My Billionaire Fiancé Sent His Best Friend to Ruin Me

The bruises looked worse in daylight.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror in nothing but a towel. Three dark marks on my left breast. One under my collarbone. A fainter one on my ribs, shaped like his mouth.

Perfect.

I pressed my thumb into the one on my collarbone until it ached. Then I let my knees fold.

The towel hit the tile. So did I.

The first sob was fake. The second one surprised me. It tore up from somewhere low and ugly, and suddenly I was shaking for real. Maybe for the hotels. Maybe for the girl who used to believe Damian when he said sweetheart.

I crawled back to the bed and dragged the sheet over me, balling it in both fists.

Footsteps pounded in the hall.

"Nora?" Rhys shoved the door open, shirt half-buttoned, hair wrecked. "Nora, what happened? Are you hurt?"

"Don't." I yanked the sheet up to my chin. "Don't come near me."

He stopped dead in the doorway.

"Okay. Okay. I'm right here. I'm not moving."

"Look at me, Rhys." I let the sheet slip just enough to show the marks. "Look what I am."

His face went gray.

"I never wanted to hurt him," I whispered. "Never. I've been faithful to Damian for six years. Six years. And last night I just—I don't even know who that was."

"Nora—"

"I drank his scotch. I wore that dress. I sat at his table and I—" My voice cracked clean in half. "What kind of woman does that three days before her wedding?"

"A scared one." He took one careful step closer. "You said it yourself. Brides get scared."

"Scared doesn't spread her legs for her fiancé's best friend."

He flinched like I'd slapped him.

I buried my face in the pillow. When I spoke again, it came out flat and quiet. The quiet was the part that scared him. I watched it land.

"I don't want to be alive anymore, Rhys."

The room went silent.

Then the mattress dipped. He sat on the edge, not touching me, his hands clenched between his knees.

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that."

"Why not? It's true."

"Because it wasn't your fault." His voice dropped to a rasp. "You said no, Nora. You said we shouldn't. You said his name. You were crying, and I kept going."

I lifted my head slowly.

His jaw was locked tight, but his eyes were wet.

"I pushed you," he said. "That's on me. Not you."

For a moment I almost felt sorry for him. He really believed it. He thought he'd taken something from me.

"Then why did it happen?" I asked. "Why were you even here last night? Why did Damian send you to me?"

His mouth opened.

This was it. One sentence. Damian asked me to. One sentence, and maybe I'd forgive him for the rest.

He reached over and tucked the sheet higher around my shoulder, gentle as a nurse.

"He was busy. He didn't want you alone. That's all."

Something in my chest went very still.

"That's all," I repeated.

"Nora, I swear, I'll fix this. I'll talk to him. Nobody needs to—"

"Get out."

"Let me just—"

"I said get out, Rhys." I turned my face to the window. "Go tell my fiancé I'm fine. You're good at that."

He stood there long enough that I heard him breathe twice. Then the door closed.

I wiped my face with the corner of the sheet.

Fine. He'd had his chance.

---

Damian Wycliffe hated being kept waiting, so he arrived at the Calloway townhouse ten minutes early and let himself in.

Rhys was in the kitchen, sleeves shoved up, staring into a cup of coffee he hadn't touched.

"You didn't answer my texts." Damian dropped his keys on the counter. "I asked how it went. Simple question."

"It went."

"That's a terrible report."

Rhys turned around. His collar shifted.

Damian saw it. A red mark, just above the shirt line. Then another, lower, a scratch dragging down toward his chest.

The keys stopped jingling.

"What the fuck is that?"

Rhys glanced down. He didn't fix his collar. "What do you think it is?"

"I told you to keep her busy." Damian crossed the kitchen in three strides and grabbed his shirt. "I didn't tell you to fuck her."

"Didn't you?"

"I said distract her. Flirt. Get one picture, if it came to that. Not—" He jerked the collar wider. More marks. Nora's nails. "You touched her. You actually put your hands on her."

Rhys shoved him off, hard enough that Damian hit the counter.

"You're angry? You?" He laughed, short and mean. "You stood in your study and asked me to seduce your fiancée so you could take your girlfriend to the beach house. You were the one who wanted this, Damian. I just did the job."

"Watch your mouth."

"Or what? You'll fire me from being your friend?"

Damian straightened his jacket. When he spoke again, his voice was calm. Too calm.

"Listen carefully. Whatever happened last night stays in that apartment. And don't you dare fall for her."

"Why? Afraid she'd pick me?"

"Afraid you'd be stupid enough to think she might." He smiled thinly. "Nora's mine. The hotels are mine on Saturday. You were a tool, Rhys. Tools don't get feelings."

Rhys picked up his coffee, finally. Took a slow sip. His hand was steady.

"Funny. Where were you at midnight?"

"Working."

"In the Hamptons? With Selene?" He set the mug down. "You spent all night inside another woman, and now you're standing in my kitchen playing the loyal fiancé. Do you hear yourself?"

Damian's jaw flexed once.

"She cried," Rhys said quietly. "This morning. She said she didn't want to live. Over you. Over a man who'd already sold her to me for one weekend."

For a second, Damian looked almost uncertain.

Then he picked up his keys.

"She'll be fine by the rehearsal dinner. She always is." He walked to the door. "Keep your shirt buttoned tonight."

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the glass.

---

Selene was waiting in the backseat of his car when he came out, legs crossed, wearing his coat and apparently nothing under it.

"You look angry, baby."

"Drive," Damian told the driver, and raised the partition.

"Is it her?" Selene trailed a fingernail down his tie. "The little hotel princess?"

"Shut up."

He pulled her into his lap. The coat fell open. She was bare underneath, just like he'd guessed, and he dragged his mouth down her throat to her breast and bit hard enough to make her yelp.

"Fuck, Damian. Rough day?"

"Unzip me."

She did, quick and greedy, and wrapped her hand around his cock. He was already hard. He hated that he was already hard.

"Who are you thinking about?" she purred, stroking him slow. "Me? Or her?"

"Get on it, Selene."

She sank down onto him in one smooth, wet slide, moaning loud enough that the driver had to hear. Damian gripped her hips and slammed her down, over and over, the leather seat squeaking under them.

"Harder, baby. Fuck me like you mean it."

He did. He fucked her until she was clawing at his shoulders, until she came shuddering on his cock, and he followed with his face buried in her neck.

But the whole time, behind his closed eyes, he saw a red mark on Rhys's collarbone.

Selene laughed breathlessly and kissed his jaw. "Mm. You should be angry more often."

His phone buzzed against her thigh.

He fished it out.

Nora: Rehearsal dinner moved to six. I have a surprise for you. Bring Rhys.