Delia’s POV

“I got paper,” I said. “You got a wedding. Let’s see how long you keep clapping when I stop being polite.”

I opened the message.

Elliot.

I heard there is a party. Come and tell me how it felt to be invited as the extra.

I stared at the screen until my eyes burned.

Then I typed nothing.

I put the phone down, picked a dress that would cause trouble, and decided I was going to that wedding with my chin up and my jealousy showing, because hiding it had not got me a single thing Katia had.

I went to him because the invitation would not leave my hands. Noah was out. The card was still on the fridge like a slap; I kept walking past. Katia gets white. Katia gets vows. Katia gets a day the city will swallow whole. I got a signature and a man who was told to take me.

Elliot opened the door like he had been waiting for the jealousy to ripen.

“There she is,” he said. “The extra guest.”

“Do not start.”

“Come in and start for me.”

I walked in. The place was quiet. No staff in sight. He poured nothing. He watched my mouth.

“She is having a wedding,” I said. It came out raw. “A real one. Estate. Family. Aiden in a little suit. The baby in someone’s arms. Honour of your presence. Honour. Like, I should curtsy because they remembered I exist.”

“And you signed a paper at a restaurant and a family thing kind of gathering with no press.”

“I signed a paper. He did not even put the ring on my finger. No aisle. No one crying on purpose. Katia fucks her way into the will, and they throw her silk.”

Elliot smiled. Not the kind smile.

“Jealous looks good on you, sweetheart.”

“I am not—”

“You are. It is in your neck. It is in how you said her name. Say it again.”

“Katia.” It tasted like metal. “Mrs. Windsor. The one they clap for. The one who already had him and still needs a party so nobody can say it was messy.”

He came close. His hand found my jaw.

“You came here to complain about your sister’s wedding. You came here because my son cannot fuck that feeling out of you.”

“Your son tries.”

“My son is grateful. Grateful is not what you need tonight.”

His thumb pressed my lower lip. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to stop being the leftover.”

“Then take something that is not leftover.”

He kissed me. I did not break it this time. I opened. He tasted like the last almost and the decision I had already made in the car. His hand went under my blouse, found my nipple, and pinched until my knees dipped.

“Still tender,” he muttered. “Good. I like you sore from thinking about me.”

He backed me to the wall the way he had before, only this time his thigh shoved between mine and stayed. Hard cock against my skirt. He rolled his hips, and I made a sound I hated.

“Listen to that,” he said. “That is not a wife noise. That is a woman who is done pretending paper is enough.”

“She gets a wedding.”

“And you get my cock. Say which one you drove across town for.”

I did not answer with words. I grabbed his belt.

He laughed against my mouth.

“There. That is the girl I wanted.”

Clothes came off without romance. Blouse. Bra. His mouth on my tits, teeth, pinch, and suck—the same cruelty he had started weeks ago, only now he did not stop. He shoved my skirt up, ripped my underwear aside, and put two fingers in me like he already knew I was wet.

“Fuck. You came soaked. Was it the card or me?”

“Both.”

“Honest. I like that better than your manners.”

He dropped to his knees and put his mouth on my cunt. No teasing speech. He licked me open, sucked my clit, and held my hips to the wall while I tried not to look down and see my husband’s father eating me. I failed. I looked. The sight punched a moan out of me.

“Elliot—”

“Say it. Say who is making you drip.”

“You. Fuck. You.”

He stood, opened his trousers, and his cock was thick, heavier than the press I had only felt through cloth. He dragged the head through my wet and stopped at my entrance.

“Last chance to run home to the boy.”

“Do not talk about him while you are there.”

“I will talk about him while I am inside you. That is the point.”

He pushed in.

The stretch stole my breath. Too much. Too real. My back hit the wall, and my nails found his shoulders. He gave me all of it in a few dirty thrusts until his hips were flush and I was full of the wrong Vesper.

“Jesus,” I whispered.

“Not Jesus. Your father-in-law.” He pulled back and slammed in. “Your sister gets a ceremony. You get fucked against a wall like the secret you are.”

He did not go gentle. He held my thigh up and used me. Deep. Mean. Talking the whole time because he knew the words were part of it.

“Noah does not fuck you like this. He asks with his eyes. I take. That is why your pussy is gripping me like it has been waiting.”

“Shut up.”

“No. You came here to be ruined, sweet girl. Take it.”

He pinched my nipple again, and I clenched around him so hard he cursed. He kissed me messily. I kissed back. I was past the almost. I was on his cock, and I could still see the cream invitation in my head, Katia’s name next to Julian’s, honor, honor, honor.

“Harder,” I said.

He gave me harder. The wall took the sound. My tits bounced in his hands. He spat on his fingers and rubbed my clit while he fucked me, and I came with a broken noise, shaking, still talking shit about the wedding like orgasm had not shut me up.