Spellbound by Her

Three years into our marriage, Rylan Shaw brings another woman home.

"Maeve, you should learn from the younger ladies. Stop acting like a block of wood all the time."

With a calm resolve, I shatter our wedding photo and hand him the divorce papers I've long prepared. "Let's get divorced, Rylan. I'll step aside for her," I declare.

His friends insist that without him, I'll starve on the streets. Rylan believes the same.

"Once she's suffered enough out there, she'll realize how lucky she was to be Mrs. Shaw."

But a week passes, then a month—and I never return.

That's when Rylan begins to grow uneasy. Panic and restless nights consume him.

One evening, drunk and desperate, he pounds on the door of my new apartment.

"Maeve, if it's money you want, I'll give it all to you…"

The door swings open to reveal an unfamiliar man—bare-chested, pajama pants hanging low, fresh scratches streaking his abdomen.

Jonah Archer arches a brow, dissatisfaction flickering in his eyes as he asks, "Mr. Shaw, what madness brings you to my wife's door in the middle of the night?"

At a private club atop Auriel Peak, Rylan Shaw always reserved the most luxurious and discreet penthouse suite for himself, year-round.

I slipped off my coat and draped it over my arm. Steadying myself, I pushed open the intricately carved double doors and caught sight of him immediately.

His silver gray shirt hung half-unbuttoned, his tie long gone. A young woman perched on his lap, feeding him peeled grapes.

He brushed her aside with a languid hand, though his expression betrayed amusement at the game.

"Oh! Mrs. Shaw's here!"

"Come on in, Mrs. Shaw!" someone called, rising to their feet when they noticed me.

The young woman flinched, trying to slip off his lap, but Rylan held her firmly in place. "Stay here."

She shot me a nervous glance, her face paling as she realized she was trapped.

Rylan smiled lazily. "Who exactly are you calling Mrs. Shaw? She's right here, sitting on my lap."

The room fell into a stunned silence; everyone was suddenly rendered mute and unsure how to proceed.

"Rylan," I said softly, but he closed his eyes, dismissing me.

As the silence stretched on, someone tried to smooth things over. "Uh, come in and take a seat. Rylan's had too much to drink. He's probably not sober."

"No need. I just have something to say before I leave." I drew a deep breath and stepped forward.

Rylan finally opened his eyes, his gaze cold and detached. "Here for money again? How much this time? A hundred thousand? Two hundred? Or maybe a million?"

The room plunged into silence.

For a moment, I wanted to turn and walk away, but my last shred of dignity held me still.

I lowered my gaze and stared at my feet. My throat tightened, and my voice came out raw. "Martin's not doing well. He was just rushed to the ICU, and they need 300,000 dollars."