Ross woke up to an empty bed, but he didn’t care. He stretched lazily, enjoying the quiet before getting up.
Rachel was next door, no doubt locked in another heated argument with her husband.
He wasn’t interested in their drama. She’d come back soon enough—she needed something from him, and he knew it. That was enough for now.
He dressed without hurry, buttoning his shirt and adjusting his cuffs before slipping out of the condo.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Rachel came rushing in, breathless, eyes darting around the room.
Her heart sank. "He’s gone," she muttered, as if saying it aloud would change something.
Jimmy stormed in after her, his earlier fury replaced by cold determination. "Do we go after him?" he asked, his jaw tight.
Rachel turned on him with a glare. "This is all your fault! If you hadn’t wasted time fighting me, arguing, and throwing a tantrum over spilled milk, we wouldn’t be in this mess!"
She checked her watch and groaned. "We lost over thirty minutes because of you."
Jimmy let out a sharp laugh. "My fault? You’re the one who let the target screw you, and now you’re blaming me? That’s rich, Rachel! Maybe if you actually did your damn job instead of—"
"Instead of what?" Rachel shot back, stepping closer, her tone daring him to finish.
Jimmy clenched his fists. "You know exactly what. You got yourself fucked and you enjoyed it!"
The tension crackled between them, their argument ready to spiral out of control again.
But the clock was ticking, and Ross was getting farther away.
Rachel would have run after Ross if she thought it would change anything, but there was no need.
She already had him. Instead, she stayed behind, choosing to deal with her husband’s anger for now.
Their argument dragged on, accusations flying back and forth, but Rachel remained unfazed. She had bigger things to worry about.
***
A day passed. She spent it waiting, but not idly. She texted Ross a few times, but he ignored her—for now.
That was fine. Rachel knew better than to push too hard. She had her own motives for staying close to him, and patience was key.
Like a leech clinging to its host, she would hold on until she got what she wanted. It was only a matter of time.
Meanwhile, Faith occupied Ross’s attention. She was his latest prize, fresh and untainted by the complications of his world.
Unlike Rachel, Faith had no ulterior motives—at least, not yet. She was still new to him, still learning his ways, still basking in the thrill of his attention.
Ross hadn’t introduced her to his wives yet, and for good reason. Faith had insisted it was too soon, and he agreed. It would be awkward, even for him.
After all, blending one new lover into a household with over a dozen wives wasn’t something that could be done overnight.
That evening, Ross took Faith out on a date. He spoiled her, treating her to an extravagant dinner, whispering sweet nothings that made her blush.
She looked at him like he was the only man in the world, and he enjoyed that.
Later, when they returned to his place, they made love—slow and sweet, like they had all the time in the world.
Days passed, then a week. Ross kept Faith close, indulging her whims, letting her adjust at her own pace. Finally, she took a step forward in their relationship—she introduced him to her family.
It was a significant moment, one that told him she was serious about him.
Ross smiled to himself. Things were falling into place.
They arrived at the Richards’ ancestral home just as the sun was setting, casting long shadows over the sprawling estate.
Ross could tell at a glance that this was an old-money family—everything from the well-manicured gardens to the towering columns of the house spoke of generations of wealth and tradition.
Faith held his hand a little tighter as they stepped inside.
The entire family was waiting in the grand living room. Her parents sat on a plush, antique sofa, her father’s sharp gaze locked on Ross the moment he entered. Her mother, though more composed, regarded him with quiet scrutiny.
Faith’s two older brothers stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, their expressions unreadable. The tension in the room was palpable.
Faith took a deep breath before speaking. "Everyone, this is Ross—my new boyfriend."
Silence.
Then, chaos.
"What?! What happened to Tristan?" her mother gasped, eyes wide with shock.
"Are you serious right now?" one of her brothers scoffed.
"You do know this guy is already married, right, Faith?" her father said, his tone sharp with disapproval.
"You’re out of your damn mind if you think this is a good idea," her other brother added, shaking his head.
The barrage of protests continued, voices overlapping, emotions running high. But Faith remained firm. She met each of their gazes with unwavering determination.
"I know what I’m doing," she said. "I love Ross. My decision is final."
Her father let out a long, frustrated sigh, rubbing his temples.
"You’re twenty-four now, I get it. You can make your own decisions… but that doesn’t mean we have to like them."
Ross said nothing, simply watching as Faith fought her battle. He understood this was her moment, her family, and she had to stand her ground.
Despite the tension, dinner was served. The dining hall was just as grand as the rest of the house, with a massive chandelier hanging overhead, casting a warm glow over the long mahogany table.
Plates were passed, wine was poured, and slowly, the mood shifted. The initial hostility cooled into wary curiosity.
Faith’s father drank heavily, his gaze flicking between Ross and his daughter.
Halfway through the meal, he slammed his glass down and leaned forward, his face flushed from alcohol but his tone deadly serious.
"Listen here, boy. If you ever make my daughter cry, I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?"