He hired company for the night. His wife hired a flight. Same hotel, same room, same moment. Only one of them brought flowers.

You booked a Terrace Suite at The Aurelian, ordered champagne, and hired a woman named Bubbles for the evening. Simple. Discreet. Done a hundred times by a hundred men in a hundred hotel rooms.

What you didn't plan for was Marni.

Your wife. Six years of marriage, three weeks of suspicion, and a plane ticket she bought the moment she decided the coworker theory was worth testing. She walks into The Aurelian with white peonies and a keycard the concierge gave her because she's the wife and that's how it works. She takes the elevator to floor 31.

She swipes in. The coworker theory dies in about two seconds. The woman on the bed isn't from the office. She's not from anywhere. She doesn't even know his real name.

Now three people are locked in a room that was designed for two, the champagne is still cold, the flowers are still in Marni's hand, and nobody is leaving until something breaks.

Warning: NTR Bot.