Night had settled over the Harrington Main House. Soft lamplight filled the guest suite assigned to Alain and Marianne. A half-empty bottle of wine sat on the low table between them.
Alain reclined on the sofa, glass in hand, while Marianne sat opposite him in a deep-red silk robe that clung to her curves, the neckline dipping low enough to show the soft swell of her breasts. The fabric shifted with every small movement, outlining the mature, full lines of her body.
Alain took a sip and chuckled lightly.
"You know… Eleanor marrying that boy still feels unreal. Maybe the great matriarch simply decided she prefers them young."
Marianne gave him a flat look.
"Don't be ridiculous."
Alain raised his hands in mock surrender, then his expression turned more serious.
"Still… where the hell is Clara? She hasn't answered a single call. I'm starting to worry."
Marianne's fingers tightened slightly around her glass. She kept her voice calm.
"She needed space. She's been under a lot of pressure. She'll be back in a few days. That's all."
Alain accepted the answer with a small nod, though he still looked uneasy.
A knock came at the door.
Alain stood and opened it. Echo 2 stood outside, expression neutral and professional.
"What do you need?" Alain asked.
"Master Fin wants to see you," she replied. "Now."
She stepped back and gestured for him to follow.
Alain's shoulders tensed. From inside the room, Marianne called out.
"Alain? What's happening?"
"Nothing, honey," he answered, forcing a calm tone. "I'll be back soon."
He closed the door and followed Echo 2 through the quiet corridors and out into the garden. The night air was cool. At the far end of a stone path, Fin sat in a heavy chair before a low outdoor fireplace. The flames cast shifting light across his face. A glass of dark liquor rested in his hand.
Echo 2 gestured toward the empty chair opposite Fin, then silently withdrew.
Alain sat down, the unease in his chest growing heavier the longer he looked at the younger man. Something about Fin's stillness made it difficult to breathe normally.
After a moment of silence, Alain cleared his throat.
"You wanted to see me?"
Fin took a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down on the arm of his chair. His voice was calm, almost conversational, but there was no warmth in it.
"There are a few things you need to know."
He looked directly at Alain.
"You know I loved your daughter. More than I ever wanted to admit. I left my mother's house because I wanted to give her space, so she wouldn't feel intimidated by the Harrington name. And she loved me too. I know she did."
He paused, his fingers resting loosely against the glass.
"Clara has a good heart. She really does. But she made a mistake. She cheated on me with a man who had entered my life seeking revenge. He wanted to hurt me, and he used her to do it."
Fin's gaze remained steady.
"For a while, I thought about forgiving her. Part of me still felt responsible for what happened. But eventually, I realized there are some things you have to let go of. Otherwise, they'll keep eating away at you until there's nothing left."
Alain remained silent for a long moment.
His eyes dropped to the floor, and his fingers slowly tightened around the armrest.
He had expected anger. Perhaps an accusation. He had even prepared himself to defend his daughter.
Fin continued without raising his voice.
"The second thing is about your wife. Marianne was also involved with Mike. And beyond that… she and I have already crossed that line. More than once. It was consensual. She knows it. I know it."
Alain's hands curled into loose fists on his knees. The firelight flickered across his face as the words settled.
Fin watched him for a moment longer, then reached into his pocket and placed a check on the small table between them. The amount was large enough that Alain's breath visibly caught.
"Take this," Fin said, his voice slightly strained now. "Disappear with your daughter. Clara has been through a hell that broke something in her. She needs time and genuine care to heal. This is my last mercy — for her, and for you."
He paused, then added more quietly,
"Go and build a life for your daughter. Tell her I'm sorry for everything that happened. That is my final message to her."
Alain stared at the check, then at Fin. Denial rose sharply in his expression.
"You expect me to believe this… just because you said it?" His voice was tight. "I know my wife. I know my daughter. They would never do this to me."
He stood up abruptly, ready to leave.
Before he could take a step, Fin spoke again, calm and deliberate.
"I'm going to your room after this. Watch carefully whether your wife stops me… or not."
**
Alain returned to the guest suite and closed the door quietly behind him. Marianne looked up from the sofa, the red silk robe still wrapped around her.
"Where did you go?" she asked.
For a brief moment Alain felt the urge to lash out — to demand answers, to throw Fin's words in her face. But he forced the impulse down. He told himself that even if Marianne had certain tendencies, she had never cheated on him. More than that, he knew how much she loved Clara. She would never involve herself with her daughter's boyfriend. It was impossible.
So he shook his head and gave her a tired smile.
"Nothing important. Just a short talk with Fin. Everything's fine."
Marianne studied his face for a second longer, then nodded. They finished the last of the wine in silence and eventually went to bed.
The room fell quiet.
Alain lay on his side, eyes closed, but sleep refused to come. Fin's final words kept circling in his mind, sharp and persistent.
I'm going to your room after this. Watch carefully whether your wife stops me… or not.
He tried to push the thought away. Time passed slowly. The clock on the nightstand ticked steadily in the dark. The faint scent of the wine they had finished earlier still lingered in the air, mixed with the soft, familiar smell of Marianne's perfume on the sheets.
Then he heard it.
The soft, careful click of the door opening.
Alain's breath caught in his throat. He kept his eyes shut and forced his breathing to stay even, pretending to be deeply asleep. The air from the hallway drifted in — cooler than the room — carrying a faint trace of cologne that did not belong to him.
Footsteps moved quietly across the wooden floor. Soft. Deliberate.
Marianne stirred beside him. The mattress shifted under her weight. A moment later her voice came, low and startled, slightly rough with sleep.
"Fin…? What are you doing here?"
There was a short silence. Alain could hear the soft rustle of Fin's shirt as he stepped closer to the bed.
Fin's voice answered, calm and quiet in the darkness.
"I needed you tonight."
Alain's heart pounded against his ribs so hard he was afraid they would hear it. He did not move. He kept his eyes closed, listening to every sound, every shift of fabric, every careful breath in the room.
Marianne sat up slowly. The red silk robe had loosened during the night, slipping off one shoulder. Alain could feel the cooler air touch his arm as the fabric moved.
In the dim light filtering through the curtains, the upper curve of her breast was briefly exposed before she pulled the robe closed with one hand. The movement was delayed, almost reluctant. The soft whisper of silk against her skin was clear in the silence.
"Fin…" she whispered again, her voice tight. "You can't just walk in here. Alain is—"
"Sleeping," Fin finished quietly. "I can see that."
He stepped closer to the bed. The floorboards made only the faintest creak under his weight. Alain could smell him now — clean soap mixed with the lingering scent of the liquor he had been drinking earlier. The mattress dipped slightly as Fin knelt in front of Marianne. There was the soft, intimate sound of skin against skin as Fin took her hand and placed it against his face.
Marianne did not raise her voice. She did not tell him to leave.
Instead, after a long moment of silence, she asked in a lower tone,
"Why tonight?"
Fin's answer came without hesitation.
"You know why. Just like last time in my room… help me forget everything."
Alain's fingers curled tightly into the sheets beneath the blanket. His breathing stayed carefully measured, but every muscle in his body had gone rigid. The sheets felt suddenly too warm against his skin.
Marianne was quiet for several seconds. When she spoke again, her voice had changed — quieter, heavier, carrying a complicated mix of guilt, desire, and a tone she never used with Alain.
"We can't keep doing this. I know how badly you were hurt today. But you can't just show up and demand me whenever you feel like it."
Alain heard the soft shift of the mattress again as Fin moved closer. The faint scent of Marianne's skin mixed with Fin's cologne filled the small space between them.
"Marianne…" Fin's voice was low, almost strained. "I'm not going to ask again. Will you help me… or not?"
Marianne bit her lip. Alain could hear the faint, shaky breath she took — a small, wet sound in the dark. She wanted to refuse him. She wanted to say she would not do it again. But the heat of what they had already shared rose in her once more, along with a quiet, dangerous thrill at doing it while Alain lay only inches away.
"…Alright," she whispered at last. "Let's go to your room."
Alain felt something inside him crack. His heart clenched so tightly it hurt. A cold sweat broke across his back.
She… she agreed… How could she…
But it did not end there.
Fin slowly leaned closer to Marianne's face. Alain heard the soft brush of fabric, the quiet intake of breath.
"No," Fin said quietly. "I can't wait."
Marianne made a small, startled sound — half protest, half something else — but Fin had already taken her lips. For a second she tried to push against his chest. Alain could hear the soft pressure of her hand against Fin's shirt. Then her resistance faded. Her hand moved up to the back of his head, fingers sliding into his hair with a soft rustle. The wet, quiet sound of their kiss filled the darkness.
The two of them sank onto the bed. The mattress dipped heavily under their combined weight. Alain felt the heat of their bodies so close he could almost feel it through the sheets.
The scent of skin, of arousal beginning to rise, mixed with the fading perfume and the faint smell of wine.
Fin's low voice reached Alain's ears clearly in the silence, close enough that he could hear the slight roughness in it.
"Try not to scream."
Alain kept his eyes shut, every sound that followed — the soft wetness of kisses, the quiet rustle of the silk robe being pushed open, the first low, stifled moan from Marianne's throat, the subtle shift of bodies against the mattress — burning itself into him as the night continued in the room he shared with his wife.
***
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