Page 14 of Tempted By Eden

Bring it on.

Chapter nine

Cora

Iwake with astart, disoriented. For a brief moment, I don’t know where I am. My entire body feels sore, the kind of deep, satisfying fatigue that follows an intense workout—or a marathon fuck-fest.

Groaning, I roll over and squint at the clock on the nightstand. Almost three in the morning. I sigh and glance at the man beside me, his chest rising and falling peacefully in sleep.

What a night.

A slow smile creeps across my lips as vivid flashes of his hands exploring my body flood my mind; the way we moved through positions—from the wall to the shower, then the couch. No wonder I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. It’s been five years since I’ve been fucked like this.

And with that thought, reality crashes back in.

Right before we passed out from exhaustion, he had the audacity to ask my name.My fucking name.I was too tired to care then, but now, with the haze of sleep gone, the anger hits like a blow that knocks the wind from my lungs.

He doesn’t remember me. All these years, I’ve clung to the memory of that night—the way he looked at me, the connection we had. I replayed it over and over in my mind, convinced that if we ever met again, he’d remember me the way I remembered him.

Stupid, Cora. So fucking stupid.

This man is wealthy enough to afford a membership at Eden, spending exorbitant amounts of money on sex while I’m struggling to keep my family afloat. The thought makes me sick. My ego isn’t bruised—it’s crushed. The last thing I want is for him to know about my son.

I can’t lie here a second longer. I flick the blanket off and tiptoe to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The reflection staring back at me in the mirror is a wreck. My hair is a wild mess, dark circles ring my eyes, and my lips are swollen from his kisses. Kisses that feel more like bruises now.

I exhale loudly, trying to gather my thoughts, but panic begins to creep in again, squeezing the air out of my lungs.

I have to get out of here. I quickly use the bathroom, splash some water on my face, and slip back into the room. He hasn’t moved an inch.

As I head toward the door, something catches my eye—his suit pants, crumpled on the floor, with his wallet peeking out of the back pocket. I freeze, my fingers twitching.

Should I?

I glance at the bed, my heart pounding so hard it might explode. Without fully processing what I’m doing, I bend down and grab the wallet, the buttery leather soft in my hand. I open it quickly—no ID, no credit cards, no business cards. Just condoms and cash. A lot of cash. Probably around a grand.

Who carries this much cash these days?

Will he even miss it?

I close my eyes and take a breath. Then, before I can stop myself, I snatch the cash, scrunching it in my palm. My stomach twists, but I ignore it. I need this more than he does. I know it’s wrong. But survival doesn’t care about right and wrong.

I need to get out of here.

I dress in record time at my locker, my hands shaking as I button up my blouse. At security, I grab my phone, trying to act casual, but the tell-tale flush of guilt crawls up my neck.

“Is everything okay, Cora?” Rob asks, his eyes full of concern.

“Yes! Yes, everything’s fine,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Actually… no, it’s not. My son was sick today, so I need to leave early.” The words spill out so easily, but I know he sees right through me. He doesn’t say a word, just hands me my phone and asks if I need a taxi.

I shake my head. “I’ll just order a rideshare. Thanks, though,” I mumble, desperate to escape.

I burst through the door and down the driveway as fast as my shaky legs can carry me, which isn’t very fast. A sharp, gnawing pain grips my stomach, making me lightheaded. I’m dizzy—the adrenaline that’s been building all night finally breaks over me. Thoughts of Jonathon’s dark eyes—the same shade as Leo’s—rush through my mind, and the stolen cash burns a hole in my purse.

I stumble to the edge of the driveway and throw up in the bushes, the bitter taste of regret clinging to my tongue.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and stay crouched for a moment. My body is heavy, like I’m carrying the burden of every bad decision I’ve ever made. It’s not just about tonight—about the man sleeping in that bed, blissfully unaware that I stole from him. It’s everything that led me to this moment: Mom’s death, Leo, the tangled mess of my career, Dad’s illness. It all comes crashing down around me.

How did I get here? I used to have everything—respect, a career, a reputation. I loved the late nights, the client dinners, the hours spent crafting the perfect media spin. But it all disappeared in an instant, unraveling the moment Sinclair’s scandal hit the newsstands. One PR nightmare and suddenly I was the collateral, chewed up and spat out by the industry I’d fought so hard to conquer.

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