The night should have been ordinary. She should have been home, wrapped in the comfort of the arms that claimed her, smiling the soft smile of a woman who belonged to someone. But her lips were painted darker than usual, her steps heavier with a secret thrill, and her pulse betrayed her before she even crossed the threshold.
He was waiting. Not her partner, not the man who had promised her the world, but the one who had slipped into her life like a shadow. His eyes found her immediately, drinking her in, stripping her long before he touched her. She told herself she would resist, that this would be the last time, that tonight she would remember who she really belonged to.
And then his hand brushed against hers. Just a fleeting touch, so light that no one else would have noticed, but her body shivered like it had been branded. Her chest tightened, her breath quickened, and her vow shattered before it even had a chance to form.
"You came," he murmured, voice thick with the kind of promise that had nothing to do with love.
She should have said no. She should have walked away. Instead, she tilted her head, exposing her throat like prey, and let him lead her into the darkness.
The bed wasn't hers, and neither was the man who pulled her down onto it, but she gave herself to him anyway. Every kiss stole something sacred. Every gasp betrayed the one she left waiting at home. And still, she couldn't stop. Shame clung to her skin, but the fire underneath was hotter, louder, drowning out everything else.
Later, tangled in sheets that smelled of sweat and sin, she would tell herself it didn't mean anything. That it was just weakness, just a mistake. But deep down, she knew the truth. She didn't feel like a victim. She felt alive. Desired. Claimed.
And when she slipped back into her own house, her partner asleep, the weight of his trust pressing down on her, she wondered how long it would take before he noticed the scent of another man's hands still clinging to her skin.
This is how betrayal begins. Not with grand declarations, not with angry fights, but with a single stolen night that tastes too sweet to regret. A night that burns hotter than shame, searing itself into memory until it demands to happen again.
Because once the line has been crossed, there is no going back.