Chapter 4 The First Betrayal

# Chapter 4: The First Betrayal

Morning came with merciless brightness, sunlight streaming through the windows I'd forgotten to close. I woke alone, my head pounding from the wine, but my body still humming from Callum's touch. For a moment, I wondered if I had dreamed the whole encounter—the kisses on the terrace, his whispered confessions, the way we'd moved together in the moonlight.

But the evidence was there: two wine glasses on the bedside table, the faint scent of his cologne on my sheets, and the memory of his mouth on my skin—hot, demanding, reverent.

Shame flooded me as reality set in. I had betrayed Thomas, a man who had shown me nothing but kindness and respect. And with his son, no less. The magnitude of our transgression hit me like a physical blow, and I buried my face in my hands.

"Good morning." Callum's voice came from the terrace doorway. He leaned against the frame, already dressed in linen pants and a white shirt, looking impossibly composed. "I thought you might need this." He held out a cup of coffee.

I pulled the sheet higher, suddenly aware of my nakedness. "You shouldn't be here."

"A bit late for that, wouldn't you say?" He approached the bed, setting the coffee on the nightstand. "You weren't complaining last night."

The casual arrogance in his tone sparked my anger. "Last night was a mistake. It can't happen again."

Callum sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that I could feel the heat of him. "Is that what you really want?"

No, it wasn't. That was the terrible truth. Despite the guilt crushing my chest, part of me wanted to pull him back into bed, to lose myself in him again.

"What I want doesn't matter," I said instead. "I made vows to your father."

"Vows," he echoed, his expression darkening. "To a man who left you on your vacation to chase another business deal. Who married you but keeps you at arm's length. Who—"

"Stop," I interrupted. "Thomas loves me."

Callum's laugh was bitter. "He loves the idea of you—the beautiful young wife who makes him feel vital again. But he doesn't see you, Juliette. Not like I do."

His hand moved to my cheek, and despite my resolve, I leaned into his touch. "This is wrong," I whispered.

"Then why does it feel so right?" he countered, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "Tell me to leave, and I will."

I should have. God knows I should have. But the words wouldn't come.

"That's what I thought," he murmured, and then his mouth was on mine again, and I was lost.

Later, we sat in a small café in the nearby village, far from the prying eyes of the villa staff. Callum had insisted we get away from the estate for a few hours, and I'd agreed, desperate for space to think. But even here, surrounded by strangers, the air between us was charged with unspoken desires and the weight of our secret.

"What happens now?" I asked, cradling my espresso.

Callum's eyes met mine over his cup. "That depends on you."

"On me?"

"Do you go back to playing the dutiful wife, pretending last night never happened? Or do you admit what's between us is more than just physical attraction?"

His directness startled me. "We've known each other for three months, Callum. Most of that time, you've been hostile or cryptic."

"Because I've been fighting this," he gestured between us. "From the moment I saw you with him, I knew I was in trouble. You were supposed to be just another of his diversions—pretty, temporary, forgettable. But you weren't. You aren't."

The raw honesty in his voice made my heart race. "What do you want from me?"

His hand found mine across the table. "Meet me tonight. There's a hotel in Florence—private, discreet. We'll have dinner, talk properly without the shadow of the Ashford name hanging over us."

"Thomas returns tonight," I reminded him.

"He'll be late. He always is." There was a bitterness in his tone that spoke of years of disappointment. "Just for dinner. If you decide afterward that this—us—is truly a mistake, I'll respect that. We'll go back to being polite strangers under the same roof."

I knew I should refuse. But the thought of never touching him again, of returning to the lonely orbit of Thomas's busy life, made my chest ache. "Just dinner," I agreed, already knowing I was lying to myself.

The hotel was elegant but understated, tucked away on a quiet Florentine side street. The kind of place that catered to people with secrets. Callum had reserved a suite rather than just a room—a fact I noted but didn't comment on as the bellhop led us upstairs.

Dinner was served on the suite's private balcony, the lights of Florence spread before us like scattered gems. We talked—really talked—for the first time. About art, literature, our childhoods, our dreams. I learned that Callum had wanted to be an architect before his father insisted he join the family business. He learned that my parents died when I was in college, leaving me alone in the world except for a distant aunt who rarely called.

"Is that why you married him?" Callum asked as we shared a bottle of Brunello. "For security? Family?"

I considered the question honestly. "Partly, perhaps. Thomas offered stability, yes. But it was more than that. He respected my mind, valued my opinions. He made me feel seen in a way no one had before."

Callum's jaw tightened. "And now?"

"Now... I feel like an ornament. A beautiful addition to his collection." I traced the rim of my wine glass. "When we first met, we'd talk for hours about art, philosophy, everything. Now he's always working, always distracted."

"That's who he is," Callum said softly. "He conquers—businesses, art, women—and once the thrill of acquisition fades, he moves on to the next challenge."

"And you?" I asked. "Are you so different? Am I just a conquest to you too—exciting because I'm forbidden?"

He reached across the table, taking my hand and turning it palm up. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed a kiss to my wrist where my pulse beat wildly.

"You're not a conquest," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "You're my reckoning."

Later, tangled in the hotel sheets, my body still trembling from his touch, I watched as Callum moved around the room, pouring us both a glass of water. His body was all lean muscle and elegant lines, confident in his nakedness in a way that made my mouth go dry.

"What are we doing, Callum?" I asked, the weight of our actions settling over me once more.

He returned to the bed, handing me the water before sliding in beside me. "We're being honest, finally. With ourselves and each other."

I rested my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "Thomas will be back tonight."

"I know." His fingers traced idle patterns on my bare shoulder. "From now on, your marriage is just a shell. You know that, don't you?"

The bluntness of his statement should have offended me, but it only resonated with a truth I'd been avoiding. My marriage to Thomas had been cooling for months, long before Callum and I crossed this line.

"I can't just leave him," I said. "It would destroy him."

Callum's laugh was without humor. "My father is indestructible. He'd be embarrassed, perhaps. His pride would be wounded. But destroyed? No."

"You don't know that."

"I know him better than anyone," Callum countered. "Including you."

We lay in silence for a while, the reality of our situation hanging between us.

"We should go back," I said eventually, though I made no move to leave the warmth of his arms.

He kissed my forehead, then my cheek, then found my mouth in a kiss that reignited the embers of desire. "Soon," he murmured against my lips.

We were so lost in each other that we didn't hear the first ring of my phone. Only when it started again, insistent, did I pull away to answer.

"Hello?" My voice was breathless.

"Juliette, darling." Thomas's voice sent a jolt of guilt through me. "I've just landed. The meeting went wonderfully—we closed the deal. I should be back at the villa in about an hour."

I sat up abruptly, clutching the sheet to my chest. "An hour? I thought you weren't coming until later tonight."

"I wanted to surprise you," he said, sounding pleased with himself. "Are you and Callum at the villa? Mrs. Rossi said you both went out."

Callum was watching me intently, his hand resting possessively on my thigh. "Um, yes, we went into town for lunch. We're... we're on our way back now."

"Excellent! I'll see you soon, my dear. I've missed you."

The call ended, and I stared at the phone in horror. "He's on his way back to the villa. We have to go. Now."

We dressed in frantic silence, all the languid pleasure of the afternoon evaporating in the face of potential discovery. The drive back was tense, both of us lost in our own thoughts. As we approached the villa, Callum finally spoke.

"This changes nothing, you know. What's between us—it's real. We can't just ignore it."

I looked out at the Tuscan landscape, so beautiful and yet now the backdrop to my betrayal. "We have to try."

Thomas was waiting when we arrived, his face lighting up at the sight of me. He pulled me into an embrace, kissing me deeply, while over his shoulder, I caught Callum's eyes—dark with jealousy and something that looked dangerously like possession.

"You both look flushed," Thomas remarked. "Too much sun?"

"Something like that," Callum replied, his voice perfectly controlled despite the storm I could see brewing in his gaze. "How was Milan, Father? Successful, I take it?"

Thomas launched into the details of his business deal as we moved into the villa's cool interior. I excused myself to freshen up, needing a moment alone to compose myself.

In the privacy of my bathroom, I stared at my reflection—lips still swollen from Callum's kisses, a small mark on my neck that I'd need to conceal. What had I become? A liar. An adulteress. The very thing I'd always despised.

A soft knock at the door startled me. I opened it to find Callum, his expression unreadable.

"You left this in the car," he said, holding out my sunglasses. But as I reached for them, he caught my wrist, pulling me closer.

"Don't you dare regret us," he whispered fiercely.

"Callum, please," I begged. "Your father is just downstairs."

His eyes flashed with a dangerous light. "Yes, with your lipstick on his mouth while my marks are on your body. Tell me, Juliette, whose taste do you prefer?"

Before I could answer, we heard Thomas's footsteps on the stairs. Callum released me and stepped back, his expression transforming into one of casual indifference just as Thomas appeared in the hallway.

"There you both are," Thomas said cheerfully, oblivious to the tension crackling between us. "I thought we might all have dinner on the terrace tonight. It's such a lovely evening."

"Sounds perfect, Father," Callum replied smoothly, though I could see the scratch marks my nails had left on his back as he turned to go, a visible reminder of our afternoon that Thomas, thankfully, couldn't see.

I was trapped between two Ashford men—one I had vowed to honor, the other I couldn't seem to resist. And as I followed them downstairs, I knew with terrible certainty that this was only the beginning of our entanglement.