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Chapter 1
Title: Bound by You Source: Inkitt (https://www.inkitt.com/stories/1583727) Author: C.L. Greyson Category: Inkitt · Romantica & Steamy Synopsis/Opening: She wanted to feel desired.He wanted control.Sloane is thirty-five, freshly divorced and aching for more than polite kisses and polite lies. After discovering her husband’s affair—and his unborn child with another woman—she’s done with playing it safe. She’s ready to explore her desires. Ready to feel again. Even if it means surrendering to the one man who terrifies and tempts her.Rhys is a man who keeps his world in compartments—ruthless in busi ======================================================================
### Chapter 1: Chapter 1
She wanted to feel desired.He wanted control.Sloane is thirty-five, freshly divorced and aching for more than polite kisses and polite lies. After discovering her husband’s affair—and his unborn child with another woman—she’s done with playing it safe. She’s ready to explore her desires. Ready to feel again. Even if it means surrendering to the one man who terrifies and tempts her.Rhys is a man who keeps his world in compartments—ruthless in business, controlled in life, and dominant in the bedroom. He doesn’t do love. Not after watching it destroy his mother. But when he sees Sloane at a gallery, something in her pulls him in. The need to possess her. Break her. Ruin her for anyone else.He offers her thirty days: his rules, his control, no names, no attachments.But lines blur, fantasies deepen, and trust becomes dangerously addictive.And when control slips—so does the illusion that this was ever just a game.
Complete Chapters 45 Rating 4.8 ( 71 reviews ) Age Rating 18+ {"language":"en","storyId":1583727,"genres":[{"name":"Romantica","path":"/genres/romantica"}],"authorName":"C.L. Greyson","authorPath":"/GreysonWriter86","status":"complete","lastUpdatedAt":1782577003,"chaptersCount":45,"rating":4.774647887323944,"reviewsCount":71,"ageRating":"18+"} The End of Us Twelve years of marriage ended on a Tuesday.
Sloane couldn’t tell you the exact moment it happened was it when she found the text thread? The receipt for the hotel stay? The silence that had been spreading between them like rot?
No. It was the ultrasound photo.
Folded neatly between the pages of his planner, tucked behind a receipt for dog food, as if it weren’t the single most life-shattering image she’d ever seen. A blurry little outline with a due date and the name Aubrey scribbled beneath it in loopy handwriting.
She didn’t scream. Didn’t throw anything.
She looked up at the man she had loved for fifteen years and realized he wasn’t looking back.
“I wanted to tell you,” he said quietly, as if the lie tasted like regret. “I just didn’t know how.”
“You’re going to be a father,” she whispered.
He nodded, shame flooding his eyes but not enough of it. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
No big, dramatic blowout. No begging. No cinematic betrayal. Just a stillness so loud it echoed.
They signed the papers two months later.
She left him the house. It wasn’t an act of martyrdom. It was the house they’d dreamed about in college, saved for during their early years, argued over paint colors for built a life inside. And now he would build another life there, with someone else.
The baby had no fault in this, and Sloane refused to be the woman who stained a child’s first home with bitterness.
She took her half of the equity and disappeared into a modern, quiet apartment on the other side of the city. Hardwood floors. White walls. A view of the skyline. Cold. Beautiful. Impersonal.
The first night she slept there, she woke reaching for a man who would never lie beside her again.
Some days she cried raw, broken sobs that felt like they came from someone else’s throat.
Other days, she walked the crowded streets of Carroway, weaving through noise and neon and the rush of people who didn’t know her name. The chaos helped. It reminded her she was just a person. Alone, yes but still standing.
She deleted their shared playlists. Donated half her closet. Packed up wedding photos and dropped them at her sister’s house without explanation.
Until the little things cracked her open:
A father kissing a swollen belly in the park.
The scent of his aftershave on a stranger.
The damn alumni magazine with his smiling face under Professional Updates.
Avoiding him was easy. He hated the city always said it was too loud, too fast, too messy. Now he lived in the suburbs with Aubrey. Sloane didn’t know if they were married. She didn’t want to know.
She didn’t go near that part of town. Didn’t text mutual friends. Declined every invitation that sounded like it might come with a side of awkward silence and baby news.
White wine. Stacked books. Long walks through Carroway. A job she tolerated. A queen-sized bed that felt like too much space.
At thirty-five, she was starting over.
No children. No dog. No ring. No clue what came next.
But each day, the silence stung a little less.
And though she didn’t quite believe it yet, something in her gut whispered:
This isn’t the end of your story.
Just the part where you stop pretending you don’t want more.
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### Chapter 2: Chapter 2
But Emily wouldn’t take no for an answer, and neither would Diego or Brynn. So there she was nursing a mezcal margarita at a rooftop bar in Carroway’s arts district, pretending she hadn’t flinched when someone walked by wearing her ex-husband’s cologne.
The breeze was warm, the skyline glowing, the table scattered with tapas and laughter. It almost felt normal.
“You need to get laid,” Diego said bluntly, stabbing a shrimp skewer like it was personally responsible for her dry spell.
Brynn choked on her sangria. “Oh my God, Diego.”
“What? Look at her! She’s gorgeous, newly single, and it’s been—what? How long since—?”
“Don’t answer that,” Emily cut in, shooting her sister a protective glance. “Tonight is about fun. Not trauma.”
Sloane raised her glass. “To repression.”
They clinked drinks and laughed. For a while, it was easy. They talked about work, Brynn’s on-again-off-again situationship, Diego’s latest obsession with a bartender who may or may not be straight.
No one mentioned him. And she was grateful.
The next bar was louder, darker a hole-in-the-wall with velvet booths and a band playing bluesy covers of pop songs. Within ten minutes, a group of men hovered near their table, smiling, offering to buy drinks.
The girls declined politely but firmly.
She wasn’t planning to say yes, but then she walked over.
Ally Benning. Mutual friend. Former brunch buddy. Presently very drunk.
“Oh my God, Sloane?” Ally’s voice was too loud, too chipper. “I didn’t know you were still in the city!”
Ally waved a hand. “You know. After everything with Marco…”
Emily tensed beside her. Diego sipped his drink like tea, clearly settling in for the drama.
“I saw him last week at Wes and Jen’s barbecue,” Ally continued, oblivious. “He was so weird. Kept bringing you up. Like—a lot. It was awkward, honestly.”
Sloane felt her stomach tighten.
“He and that girl Aubrey? Yeah, they looked miserable. I mean, who gets someone pregnant during a marriage and expects it to work out, right?” Ally laughed, and it grated. “Anyway, he was acting like you’d text him or something. Like you guys were still—”
Diego stood. “Okay. Thanks, Ally. Let’s get you a cab.”
“Oh.” Ally blinked, confused. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” Sloane said tightly. “You didn’t.”
But it wasn’t fine. Not even close.
Back at the table, Brynn tried to lighten the mood. “Want to do a shot?”
Her smile was brittle. Her chest ached. Her night was over.
Sloane stayed at Emily’s that night.
It wasn’t planned, but the thought of going back to her quiet apartment felt unbearable. So she borrowed an old T-shirt and curled up on the guest bed with a glass of water and tissues she swore she wouldn’t need.
Emily didn’t say much. Just hugged her tight and handed her a blanket.
Sloane fell asleep to the sound of the dishwasher and the hum of the streetlight outside.
She was jolted awake at 7:04 a.m. by two small bodies launching onto the bed.
Her niece and nephew five and seven climbed over her like a jungle gym, giggling, asking if she’d brought donuts. She laughed, her throat tight, and kissed both their heads.
In the kitchen, Dominick Emily’s husband, her high school sweetheart, and the closest thing Sloane had to a brother was already brewing coffee.
He wrapped her in a hug before she said a word.
He poured her a cup. “He’s an idiot.”
Driving home later, the city was still waking up coffee carts, dog walkers, joggers, people with places to be.
Hey. I’m really sorry if I said anything last night. I was drunk and out of line. Hope you’re okay. xo
Sloane stared at the screen, then snorted.
Apologies from old friends she no longer needed. Drunken confessions about men she used to know. Numb mornings. No closure.
Just learning how to be someone else.
Someone who didn’t flinch every time his name was spoken.
Authors can write and upload their manuscripts on Inkit for free and writers retain 100% of their copyrights while writing on Inkitt
Readers can read all books for free, without any ads and give the authors feedback.
Books that perform well based on their reader engagement are published on our Galatea app.
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