HHWM | Chapter 15: A Sin We Never Buried

The convention center was a sprawling hive of industry titans and high-stakes networking. It was the kind of event Greg usually avoided, but his prolonged absence from the circuit made his appearance mandatory.

As he was navigating a sea of forced handshakes, a heavy pat landed on his shoulder.

“Greg! Long time no see. You’ve been a ghost lately,” an old colleague boomed. “By the way, have you met our newest and sharpest executive?”

Greg turned, and the world slowed to a crawl.

Selene.

She met his gaze head-on—light, airy, yet with a depth that suggested a vault of secrets. Dressed in a cream-colored power suit that complemented her porcelain skin and commanding stature, she stood with a newfound, terrifying confidence.

“Greg, this is Selene. She’s spearheading one of our flagship projects.”

“Nice to meet you, Sir Greg,” she said, extending a hand. Her tone was clinical, devoid of history. They were two strangers performing a play for an audience of one.

The understanding was immediate and silent. Their shared past—the godfather and the ward—was a carcass they both chose to leave buried in the dark.

“Say,” the colleague interrupted, “how about the three of us grab dinner later?”

Before Greg could even formulate a rejection, a sharp voice cut through the air.

“I’m afraid Sir Greg has a dinner meeting with a high-priority client,” Saya interjected, sliding to Greg’s side.

Greg didn’t have a meeting. Not a professional one, at least. But it was Thursday—the day he had signed over to his secretary. Selene’s eyes flickered to Saya, her gaze lingering just long enough to acknowledge the territorial spike in the air.

Later that evening, at a restaurant in BGC…

The atmosphere was an expensive blend of soft jazz and crisp white linen. Selene sat across from a senior executive, her expression a mask of polite interest as he droned on about international expansion. She nodded and smiled at all the right intervals, but her focus was elsewhere.

Then, she saw him.

A tall figure in a dark gray coat, radiating a somber authority. Greg. He was walking toward a private dining room, followed closely by a woman in a fitted black silk blouse.

Selene didn’t need to see his face. She knew the cadence of his step, the set of his shoulders. She watched the heavy velvet curtain of the private room slide shut behind them. No clients followed. No colleagues. Just the two of them.

“Selene? Are you alright?”

“Yes. Sorry, just lost in thought.” She forced a smile and drained her wine. As her companion settled the bill, she grabbed her clutch. “I think I’ll call it a night. Early meeting tomorrow.”

She didn’t go home. She sat in her car a short distance from the exit and waited.

When Greg and Saya finally emerged, the mask of professionalism had slipped. Saya looked at Greg with a hunger that no employee should harbor for a boss. As they reached the car, Greg’s hand came to rest on the small of Saya’s back—a natural, possessive gesture that spoke of a deep, carnal familiarity.

The question in Selene’s mind was answered with a truth she wasn’t ready to stomach. She followed them.

They pulled into a gated luxury compound—a fortress of private rentals designed for those with something to hide. Selene sat in the dark, watching them enter. No folders. No urgency. Just a quiet, practiced disappearance.

She realized then that she was just a ghost in his life. Easily replaced. A forgotten chapter. The hollow darkness in her chest expanded, swallowing the hope she hadn’t realized she was still holding.

Inside the villa…

Selene didn’t wait. Having been cleared by security, she walked the silent hallway and pushed open the door to the suite. Saya stood there, clad only in a thin, half-open silk robe. The secretary froze for a heartbeat before her professional armor snapped back into place.

“What are you doing here?” Saya asked icily.

Selene appraised her with a look of pure, unadulterated venom before letting out a sharp, insulting laugh. “So this is the new game? Sleeping with subordinates?”

Saya didn’t flinch. “Isn’t this better than sneaking around with your own goddaughter?”

Selene’s laughter died. A chill settled over her. “He talks about me? So you know. About us.”

“I know enough,” Saya countered.

“You think you can intimidate me?” Selene’s voice turned razor-sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. She stepped closer, her presence dwarfing Saya’s. “My career, my reputation… Do you think I care? I am Selene Fortabel. I could burn everything you’ve built with a single phone call. Want to see who loses more?”

She reached out, her hand grazing Saya’s throat in a terrifyingly calm gesture. “Where do you think you’ll be when I’m done with you?”

Saya violently wrenched herself away. She didn’t speak; the shame was finally beginning to override the defiance. She grabbed her bag and fled, her heels clicking frantically against the marble as the door slammed shut.

Greg emerged from the shower, a towel over his shoulder, water dripping from his chest. He stopped dead when he saw the woman standing in the center of the room.

The air felt like a live wire.

“You…” Selene’s voice was calm, but it vibrated with a dangerous, unstable energy. “You really make me sick!” her voice dropping to a low, vibrating register that was far more terrifying than a scream. “I spent years drowning in a fog, wondering why my soul felt like it had been hollowed out. And all the while, you were here, playing the martyr. Building a ‘perfect’ life on the grave of the girl you broke.”

Greg’s face was a mask of tortured stone. “I did what I had to do to save you from your own obsession, Selene. You were eighteen—you were legal, yes, but you were still just a girl playing with a fire that was always going to burn you.”

“I was eighteen and I gave you everything!” she spat, stepping into his space until her chest nearly brushed his bare skin. “I was a woman enough for you then. You taught me how to moan your name before I even knew how to live without you. Don’t you dare hide behind morality now. You didn’t leave me to save me—you left me because you’re a coward. You’re a man who likes his sins quiet and his secrets buried. But look at you now…” she gestured wildly at the room, her eyes wild. “Still digging the same holes. Still rutting with subordinates because you’re too weak to be alone with your own guilt.”

“Enough!” Greg roared, the sound echoing off the marble walls. “You think you’re so innocent? You came back here to hunt me. You enjoy this, don’t you? Seeing me crumble?”

“I want you to burn!” Selene screamed, her hands flying to his chest, pushing him with a strength born of pure hysteria. “I want you to feel the same abandonment I felt when I woke up in that hospital and realized the only person I loved had deleted himself from my existence! I hate you, Greg! I hate every breath you take!”

“Then stop breathing mine!” Greg grabbed her wrists, his grip bruising, his temper finally snapping like a rotted cable. The rage between them wasn’t just anger anymore; it was a physical force, a black tide that pulled them both under.

The transition from hatred to hunger was violent. There was no finesse, only a collision. Greg shoved her against the wall, his mouth crashing onto hers not with a kiss, but with an assault. It tasted of salt, iron, and a desperate, mutual loathing.

Selene didn’t recoil. She fought back, her teeth catching his lower lip until the metallic tang of blood filled their mouths. She wanted to hurt him as much as she wanted him inside her.

He hauled her toward the bed, but they didn’t make it. He spun her around, slamming her front-first against the heavy mahogany dresser. The impact made the mirrors rattle.

“Is this what you wanted?” Greg rasped against her ear, his hand tangling brutally in her hair, pulling her head back until she had to look at their distorted reflection. “To see the monster again?”

Her eyes dilated as she felt him tear at her clothes. 

He didn’t use the bedsheets yet. He used the friction of the wood and the cold air of the room. When he entered her, it was with a forceful, uncompromising thrust that forced a sharp, broken cry from her lungs. There was no rhythm to their movements, only a chaotic, frantic grinding of bone against bone.

Greg was a man possessed, his movements fueled by a decade of repressed longing and a week of suffocating guilt. He pinned her hands to the dresser, his fingers digging into her skin, marking her. Every thrust was a punishment; every gasp from Selene was a provocation.

“Say it,” he commanded, his voice a guttural growl. “Tell me you want it.”

“You want it,” she gasped, her nails scarring the mahogany. Even as she succumbed to him, she threw the words back like a curse. “You want to sink into me just as much as I do.”

They were two wrecks crashing into each other in the dark. The bed finally took their weight as they collapsed onto it, a tangle of sweating limbs and bruised skin. Greg didn’t slow down; he became more frantic, his hands roaming her body with a desperate, territorial hunger. He bit at her shoulder, leaving a mark that would take weeks to fade—a brand of the sin they had never truly buried.

Selene wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her nails drawing long, red furrows down his back. She wanted him to feel her, to carry the physical pain of her into his “perfect” home the next morning.

When the end came, it was a silent, agonizing collapse. The air in the room was stifling, smelling of sex and ruin. They lay there, hearts hammering against ribs, two people who had just finished destroying each other only to realize they were still standing in the wreckage.

The secret that reached its peak when she was eighteen has finally consumed them both as adults.