Page 61 of Misconducts & Temptation

"You ruined everything," my father seethed, his face turning a deep shade of red. "I'm going to have to find a lawyer, get this whole thing annulled?—"

"I ain't annulling my marriage," I cut in, taking a drag. "I told you. I won't marry Lola. That bitch betrayed me."

"So fucking what, Keaton," he snapped back. "Like you aren't going to cheat on this girl."

I clenched my teeth; the smoke filling my lungs with a familiar burn. In truth, I had no plans to do that, but it wasn't as though he would believe me anyway, so I decided not to say anything.

"Regardless," I continued, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I made my choice. I settled down, just like you wanted."

"And how does this help our family?" he demanded, his voice rising with each word. "Tell me why I shouldn't cut you out."

"Because I married someone, didn't I?" I shot back.

"She could be a gold digger for all we know!" he bellowed.

"She's not," I said flatly.

"And how could you possibly know that?" His eyes narrowed into slits.

"I just do." I took another drag of my cigarette, savoring the brief silence.

He scoffed, but said nothing.

"Cut me off, Dad," I said finally. "Fine. Do it. But my decision is done. Elodie is my wife. And I'm not just going to dump her because you dump me."

He shook his head in disbelief. "And what do you know about being a husband?"

"Jack shit," I admitted, stubbing out the cigarette on his pristine desk without caring about the burn mark it left behind. "But I'm not a coward. So do whatever you want. I don't give a shit. I'm just glad I didn't marry Lola."

I turned on my heel and walked toward the door.

"This isn't over, Keaton," he drawled behind me.

But I kept walking, leaving his threats and anger behind as I stepped back into the hallway. My wife had to get to class, and I had to be the one to take her.

Chapter 19

Elodie

Alone in Keaton's room, I started to pull on my school uniform I had changed out of before our wedding. It was wrinkled, but I didn't care. The skirt felt like a second skin, its familiar fabric comforting compared to the strangeness around me.

I glanced around the room, taking in my new surroundings. The walls were painted a deep, calming blue, almost like the ocean just before it swallows the sun. Shelves lined one side, filled with books and trophies—hockey awards, mostly—shiny reminders of Keaton's prowess on the ice. A large window allowed sunlight to pour in, casting long shadows across the floorboards.

A massive bed sat against the far wall, neatly made with crisp white linens. The headboard was dark wood, matching the other furniture in the room. A desk cluttered with papers and an expensive-looking laptop occupied one corner. Beside it stood a small table with framed photographs. Curiosity tugged at me, but I resisted the urge to look closer.

This was my new home now. I wasn't sure what to make of it, to be honest. The opulence was overwhelming, almost suffocating compared to my modest bedroom back at my stepmother's house. The air here smelled clean and slightly floral, so different from the faint mustiness of my old attic room.

I sighed and smoothed down my uniform as best as I could, trying to push away the sense of unease that gnawed at me.

I ran my fingers through my hair, the strands still slightly tangled from the night's events. My gaze drifted to the bed, and I noticed a small, dark stain on the otherwise pristine white sheets. My face burned with embarrassment, but I couldn't deny the curiosity bubbling up inside me.

Memories of what Keaton and I had done last night flashed through my mind. I could still feel the soreness in my body, a lingering reminder of our intense encounter. Despite the awkwardness, a part of me admitted that I had liked it—more than liked it.

Just as I was lost in thought, the door swung open and Keaton walked in. His sharp features were drawn tight with frustration, his piercing blue eyes almost stormy.

"Let's go," he said gruffly, not meeting my eyes.

I quickly grabbed my bag and followed him out of the room. The tension between us was palpable as we walked through the hallway, passing paintings and antique vases that looked too expensive to even touch.

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