Chapter 4 Silk And Smoke

Rowan had always known how to make her feel wanted. Not just wanted—owned. Worshipped in a way that blurred the line between pleasure and punishment. He made Elowen forget what day it was, who she was, and more dangerously… what he was hiding. And tonight, he used that weapon well. He came home earlier than usual. No phone calls, no distractions. Just him, a black button-down slightly unfastened, a bottle of their favorite Bordeaux, and a stare that made her legs press together. “You’re quiet lately,” he said as he stepped into the kitchen. “You’re busy,” she replied, stirring dinner. “I still see you.” She looked over her shoulder, eyebrow lifted. “Do you?” Rowan crossed the room and came up behind her, his hands sliding along her waist, then up beneath her blouse. His fingers were warm, demanding. He dipped his head to the side of her neck. “You’ve always been the only one in the room, El.” Liar, her heart hissed. But her body… betrayed her. When his hand moved lower, she shuddered. “Dinner will burn,” she breathed. “Let it,” he growled. He turned her around, hoisted her onto the counter with one smooth motion, and kissed her like he was starving. There was nothing soft about Rowan tonight. He tore her blouse open, buttons scattering across the marble floor. Her bra came next, pushed aside with little ceremony. His mouth was on her, possessive, consuming. “Mine,” he muttered. She moaned, legs parting as he sank to his knees. It was always like this—fast, hard, addictive. And when she came undone on his tongue, her body arching into him, her thoughts were a blur of silk and smoke. Later, they lay in bed. Rowan asleep, one hand draped over her hip. Elowen stared at the ceiling. She reached for her phone and opened their joint credit account—not something she typically checked. But curiosity had a way of creeping into the cracks of a quiet marriage. She scrolled past grocery stores and gas stations, business-class flights and hotel stays… until something stood out. Maison Sauvage – $7,100. L’Atelier Blanche – $3,500. Petale Noir Spa – $1,200. All in the same day. She blinked. Maison Sauvage was an exclusive designer boutique that only accepted high-profile clientele—she had one gown from there, a gift from Rowan before a gala two years ago. L’Atelier Blanche was a lingerie atelier in midtown… not her style, not her size. And Petale Noir? A luxury spa that only served women. Her heart thudded. These weren’t charges from her. Or for her. She tilted her head and looked at the man sleeping next to her. Rowan stirred slightly, then tucked her closer into his chest, like muscle memory. “El,” he murmured sleepily. “What’re you doing?” She forced calm into her voice. “Just scrolling. Couldn’t sleep.” “Come here,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Let me help.” And with that, his fingers slipped beneath her panties. Gentle. Soothing. Distracting. She let him touch her. Let him push her past suspicion and into euphoria. But even as she came again beneath his careful hands, the numbers stayed etched in her mind. $7,100. $3,500. $1,200. Elowen moaned into his mouth—knowing full well she was fucking her husband and still being lied to. The next morning, she took Cleo and her younger brother Elijah to the park. It was a rare sunny day. Cleo laughed wildly on the swings, her curls bouncing as she screamed for her brother to push harder. Elowen sat on a bench, coffee in hand, eyes hidden behind dark Chanel sunglasses. Her phone buzzed. Rhea. Elowen picked up with a soft smile. “Hey.” “You sound off,” Rhea said immediately. “Do I?” “You know you do. What’s up?” Elowen hesitated. “If I tell you, promise not to go full lawyer mode on me?” “I’ll try,” Rhea said. “No promises though. Spill.” “I think… something’s off with Rowan.” A pause. “Like cheating off?” Elowen swallowed. “I don’t know. I found some charges. Fancy stores. Spa for women. Not my style. Not my name on the bill.” “Damn,” Rhea muttered. “I want to believe it’s for a client. A gift for someone at work. Maybe a business favor.” “But you don’t believe that.” “No.” Another pause. “You want me to dig?” Elowen shook her head, even though Rhea couldn’t see her. “Not yet.” “You think you’ll find something?” “I think if I look too close,” Elowen said slowly, “I might break.” Rhea didn’t push. She never did. “Okay,” she said. “But if the time comes, I’m ready.” Elowen smiled faintly. “I know.” They hung up. From the swings, Cleo waved at her. “Mommy! Look how high!” Elowen waved back, heart aching. Because her daughter still believed in fairy tales. And she was living in one that was starting to rot at the edges.