Page 164 of Sinful Games

Caia

"I don’t know, Caia. He seems a bit… dangerous. Don’t get me wrong, he’s sexy as hell. I’ve never been into blue-eyed men, but Lord, I’d break all my rules for that one."

I laughed softly. "Steven, he’s my ex-husband. Trust me, there’snothinggay about him. And believe me, he’s the only one I feel... safe with."

It was true.

Despite everything, Alexsei was the one person I trusted above all others. That’s why I was lying here, under the covers of his guest bed, feeling better than I had in weeks. Being in his space, breathing in the faint smell of his colognethat still lingered in the air, settled something in me. Like an anchor in a storm.

Who knew that hiding out at your ex’s place could be this comforting? Maybe I should start a new trend:‘Ex-Husband Therapy—Guaranteed to Keep the Crazies Away.’

Steven sighed dramatically through the phone. "Well, that’s a bummer for me. But guess what? The Gregs left you a killer review on the website this morning. They practically crowned you the supreme wedding photographer of New York! According to them, your photos made Meghan and Harry’s wedding look like it was shot by some bumbling paparazzi. You’ve officially outshined royalty!"

"Stop!" I gasped, feeling heat creep into my cheeks. "No way!"

The Gregs were practically Manhattan royalty themselves. Liam and Katie Gregs, heirs to their respective family empires—one in oil, the other in cosmetics—were the epitome of young, entitled success. Despite their barely mid-twenties status, they lived in an Upper East Side mansion that screamed "old money." And yet, somehow, they turned out to be the most pleasant clients I’d had in ages.

Wealth changes people. It breeds this quiet superiority, a delightful belief that you’re above everyone else. Navigating the entitled elite, dodging their sharp remarks and judgmental stares, feels like a tightrope act—except there’s no safety net.

I’d sworn off weddings once because of it—the subtle jabs and the unbearable condescension. But when Steven begged me to take the Gregs' wedding, I rolled my eyes and caved.

And I’m glad I did.

Their wedding, set against the breathtaking backdrop of Tulum, Mexico, was something out of a fairytale. They flew me in early, making sure I had time to unwind and enjoythe beach. They were warm, welcoming—actual human beings, which was a rare find among the Upper East Side crowd.

The wedding itself? It was a dream.

The beach was transformed—white roses and peonies everywhere, rows of perfectly arranged chairs, and a stunning canopy of pearls and lace. The aisle stretched out toward the horizon, the ocean crashing softly in the background, the sun casting a golden glow over everything.

It was the kind of wedding that only exists in movies.

I captured every moment, but there was one that stood out above the rest.

As the bride made her way down the aisle, she and the groom locked eyes. There was something unspoken between them, something that needed no words. Their hands met, and it was like the rest of the world disappeared—just the two of them in their own bubble of love.

That picture became my favorite of the entire day. It wasn’t just the pose; it was the feeling. You could almost touch the love between them.

At the reception, the vibe shifted—drinks flowed, people danced, and laughter filled the air. The couple radiated joy, their smiles impossible to contain.

Watching them, I found myself pausing.

When was the last time I felt that kind of simple, pure happiness?

Then it hit me—the morning of the day my son was taken from me.

That was the last time I was genuinely happy.

I remember waking up that day with Alexsei spooning me, his body a warm shield against the morning chill. He kissed the back of my neck, his lips soft and teasing. I laughed when he tickled me, turning to kiss him back as our bodies tangledtogether, skin on skin. Those mornings—waking up beside him, feeling safe and loved—were my favorite moments.

After a while, he’d slip out of bed to get Lukyan, and I’d pull on one of his oversized T-shirts, waiting for them to come back. Then we’d all snuggle up—Lukyan nestled between us, Alexsei’s arm draped over me.

That was happiness.

True happiness.

Just hours before my world shattered.

My stomach tightened at the memory, a familiar ache rising in my chest. But, as if sensing the shift in my mood, Steven rescued me with his bubbly voice.

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