beating against his chest, and for a split second, he hadn't wanted to stop.

"Damn it, Jack," Lyon whispered into the smoke.

He knew what Jack had done. He had heard the whispers in the family office about the secretary and the villa. He had planned to stay out of it, to let the marriage collapse in its own filth. But now, Sama Arthur had literally fallen into his arms, and the lines of the game had just been redrawn in blood.

Lyon looked at the rumpled sheets. He wasn't a man who felt guilt, but he was a man who understood leverage. And tonight, he had realized that the shy, quiet woman Jack had been cheating on was far more intoxicating than any mistake his nephew had ever made.

He exhaled a long cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowing. The divorce was going to happen—he would make sure of that. But as he thought of the way Sama had looked under the light, he realized he wasn't going to let her run very far.

The Monroe family was about to go to war, and Lyon Summer had just decided which side he was on.