Chapter 87

The vast bedroom felt empty with only Marissa and Dominick. He lay still, eyes closed. Marissa's heart hammered. For years, she’d believed she was irreplaceable, especially after his divorce from Paisley. But Paisley’s relentless pursuit—even resorting to leaked photos and fabricated stories—had shaken her. Vanderbilt Group's PR machine had swiftly quashed those attempts, leaving Marissa questioning everything. Before Paisley’s return, she could tell herself Dominick was protecting his image, or simply valuing his privacy. But Paisley’s taunt—a stinging reminder she wasn't his wife after four years—had shattered her composure.

Now, watching him sleep, Marissa saw her chance. "Dom," she whispered.

His eyelids fluttered, but he remained asleep. Relieved, she leaned closer, her breath catching in her throat. Her fingers trembled as she reached for his shirt buttons. Her lips were a hair's breadth from his when his eyes snapped open. The look in them was fierce, predatory. She froze, a chill snaking down her spine.

Only when recognition dawned did the intensity fade. "Marissa?" His voice was rough, slurred with alcohol.

She straightened, startled. He'd been out cold seconds ago. "You had too much to drink," she said smoothly, flashing her practiced smile. "I stayed to keep an eye on you."

Dominick sat up, noticing the undone buttons. "I…I was just helping you change," Marissa explained, her face a mask of innocence. "Your shirt smells awful."

He began rebuttoning his shirt. "Go get some rest," he mumbled, still drowsy. "I'm fine."

"Come on, Dom. We're family," Marissa insisted, refusing to back down. "Of course I'd stay." The truth? She'd seen how soundly he slept, and planned to take some photos to send to Paisley.