I edited/changed this chapter like 20 times. no joke. Apologies to Paige for having to read all the versions!

I know a lot of people didn't get to read chapter 8, so updating right now is probably dumb. Or maybe the lack of readers isn't bc FFn is messing up, and it is my sign to move on lolll *spirals*

If you're able to see chapter 9, definitely try to go back and read chapter 8 if you missed it due to ffn technical difficulties! You can manually change the chapter number in the hyperlink if it's still an issue, or use the app, or a different browser!

Thanks for reading!

chapter nine
frozen

Edward

"Hey, you."

The soft, feminine voice at my office door steals my attention, and I don't have to look up to know who it is.

Victoria.

The last woman I slept with.

"Hey, how are you?" I ask, lifting my head.

She smiles and comes in, shutting the door behind her even though it was open before she walked in. It gives us privacy from people overhearing us talk, but we can still be seen through the glass walls.

"They had these in the kitchen." She sits across from me and sets a heart-shaped cookie with sprinkles on my desk. "If you want," she offers, sliding the napkin closer to me. "Gina never lets a holiday pass without celebrating it with food."

She's right. Once a month, there's always something festive in the staff kitchen courtesy of Gina. An American flag sheet cake for the Fourth. Pesto puff pastry trees for Christmas. Mini apple pies in jars for Thanksgiving.

"She brings the morale, that's for sure," I agree, feeling awkward that Victoria saw a heart-shaped cookie and thought to bring me one.

I leave the treat where it is, unsure what to do.

One of our colleagues passes by outside, and I momentarily hope they're coming in here for something. But they keep walking, leaving us alone.

"I heard you passed on the Miller project," Victoria says.

"Yeah, I decided it wasn't for me," I lie. I heard she joined the team a week ago, and after weighing the pros and cons, I chose to skip the project rather than spend late nights with her. "Too time-consuming. I'm looking for a quicker job."

"You're looking for instant gratification?" she asks with a suggestive smile.

"Sure." I exhale a forced laugh. "Something like that."

"But no one is better than you for the job, especially when it comes to contemporary designs."

"I don't know about that," I say, brushing off her compliment.

"Are you going to happy hour with everyone later?"

"No, I'm actually heading out early today," I say, my eyes bouncing to the clock on my computer.

Ever since my phone call with Bella earlier, time has moved slowly. But I still have a couple of hours to pick up roses for her, go home, and pack for Portland.

"Oh, fun," Victoria remarks. "Big weekend plans?"

"Yeah, I dunno. You?"

There's a shift in her expression. "Are we good?"

"Yeah, why?"

"This is the most we've spoken in the last six months, and it's like pulling teeth."

"Shit's been busy," I say. "You more than anyone knows that. But we're good."

"Right. It's just…" From her vulnerable expression and soft tone, I know where she's about to go with this, and I feel uneasy. "Did I do something to upset you?" she asks quietly.

"No," I stress. "Not at all."

"I haven't told anyone anything," she clarifies. "No one knows we slept together."

I swallow. "Thanks, yeah, I'd hate for that to, uh, get out."

She crosses her arms and stares at me. "But even if people found out, we didn't do anything wrong."

"I get that, but I also keep my personal life and work separate," I say seriously. "We probably shouldn't even be talking about this here."

"When would we talk about it, though? You just… you act like I don't exist. You don't look at me in meetings. You pulled out of a project I was in. I walk into the kitchen, and you walk out. And I told myself that was fine, I could handle that. But I don't know if I can anymore."

I shake my head, pissed at Rose—and myself—that this is even happening.

This is why I didn't want to sleep with someone I worked with. This is why I insisted it was a bad idea.

I think back to that night, a little more than six months ago. Or, more accurately, a week before I first met Bella.

Victoria had been at a housewarming party that Rosalie and I attended. Apparently, she was a friend of my wife's client. Victoria and I stood by the pool, drinks in hand, and made small talk about work. When Rosalie joined us, I introduced them. They'd never met before because Victoria had only joined my firm a year prior.

It was all pretty innocent until Rosalie suggested we grab a drink after the party.

On the drive to some upscale bar we'd never been to, Rosalie said she wanted me to pursue Victoria. I pushed back a little, pointing out she was someone I'd see almost daily, so it was a bad fucking idea.

But Rosalie didn't care. I think a part of her liked that I'd be uncomfortable at work. Or maybe she liked the idea of playing with fire and hoped that putting Victoria in my path would cause us to start a workplace tryst, and then she could hold another thing against me.

Whatever her actual reasoning was, she reminded me I owed her. That this entire situation was my fault anyway, so it was a done deal.

At the bar, I didn't flirt with Victoria. I didn't give Rosalie that satisfaction. I wasn't overly confident and charming like I'd normally be when trying to sleep with someone. No, I was broody and quiet, barely engaging in conversation while sipping whiskey.

Rosalie kept shooting me daggers—little hints that she wasn't happy, and I needed to try. So, I caved. Part of me just wanted to get away from my wife.

After two drinks, I suggested a third back at Victoria's. Just the two of us. She looked surprised, but when she saw Rosalie practically salivating while waiting for her answer, Victoria suggested that Rosalie join us for the fun, too.

Rosalie left my side of the booth to sit with Victoria, smiled seductively, and kissed her. I thought she would agree to Victoria's idea, but then she spoke against her lips.

Be a good whore and ride my husband's cock, then send him home.

Anger squeezes my chest at the memory. Shame rises in my throat and shows itself on my face for letting Rosalie dictate what I did, who I did it with, and when.

"I should've been more up front with you," I tell Victoria, clearing my throat. "About my situation with Rosalie and what that night was."

"You're swingers," she guesses, her tone nonchalant like it's normal. Like it's okay with her.

"Not exactly," I say vaguely. "Regardless, that night shouldn't have happened. And I'm sorry for letting it get that far."

She glares. "So, you regret it."

There's nothing I can say to that. Nothing she'd want to hear anyway. Because, yeah, I do. It's awkward that we work together. And she's not someone I would've pursued on my own anyway.

She's not Bella.

"I don't want things to be weird," I say carefully.

A dry and humorless laugh escapes from her. "Should've thought about that before you fucked me."

Her tone is sharp, and her glare is icy, making me briefly consider what HR would think about our situation. I don't think there's any policy regarding fraternizing, especially not for two consenting adults outside of work hours. But it still worries me. I couldn't blame her if she wanted to bring HR into this. Maybe we should, just to help keep our interactions limited and professional.

"You're right," I agree. "I didn't think things through. I'm sorry and—"

"Forget it, asshole." With a scoff, she stands. "You and your cunt wife deserve each other."

Her words and wrath don't faze me. Maybe because I know I deserve both.

I watch as she stalks toward the door and leaves, my eyes following bright red hair until she's out of sight.

Once she is, I toss the cookie in the trash under my desk.

Maybe I should feel like an asshole, like she said.

But I'm mostly relieved she's gone.

XXX

After I leave work, I stop by the florist and pick up two dozen red roses for Bella.

I worry they're cliche, but they're a safe choice because I don't know what flowers Bella likes. Not yet.

"I'm starting to think you have a thing for me," Bella says instead of saying hello when I call her on my way home.

"What gave it away?"

"For starters, this is the second time you've called me today."

"Yeah, sorry, I'm just making sure you didn't block my number again," I joke.

She laughs. "That would be cruel of me to invite you to Portland and ghost you."

"Yes, it would be," I agree.

"Are you already here? I'm not quite ready, but—"

"Not yet," I say, slowly stopping at a red light, my eyes darting toward the vase on the passenger floorboard to make sure it's still secure in its box. "I'm heading home to pack but was wondering if we have a hotel reservation or something. If not, I could book something for us."

"Since the city's motto is Keep Portland Weird, I thought we could just bring a tent and stay by the river to save on accommodations."

I laugh. "Sure, sounds great," I play along. "Might be a little cold since it's winter."

"Since it's Valentine's, we can stay warm by working up a sweat."

"Oh?" I hum low and deep, easing on the gas when the light turns green. "How would we do that?"

"By running. There's a half marathon I signed us up for."

"You're not serious," I say flatly.

"Don't you run in the mornings?"

"I do, but…"

"Aw, you sound so disappointed," she laughs. "I'm kidding about the marathon. I wouldn't torture us like that. And I do have a room reservation at the Marriott in downtown Portland, so we're good."

"You had me for a second," I tell her. "I'd like to pay for the hotel this weekend if you're cool with that."

"That's sweet, and normally, I'd be all for your chivalry, but one of the sponsors covered it. I never pay for lodging at these things."

"That's a nice perk," I say. "Okay, well, I'm about to—" I pause when I hear a guy's voice in the background, and Bella chuckles at something he says. "Sorry, are you still at work?"

"No, I'm home."

"Oh." Possessiveness churns in my gut. "Is someone there?"

"My neighbor is fixing my disposal," she replies. "He should be gone by the time you're here."

I'm curious about this neighbor who does handyman shit for her, but it's not my place to question her, so I say, "Okay, see you soon."

I can hear her smile as she says, "Can't wait."

We hang up, and I try to curb my jealousy because I don't have any fucking right to feel this way. And yet, I can't stop the sick images of Bella and her neighbor having sex in her kitchen.

I know I'm only torturing myself because of what Bella did to me in there. In the shower this morning, I jerked off to the memory of my cock in her mouth. Thinking about it now doesn't arouse me because the image is irrationally replaced with her and some unknown guy.

Realistically, I know she's not messing around with him right now. But there's also this shitty, tiny voice in the back of my head that thinks maybe she is. She did it with me, so why not him?

The double standard immediately makes me feel like an asshole.

She doesn't owe me anything. Yeah, she said she's not seeing or sleeping with anyone else. And I'm not either. But I'm still married. So I wouldn't be surprised if she wanted to see other guys.

I grip the wheel tighter, reminding myself she said she doesn't share. I don't want to share, either. She put herself out there and set a boundary I didn't know I wanted or needed. So, it makes me want to give her something in return, something she didn't ask for but might need.

That's why when I get home, I take off my ring.

It takes some effort to remove the wedding band, but once it's off, I leave it on the kitchen counter so this weekend can be just about Bella and me.

With that thought in mind, I look up a florist near the hotel in Portland and arrange for more roses to be delivered to the front desk. Afterward, I contact the hotel, give them Bella's name, and request someone take them to our room to surprise her later. It might be overkill, but she said she wanted to celebrate Valentine's Day, and I want to go all out.

Once that's squared away, I head upstairs to pack, but something in the house feels off. It's quiet, and I'm alone, but I can't shake the eerie feeling that something has changed since this morning.

When I reach the second story landing, I see daylight coming from the end of the hallway, which is usually dark because the door to that room is always closed.

Right now, it's open. But it wasn't like this when I left for work earlier, meaning Rosalie came home after I left.

I approach the room with caution, my heart pounding too fast.

Standing in the doorway, I scan the space for changes.

At first glance, everything's the same. And as much as that makes me so fucking sad, it also helps me cope.

Because, in here, time is paused.

I don't walk in. I don't think I can. But I let myself take in the room from the safety of the doorway.

Drawings displayed on the wall like a little art gallery. Matching unmade twin beds with different comforters. One Cars themed, the other Frozen. Their names in wooden letters above where they once slept.

Lillian.

Liam.

Toys everywhere that haven't been touched in four years.

Four fucking years.

I feel my throat tighten, and I swallow back the lump as I text Rosalie, my thumbs punching each letter a little harder than I should.

Edward: Why the fuck did you go in there?

She doesn't reply yet, but she doesn't have to. I know why she came in here and why she left the door open for me to close.

To punish me.

To fuck with my head.

Scrubbing a hand over my mouth, I slide my silent phone back into the pocket of my slacks, fighting the heaviness that threatens to weigh me down.

And then I close the bedroom door, shutting off my emotions with it.