The rain came just before sunset, slicking the streets and smudging the horizon in gray. I stood at the kitchen window, one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee gone cold, watching water stream down the glass like tears I refused to shed.
Daniel was late again. He was always late now. Work, he said. Meetings that dragged on. Clients who demanded. A man who had once sworn that I was his whole world now couldn't find time to come home before dark.
At first, I fought it. The waiting. The loneliness. The sound of forks clinking against plates in a too-quiet kitchen where I ate dinner by myself most nights. But after years, it settled into something worse than anger acceptance. This was marriage, wasn't it? Routine. Silence. Comfort so deep it bordered on neglect.
I lifted the mug to my lips, tasted the bitterness, and set it back down untouched. The rain blurred the outline of the neighborhood houses across the street, their lights glowing faintly behind curtains, families tucked inside together. A pang cut through me before I forced my gaze away. Envy was useless.
That was when the car appeared.
Sleek, black, unfamiliar. It rolled slowly down the street and stopped in front of our house.
A chill prickled the back of my neck. My heart thudded once, hard, as if it knew something my mind hadn't caught up to yet.
The door opened.
And then he stepped out.
Adrian.
My husband's brother.
He hadn't been back in years not since the funeral that cracked the family open like a dropped vase. Daniel never spoke of him, except in clipped tones, like the syllables themselves were bitter. The prodigal son, the wild one, the one who vanished without goodbye.
Now he was standing in the rain, dark hair plastered to his forehead, a leather jacket dripping water onto his shoulders. The years had changed him, sharpening his features, turning him into a man who looked both dangerous and magnetic, like fire bottled in human form.
And when his eyes lifted to the window, they caught mine.
I should have stepped back. I should have drawn the curtain. Instead, I froze, staring, heat blooming low in my chest in a way that startled me.
It should have been awkward. Unwelcome. But it wasn't.
The look in his eyes hit me with a force that stole my breath. Recognition. Curiosity. And something else, something I should have turned away from but didn't.
The front door opened moments later, and Daniel's voice cut through the stillness.
"Emma? He's here."
I spun, startled. Daniel was standing in the doorway, his tie loose, his face drawn, exhaustion written in the slouch of his shoulders. But for the first time in months, his lips carried the hint of a smile.
"Adrian decided to show up."
I turned back as Adrian stepped inside, bringing with him the sharp scent of rain and the cool dampness of the storm. He looked at me again, openly this time, and smiled like a man who already knew the trouble he was about to cause.
"Hello, Emma," he said. His voice was smooth, low, uncomfortably intimate. "It's been a long time."
I swallowed, the words sticking in my throat.
"Yes," I managed. "Too long."
Daniel clapped his brother's shoulder, though there was a stiffness in the gesture. "You look the same," he said, though it wasn't true. Adrian didn't look the same. He looked older, harder, more… dangerous.
"Drinks?" Daniel asked, already moving toward the kitchen cabinet.
Adrian shrugged out of his wet jacket, revealing a fitted shirt beneath that clung to him from the rain. He dropped the jacket carelessly over a chair, his gaze never leaving me.
I busied myself with glasses, with ice, with anything that gave my trembling hands purpose. The air between us thickened, charged, though not a word had been spoken.
Daniel poured whiskey, talking about family matters and obligations, about how Adrian was staying "just for a while" until he figured things out. I nodded, though I barely heard him. My skin buzzed with awareness, every nerve tuned to the man sitting across from me.
Adrian raised his glass and held it there for a beat too long, eyes locked on mine as he said, "To new beginnings."
I felt the words like a touch. My breath caught, and I quickly lowered my gaze.
Daniel lifted his drink without noticing, sipping, sighing. But when he looked up, his eyes shifted from Adrian to me, lingering just a fraction too long.
A silence settled. A silence too heavy for a simple reunion.
I forced a laugh, though it sounded brittle. "Well, I suppose we should make dinner before the storm knocks the power out."
"Still the same Emma," Adrian said quietly. "Always practical."
The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine.
Daniel set his glass down harder than necessary. "Yes. That's Emma." His tone was sharp, almost defensive, as if Adrian's words carried a meaning only the two of them understood.
I excused myself to the kitchen, desperate for air, for space. But I could feel Adrian's gaze following me even as I turned away.
And I knew, without a doubt, that this was the beginning of something I would never be able to undo.