Elena lay motionless in the dark beside her sleeping husband, the sheets still faintly smelling of sex — not just theirs, but *hers*. Lila’s scent lingered on Rhys’s skin like a taunt. Her sister’s cheap, sweet perfume mixed with the unmistakable musk of fresh cum and pussy.

Her heart hammered. Her mind was a storm of razor-sharp contradictions.

*How could you, Lila? My own blood. The girl I protected, spoiled, and loved. Now you’re spreading your legs for my husband like a desperate back-alley whore.*

Rage burned hot in her chest. She wanted to wake Rhys up and slap him. She wanted to storm into Lila’s apartment and drag her...