(Joseph POV)
Sleep had beco an enemy.
No matter how exhausted I was, the mont I closed my eyes, my body refused to surrender. When sleep did co, it was shallow and restless, filled with shadows that hovered just beyond reach.
I woke before dawn, staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, my chest tight with a feeling I couldn’t na.
Sothing was wrong.
Not in the dramatic sense—no alarms blaring, no imdiate crisis—but in the quiet, insidious way that crept under the skin and refused to leave. Like standing on solid ground and suddenly realizing it might give way.
I pushed myself up and swung my legs over the bed. The house was silent. Too silent.
Yvette used to wake early. Even on days she didn’t need to, she would move around quietly, humming under her breath, the faint clatter of cups in the kitchen signaling the start of another day.
Now, there was nothing.
I exhaled slowly and stood, forcing myself into routine. Shower. Suit. Coffee I barely tasted. Control—structured, predictable—was the only thing keeping my thoughts from spiraling.
By the ti I arrived at the office, my head was already pounding.
"Sir," Gregory said as I stepped off the elevator, "Ms. Dianne called earlier. She asked if you’d be available tonight."
I hesitated.
After last night’s dinner—or what barely qualified as one—I should have said no.
"I’ll see," I replied. "Schedule pending."
Gregory nodded, but his eyes lingered on for a mont longer than usual. "You don’t look well, sir."
"I’m fine."
The words ca out sharper than intended.
The day passed in a blur of etings and paperwork. I buried myself in numbers, projections, anything that required logic over emotion. Still, every so often, my thoughts drifted—back to the boardroom, to Yvette’s composed expression, to the calm certainty in her voice.
She looked like soone who had learned how to breathe again.
The realization unsettled more than I cared to admit.
By evening, the headache had worsened into sothing dull and persistent, pressing behind my eyes. I loosened my tie and leaned back in my chair, staring at the city lights beyond the window.
My phone buzzed.
Dianne: Can we talk tonight? I’ll co by.
I stared at the ssage longer than necessary.
This was what stability was supposed to look like. Dianne was my fiancée. We were on the path everyone expected. There was no reason to keep avoiding the inevitable.
Joseph: Alright.
Her reply ca almost instantly.
Dianne: Thank you. I’ll make it up to you.
I didn’t know why, but that line made my chest tighten.
I arrived later than expected. The hotel room was carrying the faint scent of wine and sothing floral. She looked... different.
Not angry. Not sharp.
Gentle.
"I’m sorry about last night," she said the mont she stepped inside. "I shouldn’t have stord off."
I closed the door behind her. "You were upset. I understand."
She smiled softly, stepping closer. "I just want us to be okay."
Her hand slipped around my arm, warm and familiar. I didn’t pull away.
"I brought sothing," she said, lifting a small paper bag. "Dinner. And wine. Nothing fancy."
We sat at the dining table, the tension between us quieter than usual. She spoke more softly than she had in weeks, her tone careful, attentive.
"I’ve been thinking," she said, pouring the wine. "Maybe I’ve been pushing too hard."
I glanced at her, surprised. "You?"
She laughed lightly. "Yes, . I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure. The company, the will... Yvette."
The na landed heavily between us.
"I don’t want to fight anymore," she continued. "I want to support you."
She slid the glass toward .
I hesitated, then picked it up.
The wine tasted richer than usual. Smoother.
Dianne watched closely as I took another sip.
"Is it good?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied.
She seed relieved.
We ate in relative silence. She asked about work, about the overseas branches, about things she had always pretended to care about but rarely followed up on before.
It should have reassured .
Instead, a strange heaviness began to settle in my limbs.
My thoughts slowed, like moving through water.
"Joseph?" Dianne’s voice sounded farther away than it should have.
I blinked. "Hm?"
"You look tired," she said gently. "You should relax."
"I am relaxed," I replied, though the words felt clumsy in my mouth.
The room felt warr. My head swam slightly.
I set the glass down, suddenly uneasy. "Did you change the wine?"
Her smile didn’t falter. "Of course not. Why would I?"
I shook my head, dismissing the thought. Stress. Lack of sleep. That was all.
She stood and moved closer, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Co on. Let’s sit on the couch."
I let her guide , my body responding slower than usual. When I sank into the cushions, a wave of dizziness rolled through .
"Dianne," I murmured. "I don’t feel—"
Her fingers pressed lightly against my lips. "Shh. You’re just exhausted."
Her face hovered close to mine, her eyes intent, calculating in a way I didn’t notice until much later.
The last thing I registered was the weight of my eyelids growing heavier—
And the unsettling thought that I had lost control of sothing important.
(Dianne POV Before Joseph Arrived)
He didn’t resist.
That was the part I told myself over and over again as I watched Joseph’s breathing even out, his body slack against the couch.
He didn’t say no.
He didn’t push away.
He just... let go.
I straightened slowly, my heart pounding—not with guilt, but with adrenaline.
"You’re just tired," I whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from my forehead. "You need rest."
I stood there for a long mont, watching him, searching his face for signs of doubt or rejection.
There were none.
My phone buzzed in her pocket.
I stepped away and answered quietly.
"Father."
"Is it done?" Mr. Jenkins asked.
I swallowed. "Yes."
"Good." His tone was calm, approving. "You understand what cos next."
I glanced back at Joseph, my grip tightening around the phone. "He’s slipping away from . I won’t let that happen."
"You’re doing what’s necessary," my father replied. "Once there’s a child, there will be no more uncertainty."
My jaw clenched.
"He’ll thank you one day," he continued. "n like him don’t know what they want until it’s decided for them."
The call ended.
I lowered the phone slowly, staring at Joseph once more.
For a brief, fleeting second, doubt flickered in my chest.
Then I rembered Yvette’s calm gaze.
Her strength.
The way Joseph had looked at her in the boardroom.
No.
I stepped closer, my expression hardening.
"If you won’t choose willingly," I murmured, "then I’ll make sure you never have to choose at all."
Outside, the city lights burned on—unaware, indifferent.
And sowhere deep within the quiet house, a line had been crossed.
One that could never be erased.
I had chosen the hotel herself.
Not the Hamilton Hotels.
Not Joseph’s private residence.
Another hotel.
Neutral ground—yet intimate enough. Anonymous enough. A place where no one would interrupt them, where everything could be controlled down to the smallest detail.
The room was on the twenty-eighth floor, a luxury suite overlooking the city lights. Warm lighting. Soft music. A table set for two near the window. The wine—imported, expensive, and prepared long before Joseph arrived.
I had rehearsed this night in my head countless tis.
Just one night, I told myself. Without any contraceptives.
Just one mistake. After that, everything will be settled.
Joseph arrived late, as usual.
"You didn’t have to book a hotel," he said mildly as he loosened his tie, glancing around the room.
I smiled, walking up to him and helping him remove his coat.
"I wanted sothing special," I said softly. "We barely spend ti together anymore."
Joseph didn’t respond. He only nodded.
That was fine.
Tonight, I didn’t need his words.
Dinner passed quietly. Too quietly.
I talked—about wedding plans, about venues I liked, about how my father wanted a spring wedding. Joseph listened, nodded, answered when prompted. His mind was elsewhere, but I forced myself to ignore it.
I poured the wine myself.
My hands trembled only slightly.
"To us," I said, lifting my glass.
Joseph raised his and took a sip.
Then another.
I watched closely as he drank more than usual, his movents gradually slowing, his gaze losing focus.
Good.
Too easy.
When Joseph leaned back in his chair, pressing a hand to his temple, I stood and walked to his side.
"Are you alright?" I asked, feigning concern.
"I... feel a little dizzy," Joseph muttered.
I helped him stand, guiding him toward the bed.
"That’s probably the wine. You’ve been working too hard."
He sat down heavily, head bowed.
This was it.
My heart pounded as I moved closer, sitting beside him. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pressing myself against him, breathing in his familiar scent.
"Joseph..." I whispered.
At first, he didn’t react.
Relief flooded her.
I leaned in closer—until suddenly—
Joseph’s body went rigid.
"No—"
His hand shot up, gripping my wrist with unexpected strength.
"Don’t," he said hoarsely.
I froze.
"What?" I whispered, stunned.
Joseph pulled away sharply, as if burned. His breathing beca uneven, his brows drawn together in pain and confusion.
"Yvette—" he murmured. "Don’t... don’t cry..."
Her na.
My blood ran cold.
"Joseph?" I said, panic creeping into her voice. "It’s . Dianne."
He shook his head violently, pressing his palms against his temples.
"No... I hurt her... I—"
His face twisted, anguish etched deep into his features. He turned away from , curling in on himself as if trying to escape my touch.
"Stop," he whispered. "Please... stop."
I felt as if I had been slapped.
He was rejecting .
Physically. Instinctively.
Even like this—half-conscious, drugged—his body was rejecting .
Tears welled in my eyes.
"This isn’t supposed to happen," I whispered, voice breaking. "You’re supposed to want ..."
But Joseph didn’t hear .
Or perhaps—he did, and chose not to.
Humiliated. Terrified. Furious.
I stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor.
I grabbed her purse, my hands shaking uncontrollably.
"I... I can’t do this," I sobbed.
Without looking back, I rushed out of the room, tears streaming down my face as the door slamd shut behind her.
Yvette’s POV
I hadn’t planned to be there.
I had been at the hotel for a late eting with a potential partner—one that ran longer than expected. By the ti I stepped out of the elevator, exhaustion weighed heavily on my shoulders.
That was when soone collided with .
"Oof—"
"I’m sorry!" I said instinctively, reaching out.
The woman didn’t respond.
I stumbled back, eyes red, face streaked with tears, hair disheveled as if she had run her fingers through it repeatedly.
The woman didn’t look at —didn’t even seem to register my presence—before hurrying away down the corridor.
But I had seen her face.
My heart sank.
Dianne.
Why was she here?
I turned slowly, my gaze following the direction Dianne had co from.
Room 2816.
An inexplicable unease crawled up my spine.
I hesitated.
It’s none of my business, I told myself.
And yet—
My feet moved on their own.
I stood before the door, staring at the number. The corridor was eerily quiet.
I knocked.
But there was no answer.
My heart pounded as she tried the handle.
Unlocked.
"Joseph?" I called softly as I stepped inside.
The room slled faintly of wine.
And sothing else.
My breath caught.
Joseph was on the bed.
His suit jacket had been discarded, his tie loosened. His face was flushed, his movents restless. He murmured incoherently, brows knitted in visible distress.
"Yvette..." he whispered.
My na.
I rushed to his side imdiately.
"Joseph?" I said, kneeling beside the bed. "Can you hear ?"
He turned his head slightly, eyes half-lidded and unfocused.
"Don’t leave..." he murmured. "Please..."
My chest tightened painfully.
I reached out, placing a cool hand against his forehead.
He was burning up.
My gaze flicked to the half-empty wine glass on the table.
Realization hit like a slap.
Drugged.
My hands trembled—but my resolve hardened.
"Alright," I whispered firmly. "I’m here. I’ve got you."
Joseph stirred slightly at my voice, his breathing gradually evening out as if recognizing my presence.
I stayed.
Not as a wife.
Not as a lover.
But as the one person who would not abandon him—again.
As the city lights flickered outside the window, I sat beside the bed, watching over him through the long, silent night.
Unaware that this single mont—
this interrupted sin—
had already changed the course of all their futures.
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