Jenna Roland stepped into Studio 54, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

The glow of crystal chandeliers cascaded over her, illuminating her delicate profile.

Staff members nodded respectfully as she passed.

"Good evening, Ms. Roland."

"You look stunning tonight, Ms. Roland."

She acknowledged them with a slight tilt of her head and headed straight for VIP Room 888.

"Jenna?"

Tristan Ashcroft's voice came from the side.

She paused mid-step and turned to face the impeccably suited club owner.

"Boss."

Tristan closed the distance between them, lowering his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Gavin said Ethan was drunk. I came to take him home."

Understanding flickered in Tristan's eyes.

He'd always known the true nature of their marriage.

"Bad timing."

Jenna's brows drew together. "Why?"

"Lucien Valois is upstairs." His expression darkened. "If he sees you, there'll be trouble."

Her face paled.

She pushed open the private room door without hesitation.

The opulent space held only one occupant.

Ethan Roscente's pale complexion stood in stark contrast against his black dress shirt.

Slumped on the sofa, his tie hung loose. Unnatural flush colored his cheeks.

Jenna hurried forward.

"Ethan?"

He lifted his head slowly, gaze unfocused.

As he tried to stand, his legs gave way, sending him crashing toward her.

Instinctively, she caught him.

His scorching body weight pressed against hers.

The pungent scent of alcohol assaulted her senses.

"Ethan! Get up!"

His breath fanned across her neck.

Eyes half-lidded, he suddenly smiled—soft, tender.

"Yvonne..."

Jenna froze.

The name stabbed through her heart like a blade.

She shoved him away violently.

Ethan hit the floor with a heavy thud.

Without looking back, she fled the room.

The impact jolted him awake.

The lingering scent of roses clung to his fingertips.

When he looked up, all he caught was a glimpse of retreating figure through the closing door.

Ethan's expression contorted.

He scrambled to his feet, but only heard the fading click of heels.

The door still swayed slightly.

Rubbing his temples, he frowned.

What had he just said?