Chapter 1

Chapter One

“ J une, dear. Calm down,” I state, trying to stop my daughter’s sobs I hear through the phone.

“How am I supposed to calm down when I know Dad is going to freak out again when I get home this weekend?” Her desperate sniffling reaches my ears.

Yes, her father is too strict, that’s for sure. He demands absolute perfection from her, as well as from himself and everyone else around him. Everything has to be perfect. No one is allowed to step out of line, and everything has to go according to plan. Just as he has unequivocally determined that our nineteen-year-old daughter will study law, just as he did. Whether or not it’s her wish is irrelevant.

I disapprove of his perfectionism, but I also live according to a certain plan—at least since my unplanned pregnancy at the age of seventeen and Thomas’s marriage proposal. After that, my life has been straightforward, and I’m not complaining.

Why should I?

After all, I have what others can only dream of. I have a handsome and successful husband, a beautiful, healthy, and intelligent daughter, and an extravagant house where I can use my interior design skills. That’s how I found my dream job—after feeling uncertain about what to do with my life when June started kindergarten, designing our home gave me the outlet I needed.

Thomas supported me and sponsored the start of my small agency. It went exceptionally well for the first few years, and I had many commissions… But now I work three days a week as a secretary in Thomas’s office. It’s the right call for us. That way, I’m close to my husband, I can look after him and all his needs during working hours—at least on those mornings I’m working—and I don’t have to worry about someone else doing it for me…

“I will cook his favorite meal tomorrow. That will calm him down, and then we’ll explain it together in peace. Agreed, dear?”

“Okay,” she mumbles into the phone.

After I give her another pep-talk, we say our goodbyes and hang up.

Sighing, I lean against my black granite countertop, on which I have spent countless hours preparing food for my family, and look out the window, lost in thought.

My mind is racing, but not about anything important. What should a woman like me have to worry about? Except for the lawn not being green enough, the pool not being big enough, and the white Porsche Cayenne not being clean enough. After all, I’m happy…

I spend the afternoon keeping the house tidy. Thomas has offered to hire a maid several times, but I don’t want a strange woman in my home. I don’t want her taking care of my dirt, my stains, and the creases in my sheets. Those are the only worries I have— am allowed to have —because that’s all I’m entitled to as the wife of a successful and wealthy lawyer. At least if you listen to society.

Things look very different inside me, but I don’t want to complain. So, I decide to swim in the pool as a distraction.

I push my Gucci sunglasses up my nose, put on my big black sun hat, and grab my novel on the way to the garden while I pull my silk robe over my white bikini with my other hand. As I walk to the loungers under the large cherry tree, the lush green grass tickles my bare feet. In spring, this is one of my favorite spots. It is breathtakingly beautiful, with delicate pink blossoms in full bloom. But now, in mid-August, it provides pleasant shade in the heat.

I love our garden. It’s my little oasis of peace. The sea of flowers and the pavilion with rose vines climbing up it, located at the back of our garden—how often have I sat there reading a book or gazing at the starry sky? I’ve lost count.

Of course, the perfect garden would not be complete without a hot tub and my husband’s barbecue area. The stone oven and Weber grill, the outdoor kitchen, and the high-quality wicker furniture on the terrace create a flawless setting for barbecues with our friends and family.

After putting my things down on the lounger, I walk to the pool. I slowly descend the stairs. The cold water carefully fights along my smooth thighs, climbing up to my bottom until it reaches my hips. Then I push myself off and start swimming.

Leisurely yet tirelessly, I swim my laps. My wedding ring weighs heavily on my finger. I never take it off. Thomas doesn’t want that. He always wants people to see that I’m taken. That I belong to him. So, of course, I comply with his request.

After a while, my arms begin to tremble from exhaustion, so I decide to complete one final lap. Midway through the pool, I stop and glance at our house. A sudden wave of horror washes over me, flooding my mind with unsettling images that seize my entire consciousness. Struggling to calm myself, I cease my strokes and drift weightlessly through the water, sinking deeper. It feels almost like flying, as if I were free.

I stay underwater until the urge to breathe becomes overwhelming. Despite my body’s clear signals, I linger beneath the surface, allowing myself to sink to the bottom and wait. The sunlight dances on the water’s surface, refracting into a thousand sparkling crystals. Beautiful. Peaceful. Infinite…

My thoughts come to a complete standstill. The tormenting images that haunt me daily dissolve, leaving only a profound sense of peace and emptiness.

But a shadow at the pool’s edge snaps me out of my peace. I push off the bottom with my feet and resurface. My first breath is deep, causing my lungs to sting and making me cough violently as I exhale. Hastily, I wipe my face and push my hair aside to clear my vision.

“Are you all right, Miss?” I hear a smoky male voice behind me, which doesn’t belong to my husband or the gardener.

I quickly turn toward him, swimming in place with light leg movements. My breath catches briefly when I see the stranger’s appearance. Bare-chested, he stands at the edge and looks down at me. A light layer of sweat glistens on his broad, clean-shaven, and fully tattooed chest, highlighting the most pronounced abdominal muscles I’ve ever seen. His strong, vein-covered, and tattooed arms add to his imposing presence.

I’m mesmerized by the sight, but especially by all his muscles. Jesus Christ! How many of those can one man have? But more importantly, what the hell is he doing in my garden?

“Miss?” he asks again and tilts his head. Only now do I notice that he’s wearing a hat and sunglasses.

I haven’t looked him in the face yet. I’ve just stared at his upper body. God, that’s embarrassing!

My cheeks must be flushing. I’m so ashamed of my behavior right now, acting like an old bat and staring at this young— far too young— man. He must be at least ten years younger than me.

“Mrs.,” I correct him as I regain my voice.

His cheeky grin at my delayed response has not escaped me, even if it has only crept over his full lips for a second.

“Mrs. Shepherd,” I complete my statement and swim toward the stairs.

He follows me like a predator cat, strutting through the jungle until we meet at the stairs. He is taller than I expected, towering over me by nearly a foot. I look up at him uncertainly and step aside as I realize he’s standing directly in front of me. His slightly salty yet pleasant scent of sweat, combined with the aroma of his aftershave, wafts toward me.

“Mrs., then,” he murmurs and looks at my ring, which I twist nervously, as I always do when something makes me uncomfortable.

“With that rock on your finger, it’s no wonder you went under,” he jokes about the size of my wedding ring.

Thomas has always had an extravagant taste. Unfortunately, he couldn’t afford the gigantic engagement and wedding ring he would have liked when we had to get married quickly. I assured him I didn’t need all that, but Thomas always got his way. That’s why he insisted that as soon as he earned enough money, he would finally buy a lavish wedding ring, marking me as his possession ever since.

My gaze also falls on the diamond, but I can’t keep my eyes on it for long and let my gaze wander again. Only this time, more inconspicuously, I hope. The stranger is not only exceptionally fit and attractive but also has several tattoos. His arms and entire chest are covered in several black patterns. Normally tattoos always put me off, but they look like they belong on his body.

I completely ignore his statement. After all, I don’t know this man… and it’s not proper to talk to strangers about marital affairs.

“And you are?” I ask as I walk to my lounger to put my silk robe back on, not missing his intrusive glances.

Who do you think you are?

Playfully shocked, he clutches his chest, bows slightly, and can’t seem to help himself but grin rakishly. “Where are my manners? I must have lost them at the sight of you. My name is Ezra King, and it looks like I’m your new neighbor.”

Are you flirting with me?

He points with his thumb to the property behind him. I furrow my brows skeptically because the neighboring property is a five-bedroom house. They don’t come cheap in D.C. How does a young man like that get his hands on a house like this? It’s been empty for several months because it’s completely overpriced.

Without meaning to, my eyebrows rise; I’m growing more suspicious of this man by the minute.

“And you live all alone in that spacious house?” I ask a little too curtly.

“I’m single, yes. If that’s what you’re getting at. I’m unsure if a married woman like you should ask me something like that…”

My jaw drops briefly, but his cheeky grin distracts me from my stupor.

“Have a nice day, Mr. King,” I reply sternly and turn away.

“You too, Mrs. Shepherd ,” His deep voice emphasizes my surname as if it were a secret as he says goodbye. His tone, with its deep resonance, doesn't quite match the age I had imagined. You seem like a man one shouldn’t be messing with…

I grab all my things from the lounger and am about to return to the house when I turn back to him and watch as he leaps over the high fence with an impressive leap.

I haven’t even asked him what he was doing here or how he got into my garden. However, the latter has probably just become apparent.

Lost in thought, I shake my head and go back inside. By shutting the door, I try to lock him out of my thoughts as well.