The storm thickened as the night deepened. Rain hammered the windows, and thunder rolled low across the horizon like an unspoken warning. The lights flickered once, then steadied, but the air in the house felt anything but steady.
Dinner was a strained affair.
Daniel busied himself with the roast I had made earlier, carving with mechanical precision, his jaw tight. Adrian lounged at the table like he owned the place, one hand curled lazily around his glass of whiskey, the other drumming a rhythm against the wood. His eyes kept straying always back to me.
I could feel them like fingerprints on my skin.
"So," Daniel said finally, breaking the silence. "What brings you back? Last I heard, you were in Spain."
Adrian's mouth curved into a slow smile. "I was." He leaned back in his chair, casual, infuriatingly relaxed. "But Spain lost its charm. I thought I'd see what home feels like now."
"Home," Daniel repeated flatly, as if the word were bitter on his tongue.
Adrian ignored the tone. "Besides, I missed family." His eyes slid to mine, held. "And familiar faces."
My fork froze halfway to my mouth. Heat rushed to my cheeks, though I tried to hide it by sipping water.
Daniel didn't miss it. His gaze cut sharply between us before he said, "Family. Right."
I set my fork down gently, trying to shift the conversation. "How long will you be staying?"
Adrian smiled at me, slow and deliberate. "As long as I'm welcome."
"Don't push your luck," Daniel muttered, carving harder into the roast, the knife scraping against the plate.
I forced a laugh, too light, too brittle. "Well, the guest room is always ready."
"Good," Adrian said, his eyes still locked on mine. "I don't like to impose."
The tension stretched taut across the table, sharp as wire. Daniel's knuckles whitened around the knife handle.
The storm outside crashed louder, rattling the windowpanes.
I excused myself again, gathering plates before I could suffocate in the silence. My hands trembled as I carried them into the kitchen, and I hated myself for it. This wasn't me. I wasn't some schoolgirl blushing under a man's gaze. I was a wife. A woman. A woman who had built a life with Daniel.
So why did my pulse race like this?
I ran water over the dishes, the sound masking the storm. But even with my back turned, I felt it. the weight of Adrian's presence. And then, a moment later, he was behind me.
Too close.
"Still the perfect hostess," he murmured. His voice was lower now, almost intimate. "I remember that about you."
I froze, my grip on the plate slipping slightly. "I was never your hostess," I said quietly, refusing to turn around.
"No," he agreed. "But you were always… unforgettable."
The words slid under my skin, dangerously intoxicating. My chest rose and fell too fast, my breath shallow.
Then Daniel's voice cut through from the dining room. "Adrian! Bring the wine if you're going to hover in there."
Adrian stepped back, his warmth retreating. But not before his fingers brushed against mine on the edge of the counter. A spark. Deliberate.
I turned, heart hammering, but he was already gone.
We finished dinner in near silence, the storm outside a relentless backdrop. Adrian asked questions, casual ones, about Daniel's work, about the house but there was an edge to them, like barbed wire hidden under velvet. Daniel answered curtly, sometimes not at all.
Finally, when the plates were cleared and the whiskey bottle was half-empty, Daniel rose. "I'm going to bed. Early morning tomorrow." His tone was clipped, final.
I nodded, rising with him. "I'll just finish cleaning up."
His eyes lingered on me, narrowing slightly, as if he wanted to say something more. But he only kissed my cheek light, perfunctory and disappeared upstairs.
Leaving me alone with Adrian.
The silence was suffocating at first. I stacked plates, wiped counters, avoiding his gaze. But he didn't move. He sat at the table, swirling the last of his whiskey, watching me like I was some puzzle he was determined to solve.
Finally, he spoke.
"He's changed."
I stiffened. "Daniel?"
Adrian nodded. "Quieter. Harder. Like life's been draining him drop by drop." He tilted his head. "Has he drained you too, Emma?"
The question sliced through me. I spun, glaring. "You don't know anything about us."
His smile was small, knowing. "Don't I?"
I wanted to snap, to storm upstairs and lock myself away. But the truth lodged in my throat. Because hadn't I thought the same thing myself? That marriage had hollowed me, left me brittle and waiting for something I couldn't name?
I turned back to the sink, refusing to answer.
He stood then, slowly, deliberately. I felt him cross the kitchen, each step echoing in my chest. He stopped just behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him through my thin sweater.
"You deserve more than silence," he murmured.
I gripped the counter until my knuckles ached. "Stop."
But my voice lacked conviction.
His hand lifted hovered near my arm, not touching, not quite. The nearness of it burned. "Tell me to leave, and I will."
I closed my eyes. The storm thundered outside, lights flickering once more. My heart screamed at me to say it to banish him, to save myself before this spun into something I couldn't control.
But my lips wouldn't move.
I turned instead, just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, intense, and for one heartbeat too long, I let myself drown in them.
Then footsteps creaked above us.
Daniel.
Adrian stepped back instantly, slipping into the shadow near the doorway as if nothing had happened. My chest heaved, my mind racing, when Daniel's voice drifted down the stairs.
"Emma? Are you coming up?"
"Yes," I called back, forcing my voice steady. "Just finishing here."
Silence. Then his footsteps retreated.
I turned, but Adrian was already gone.