I don’t pull my hand away fast enough.
She finally lets go.
I don’t say anything else. Don’t trust myself to.
They leave. The door clicks shut behind them.
I sit there for a full minute, staring at nothing, blood roaring in my ears.
Followed her. That’s what he did.
By the time I leave the office, it’s dark out and my chest feels like it’s packed with broken glass. I call Mabel on the drive home, needing something—anything—familiar.
“Did you have dinner plans?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral. “Sabrina hasn’t been answering me.”
There’s a pause on the line. Too long.
“Oh,” Mabel says carefully. “She left right after you did this morning, dear. Shehasn’t been back.”
The steering wheel tightens under my grip.
I don’t need to ask where she went.
I already know.
Which is how I end up here—sitting on a barstool at the Lakeshore Reserve, untouched drink in front of me, watching my wife like a hawk for the last fifteen minutes. She’s working. Confident. Beautiful. Completely herself.
I feel her before she looks at me.
The shift in the room. The awareness snapping into place.
When she finally turns and our eyes meet, her mouth curves into that slow, knowing smirk.
Not defiant.
Inviting.
A challenge.
I lean back on the stool, letting the tension settle into something sharp and familiar.
I’m not worried. I’m looking forward to it. Because sparring with my wife?
Might be my favorite fight yet.
Then she turns away, moving through the room with that effortless grace of hers—hips swaying, shoulders relaxed, completely in her element. I let myself watch her for a second longer than necessary. Let myself enjoy it.
That’s when I see him. Tall. Clean-cut. Too sure of himself.
Elliott.
He’s coming in from the side entrance, eyes locked straight ahead like a heat-seeking missile. He doesn’t scan the room. Doesn’t clock the bar. Doesn’t see me.
Because all he sees is her.
My jaw tightens as he closes the distance. He says something to her—low, familiar. Something meant to pull her attention, not earn it. I see her body tense before her face does. Her smile fades. Her shoulders stiffen.
Then he grabs her arm. Not violent. Not frantic.Worse.Assumptive. Possessive.
