The champagne glass shatters against the marble floor of Marcus Thornhill's penthouse, and I don't even flinch. I'm too busy watching my husband of three years fuck his secretary against his mahogany desk through the crack in his office door. "Harder, Mr. Thornhill," she moans, her 34C breasts bouncing with each thrust as he grips her hips. I should be devastated. I should be crying. Instead, I feel... nothing. Maybe because I've known for months. Maybe because our marriage has been a business transaction since day one—my father's failing company for the Thornhill name and reputation. Marcus got a beautiful wife to parade at galas. I got financial security. What I didn't get was love. Or even basic human decency. I turn away from the door, my black Louboutins clicking against the floor as I head toward the bar. My reflection catches in the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. At twenty-five, I'm in my prime—long auburn hair cascading down my back, green eyes that men say they could drown in, and a body that I've maintained religiously. My 36DD breasts sit perfectly in the emerald silk dress that hugs every curve Marcus hasn't touched in eight months. "Mrs. Thornhill." The voice is liquid sin, smooth and dark. I spin around to find Dominic Thornhill leaning against the entrance to the living room, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. Marcus's younger brother by two years, and everything Marcus isn't—dangerous, attentive, and looking at me like I'm the only thing in the room worth his attention. "Dominic." I try to keep my voice steady. "I didn't know you were here." "I live here." His lips curve into a knowing smirk. The family owns the entire building, with each brother occupying a different floor. "The question is, why are you still here when your husband is clearly... occupied?" So he knows. Of course he knows. "I was just leaving." "Were you?" He moves closer, predatory and purposeful. At six-foot-three, he towers over my five-foot-seven frame even in heels. His dark hair is slightly disheveled, his tie loosened, and his grey eyes rake over me with undisguised hunger. "Because it looks to me like you're finally ready to stop pretending." "I don't know what you're talking about." "Don't you?" He's close enough now that I can smell his cologne—cedar and something darker, more primal. "You've been a ghost in this family for three years, Sera. Playing the perfect wife while my brother treats you like a pretty accessory. When are you going to admit you want more?" My breath catches. "You're drunk." "I'm honest." His free hand comes up to trace my jawline, and electricity shoots through me. "I've wanted you since the day Marcus brought you home. Watched you fade away, bit by bit. Watched him throw away the most exquisite woman I've ever seen." "Dominic—" "Tell me you haven't thought about it." His thumb brushes over my bottom lip. "Tell me you haven't felt my eyes on you at every family dinner, every charity event. Tell me you haven't wondered what it would be like if you'd met me first." I have. God help me, I have. "This is wrong," I whisper, even as my body betrays me, leaning into his touch. "What's wrong is you wasting yourself on a man who doesn't deserve you." His voice drops lower. "I could show you what it's like to be worshipped, Sera. Every. Single. Inch." Before I can respond, another voice cuts through the tension. "Starting without me, Dom?" I jerk back to find Sebastian Thornhill—the youngest at twenty-eight—watching us from the elevator entrance. Where Dominic is all dark intensity, Sebastian is golden and charming, with honey-brown hair and hazel eyes that sparkle with mischief. But there's something predatory in his gaze too as he looks at me. "Sebastian." My voice comes out breathier than I intended. "Sera." He crosses the room in long strides, moving with the confidence of a man who's never been denied anything. "I have to say, finding you here is the best surprise I've had all week." "She was just leaving," Dominic says, but he doesn't move away from me. "Was she?" Sebastian positions himself on my other side, effectively caging me between them. "Because it looked like you were finally making your move. And if that's the case, I want in." "Excuse me?" I try to sound outraged, but my body is on fire. Two devastatingly handsome men, looking at me like I'm their next meal after years of being invisible. "Come on, Sera." Sebastian's hand finds my waist, his touch burning through the silk. "You think we haven't all noticed? The way Marcus treats you? The way you've been dying inside that sham of a marriage?" "We've been waiting," Dominic adds, his hand sliding into my hair. "Waiting for you to realize you don't have to settle for scraps when you could have everything." "This is insane." But I don't pull away. I can't. "Is it?" Sebastian's lips brush my ear. "Or is it the first honest thing that's happened to you in three years?" The sound of Marcus's office door opening makes us all freeze. His voice carries across the penthouse, saying goodbye to his mistress. The casual dismissal in his tone—the same tone he uses with me—finally breaks something inside me. Fuck it. I turn to Dominic, grab his tie, and pull him down to my level. "Show me," I breathe against his lips. "Show me what I've been missing." His kiss is claiming, possessive, everything Marcus's kisses never were. His tongue demands entry and I give it, moaning into his mouth as his hands grip my ass, pulling me against the hard length of him. I can feel how much he wants me, thick and ready, and it makes me wet. Sebastian's hands slide up my sides, cupping my breasts through the silk. "Fuck, you're perfect," he groans, his lips finding my neck. I should stop this. This is my husband's penthouse, his brothers, and he's literally in the next room. But I'm so tired of being good. So tired of being ignored. "Bedroom," Dominic growls against my mouth. "Now." They practically carry me to the guest room—neutral territory, not Marcus's space. The door barely closes before Sebastian is unzipping my dress, letting it pool at my feet. I'm standing in nothing but black lace and heels, and the way they're looking at me makes me feel like a goddess. "Christ," Sebastian breathes. "He's an idiot." "Our gain," Dominic says, already removing his jacket and tie. This is happening. This is really happening. And I've never wanted anything more. Sebastian drops to his knees in front of me, his hands sliding up my thighs. "I'm going to make you forget his name," he promises, his fingers hooking into my panties. Behind me, Dominic's chest presses against my back, his hands cupping my breasts, thumbs teasing my nipples through the lace. "And then we're going to ruin you for anyone else." The last coherent thought I have before Sebastian's mouth finds me is that maybe being ruined is exactly what I need.