"Clara, tell me the truth… or I swear, I'll handle this my own way!"
His voice cracked as he shouted, and for the first time since I married him, my husband looked like a stranger. His eyes burned with betrayal, his chest heaving, fists clenching and unclenching like he was fighting the urge to break something or me.
I was on my knees in front of him, my tears soaking into the rug, my hands trembling so badly that I had to clutch my own wrist just to steady myself. My body was shaking, my words caught in my throat. I wanted to speak. To explain. To deny. But guilt is louder than any lie, and mine sat heavy on my tongue.
He had trusted me. Blindly. Fully. Since the very first day. He had been the only man I had ever given myself to, the only one who knew me in ways no one else ever had. And that made this what I had done all the more unforgivable.
Because it wasn't a stranger.
It wasn't some faceless mistake.
It was James.
James, his best friend.
I never wanted it to happen or at least that's what I told myself the first time I felt the pull. But James had a way about him. A charm that made you notice him even when you didn't want to.
I still remember the day he came back from his trip, right in the middle of our wedding celebration last year. My husband and I picked him up from the airport. The moment James stepped into view, tall and effortlessly confident, my breath caught. When he hugged me, the warmth of his cologne lingered on my skin, and I hated myself for noticing.
I shouldn't have. But I did.
There was something about the way he carried himself his easy smile, his calm voice that unsettled me. Not because it was threatening, but because it made me want to lean closer when I shouldn't have even been looking.
Later that evening, when we finally settled at the apartment, he came over and sat near me.
"Hey, Clara," he said gently. His voice was smooth, the kind of voice that makes you forget what you were about to say.
"I'm sorry," he continued, scratching the back of his neck. "I rushed back and didn't get you anything."
I laughed nervously. "It's fine, James. You didn't have to."
"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, nodding to the spot beside me.
"Go ahead," I said. My smile was polite, but inside, my pulse quickened.
He studied me for a moment, his lips twitching like he was holding something back. "You're beautiful, you know that? My friend really got lucky."
I tried to roll my eyes, to brush it off like harmless teasing, but the way he looked at me… it wasn't casual. And the worst part? I liked it.
"You've been looking at me since the airport," he said after a beat, his tone softer now, more certain.
My heart skipped. I forced a laugh, pretending I didn't know what he meant. But deep down, I did. And from the look in his eyes, he knew I did too.
I should have stopped it there.
I should have drawn the line.
Instead, I let myself sink deeper into the tension between us.
That night, after everyone had gone to bed, my phone buzzed with a message.
Let's take a ride. Get drunk. Just the two of us.
James.
I stared at the screen for a long time, my chest tight, my throat dry. I knew what answering that message meant. I knew what door I'd be opening, one that could never be closed.
But temptation… temptation has a way of whispering louder than reason.