Page 12 of The Hotel Room

This can’t be happening. It has to be some mistake.

But the moans were getting louder.

And deep down, Kate knew. There was no mistake.

Another sound—a deep groan from James, unmistakable and familiar and primal—ripped her from the haze.

A prickling heat flushed beneath her skin, her pulse pounding so loud in her ears it drowned out the sound of voices beyond the door.

If she stayed here any longer, she woulddie.

Or at least, it felt that way—like her body was winding tighter and tighter, adrenaline flooding her veins, urging her tomove, todo something.

Her clothes were in the main room. The room wherehe was now, with someone else. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Her hand curled tighter around the doorknob, fingers trembling, the metal cold and unforgiving beneath her clammy palm. Her chest felt tight, too tight, like the air had turned solid in her lungs.

She pushed the door open.

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The room was well-lit. Almosttoobright, the soft golden glow meant to feel luxurious now felt harsh, exposing every inch of the scene before her. It was sparsely furnished—clean lines, neutral tones—leaving nothing to distract her, nothing to block her view of the bed.

The bed wherehewas.

Her mind kept scrambling for an explanation, anything that made sense, but there was only this—the brutal reality of skin, movement, betrayal.

The plush carpet pressed against her bare feet, grounding her in the worst way, as if her body refused to let her float away from this moment.

James wouldn’t do this.He wouldn’t. Except he was. Right there. In front of her eyes.

His body pumping up under another woman. Brunette. Curvy. She was riding him. His legs flexed, pushing himself into her again and again. Her head was tipped back, her nails digging into his chest. Her heavy breasts moved in counterpoint to the rhythm of their hips. His hands,James’s hands, were on her hips, moving her up and down.

Every sound felt amplified—the cartoonish squeaking of the mattress spring, the sharp gasps from the woman, the low, broken sound James made as he—

A visceral ache spread through Kate’s chest. The pain wasn’t sharp. It was an aching, suffocating weight on her chest she couldn’t lift.

His fingers were pressed into the woman’s fleshy hips and Kate stared at them. He wasn’t wearing his wedding ring.

Kate felt lightheaded, like the room was tilting beneath her feet. She felt…disconnected. Maybe her mind was protecting her, dulling the sharp edges of what she was seeing because the truth was too unbearable to fully process. Or maybe her brain was broken.

Something inside her had been ripped open, raw and exposed, bleeding out where no one could see.

She pulled her eyes away from his naked ring finger, although it took effort. It was like blinking after looking at the sun. The afterimage was superimposed on her vision.

Her eyes skittered away from where their hips were slapping together. She looked at his face instead. He was staring at the woman’s breasts. His mouth open and panting.

She knew his face better than her own. But this was like looking at a stranger. It was vulgar. Disgusting.

And then his eyes met hers.

Shock rippled across his face, horror replacing pleasure so fast it was almost comical. His entire body went rigid, like he’d been physically struck.

“Kate?” His voice cracked. “What—”

The woman above him gasped, twisting to see what he was looking at.

James roughly pushed the woman off him, and Kate didn’t want to look but she couldn’t stop herself. His hard, ruddy cock, encased in a condom, wet from her body.

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