Page 84 of Misconducts & Temptation

He rolled his eyes, dismissing my words. "Stop," he muttered. "You don't mean it."

I tightened the last bandage and looked him square in the eye. "Quite frankly, you don't get to tell me what I do and what I don't mean," I replied, my voice steady. "I already know you have teams looking into you. Keaton, you're… you're amazing. Don't you realize that?"

In an instant, he yanked his hand away from mine. "What would you know about it?" he snapped. "You don't know me. Just because we fucked a few times doesn't mean shit, little girl. Fuck, are you really that easy? One or two times and you suddenly care? Fuck off with that."

His words cut deep, but I refused to let them see how much they hurt. He stormed toward the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.

"Out," he snapped.

And then he was gone, leaving me alone in the room with nothing but my thoughts and the lingering echo of his anger.

I blinked away the tears that threatened to spill, my heart pounding painfully in my chest. Was he right? Was I really that easy? The words echoed in my mind, slashing deeper than I wanted to admit. I forced myself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me.

A gentle knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. Thinking it was Keaton coming back, maybe to apologize, I called out, "Come in."

But it wasn’t him.

Lola stood there, framed by the doorway. She was every bit as stunning as I remembered, her black hair cascading in perfect waves over her shoulders. She wore a dress that clung to her curves just right, making her look like she belonged in a high-end fashion magazine. Her blue eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and pity as she looked at me.

"I couldn't help but overhear your fight," she said, stepping into the room with an air of confidence that made my skin crawl.

My face burned with embarrassment and anger. I hated the way she looked at me, both knowingly and with pity. It felt like she was dissecting every vulnerable part of me and finding it lacking.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice harsher than I intended.

Lola shrugged gracefully, a small smirk playing on her lips. "Just thought I'd check on you. You look pretty upset."

"Well, I'm fine," I snapped, crossing my arms defensively over my chest.

She took another step closer; her gaze never leaving mine. "You know," she said, almost conspiratorially, "Keaton has a way of getting under people's skin. Don't take it personally."

"Don't take it personally?" I repeated incredulously. "How can I not?"

She tilted her head slightly, as if considering my question. "Because that's just who he is," she replied with a shrug. "He's always been like that—pushing people away before they can get too close."

I bit back a retort and turned away from her, focusing on the window instead. The last thing I needed was advice from Lola of all people.

"I don't need your pity," I muttered.

Lola sighed softly and took a step back. "It's not pity," she said. "It's just... understanding."

I glanced at her over my shoulder, searching for any hint of sincerity in her expression. But all I saw was that same infuriating mix of amusement and pity.

"Whatever," I mumbled.

Her smirk widened as she sauntered closer, her heels clicking on the polished floor. “You know, Keaton and I go way back,” she began, her voice dripping with a mix of nostalgia and disdain. “I’ve seen every side of him—especially that temper of his. Volatile doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

I clenched my jaw, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing me ruffled. “What’s your point?”

“My point is,” she continued, leaning against the bedpost with a casual grace that belied the venom in her words, “you don’t have to put up with it. I wouldn’t blame you if you found someone... more stable.” Her eyes glinted as she spoke, clearly enjoying the little game she was playing.

I made a face, feeling a surge of anger. “I would never cheat on my husband.”

She laughed, a cold, sharp sound that echoed in the room. “Oh, Elodie. You’re so... quaint. Caring about a man like Keaton? It’s almost sweet in a pathetic sort of way.”

Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself. “I don’t care what anyone thinks,” I said firmly. “I do care about him. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

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