Chapter Thirty-Five

Grace’s POV

A knock at the connecting bedroom door startled me.

“Grace?” Hunter’s voice, muffled through the wood. He must have used his key to the connecting door. “We need to talk.”

“Go away,” I called, hating the tremor in my voice.

“Please. Just five minutes.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

Silence, then: “I’m not leaving until we talk.”

I took a deep breath. I had to face him at some point. When I opened the door, Hunter was standing in the middle of the room, looking as wrecked as I felt.

“Five minutes,” I said, keeping my distance. “Then you leave.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I’d always found endearing. Now it just made my chest ache.

“I’m sorry,” he began.

“Don’t.” I cut him off. “Sorry doesn’t fix this.”

“I know.” He took a step toward me, stopping when I backed away. “But I need you to know that I never meant for this to happen. I never intended—”

“Intentions don’t matter,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself. “What matters is what we did. We betrayed Helena. We betrayed everything.”

“I know.” He looked down, then back at me, his eyes haunted. “But I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. Can’t pretend I don’t feel—”

“Stop.” I held up a hand. “Whatever you think you feel, it doesn’t matter. You’re married to my sister. That’s the reality we live in.”

His voice hardened. “I’m not sure how I feel about Helena. There are some things you don’t know.”

I looked at Hunter. He could know about the affair Helena was having. Or did he? I couldn’t bring myself to bring it up now… it would seem like I was helping find holes in their marriage.

“That doesn’t justify what we did!” I burst out. “Even if there are problems, she’s still your wife. You are still married. I’m still her sister.”

Hunter’s jaw tightened. “So that’s it? We pretend tonight never happened? Go back to avoiding each other, to pretending we don’t feel what we feel?”

“Yes.” I met his gaze steadily, though it cost me. “That’s exactly what we do. Because, Hunter, you picked her even though I was there all along. Before Helena. You still picked her.”

That still hurt.

“I can’t do that.” He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne, see the flecks of gold in his eyes. “I can’t pretend anymore, Grace.”

“You have to.” My voice broke. “We both do.”

He reached for me, his hand stopping just short of touching my face. “What if I don’t want to?”

The question hung between us, dangerous and tempting. For a moment, I wavered, imagining a different life, a different choice. But reality was immovable.

“It doesn’t matter what we want,” I said finally. “It matters what’s right.”

His hand fell away. “And this—us—it can never be, right?”

The pain in his voice matched the ache in my chest. “No.”

He nodded slowly, accepting the truth we both knew. “What happens now?”

“Now?” I stepped back, creating more distance. “Now you go back to your room. Tomorrow, we will finish the presentation. We go home. And we never, ever speak of this again.”

“And then?”

I took a deep breath. “And then I find a new job. And I’m moving out of your home.”

His head snapped up. “What? No. Grace—”

“I can’t work for you anymore, Hunter. Not after this. I need... to not be around you.”

“So you’re running away.”

Anger flared, hot and sudden. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare make this about me running away when you’re the one who—” I stopped, breathing hard. “This isn’t just on me. We both made this mistake.”

“Is that what it was to you? A mistake?”

The question cut deep because we both knew the answer. What happened between us had been many things—wrong, forbidden, complicated—but it hadn’t felt like a mistake. It had felt inevitable.

“It doesn’t matter what it was,” I said quietly. “It can’t happen again. This could break me.”

Hunter held my gaze for a long moment, then nodded once. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what has to be.” My voice was steadier than I felt. “Your five minutes are up. Please leave.”

He moved to the connecting door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “For what it’s worth, I’ve never regretted anything less in my life.”

The door closed behind him before I could respond, leaving me alone with his words and my guilt.

I sat on the edge of the bed. I’d spent years loving Hunter from a distance, never allowing myself to imagine a moment like tonight. And now that it had happened, all I felt was hollow.

Tomorrow, I would be professional. I would do my job, focus on what needed doing, on anything but the memory of Hunter’s hands, his mouth, the way he’d made me feel. Tomorrow, I would start rebuilding the walls between us, making them higher, stronger.

Grace’s POV

Heading Home.

The flight home was silent, each of us retreating into work, into our phones, into anything that would prevent conversation.

Hunter had tried once more to talk, cornering me before we left the hotel.

“We can’t leave things like this,” he’d said, voice low.

“We already have.” I’d kept my tone professional, distant. “The car’s waiting.”

Now, as the plane began its descent into New York, I steeled myself for the return to normal life. To Helena. To pretending.

“I meant what I said,” I told Hunter as we gathered our things. “About finding a new job.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re punishing both of us. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m protecting all of us.” I met his gaze steadily. “Including Helena.”

“Don’t bring her into this. She wasn’t there…”

“Hunter, that doesn’t change the fact that she’s your wife.” I challenged.

He looked away, frustration clear in the line of his shoulders. “So that’s it? You walk away, and we never discuss what happened? What’s happening between us?”

“Nothing is happening between us,” I said firmly. “Nothing can happen between us.”

“I wouldn’t call it nothing when I had my fingers inside you.”

I glared at him but said nothing. I would not be dragged into a fight.

The car was waiting as promised, the driver loading our bags while we settled into the backseat. The privacy partition was up, but still we maintained our silence, the space between us on the seat a physical manifestation of the distance I was trying to create.

Halfway home, Hunter finally broke. “This is ridiculous. We can’t go on like this.”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice, Grace.” He turned to face me fully. “I choose to acknowledge what I feel for you.”

My heart stuttered, but I kept my expression neutral. “Don’t. Because you don’t have the right. You. Are. Married.”

“We’ve already crossed that line. Why keep pretending?”

“Because acknowledgment changes nothing,” I said, each word carefully measured. “You’re still married. I’m still her sister. And I might be carrying your child.”

He flinched at that last part, as if he’d momentarily forgotten. “The surrogacy was her idea,” he said after a moment. “I never wanted to put you through that.”

I frowned. “That’s not important now, when it could be a done deal?”

“We will have to wait and see. If there isn’t a baby… my marriage—”

“Stop.” I held up a hand. “I won’t be your excuse, Hunter. If you have issues with your marriage, you deal with them directly. You don’t use me as a way out.”

He recoiled as if I’d slapped him. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing.” I was tired, so tired of all of it. “But I know what I’m doing. I’m removing myself from an impossible situation.”

“By running away.”

“By protecting myself,” I corrected. “By making the responsible choice.”

“The responsible choice,” he repeated, a bitter edge to his voice. “Always so concerned with doing the right thing, aren’t you, Grace? The perfect daughter. The perfect sister. Even when it tears you apart inside. I felt it last night, Grace, you want me.”

His words hit too close to home, slipping past my defenses. “That’s not fair.”

“None of this is fair.” He looked out the window, jaw tight. “But walking away isn’t the answer.”

“Then what is?” I challenged. “Tell me, Hunter. What’s your solution that doesn’t end with someone getting hurt?”

He was silent, because we both knew there wasn’t one. Any path forward led to pain—Helena’s, mine, his. There was no clean way out of the mess we’d made.

The car pulled into the driveway of the Sinclair mansion, and I felt a wave of dread. Home. Where Helena waited, oblivious to what had happened between her husband and her sister.

“I’m giving my notice on Monday,” I said quietly as the car stopped. “Two weeks. That’s all I can manage.”

Hunter’s hand shot out, gripping mine tightly. “Don’t do this, Grace. We can figure this out.”

I pulled away, ignoring the jolt of electricity his touch still caused. “There’s nothing to figure out. What happened in Chicago was a mistake. One we’re not repeating.”

I opened the door before he could respond, stepping out into the cool evening air. The driver was already unloading our bags. Hunter emerged a moment later, his expression shuttered, controlled.

“We’re not finished with this conversation,” he said, low enough that only I could hear.

“Yes, we are.”

I turned toward the house, steeling myself to face Helena, to lie with every breath, every smile. But before we reached the door, Hunter’s phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, frowning at the screen.

“Unknown number,” he murmured, then answered. “Hunter Sinclair.”

I watched as his expression changed—confusion, then shock, then something that looked like fear. His face drained of color, his grip on the phone tightening until his knuckles went white.

“When?” he asked, voice strained. “Where?” A pause. “Yes. Yes, I understand. I’ll be right there.”

He hung up, staring at the phone in his hand as if it were a snake about to strike.

“Hunter?” I stepped closer, alarm rising at his expression. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He looked up, eyes meeting mine, something like desperation in them.

“It’s Helena,” he said, his voice hollow. “There’s been an accident.”