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There was so much tension in the room. I wondered if they suspected I knew, and if they did, surely my husband would be whisking us back to our home and finally dropping his stupid long johns.

I continued to stare at Rupert until he eventually sighed, reached into his pocket and threw me the car keys.

‘Right,’ I managed, my chest tightening. ‘Sorry to leave early, Pen.’ I turned to her, my smile feeling so forced I wondered if it was about to crack my face. ‘Dinner smells amazing, too.’

‘Oh, not to worry at all,’ she said, almost falling over herself in haste. ‘We’ll save you some!’

We. Wow.

‘I’ll be round tomorrow after the meeting to film the wreath content,’ she added, barely concealing the joy in her voice at having Rupert to herself for the evening. ‘Hope you feel better!’

I grabbed my blazer and nodded. ‘See you then!’ I called and headed towards the door.

In the moment before I closed the door, I could already hear murmuring in the kitchen behind me.

I felt the cold air strike my chest the second I walked out, before the reality of it landed properly. He wasn’t coming after me, his allegedly poorly wife. He was staying for dinner. With her.

My throat felt constricted and I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly I wasn’t angry anymore. Just . . . embarrassed. I felt so fucking stupid. How long had I allowed this to happen right in front of me? How many times would I have to smile through it? I released a breath that shook on the way out. ‘I shouldn’t have to watch that,’ I muttered to myself. ‘I shouldn’t have to compete.’ He was my husband. Whatever the burner phone might suggest, I loved him unconditionally, and the worst part was knowing he obviously didn’t feel the same.

I glanced back once, just for a second, as I reversed out of her drive. The kitchen light glowed warm through the window. Inside, their silhouettes moved together. I looked away, nauseated, because I knew then that he’d chosen her; he just hadn’t said it out loud yet.

Chapter Three

As soon as I returned home, I kicked off my shoes and raced upstairs to my walk-in wardrobe. I began bundling clothes out of my drawer and pulled out my other phone – my secret phone. I felt instant relief at just the sensation of having it in my hand and started typing:

New message to A.

There is too much talk and not enough action here!

Can you meet me in thirty minutes?

I hesitated. Then added:

I’ll wear my tiniest lingerie?

His reply came almost instantly.

Fuck really? Send me an address! X

My fingers hovered over the screen, wondering if I should immediately cancel. My heart was racing, but not in a good way. It didn’t feel like excitement, it felt like desperation. Then I sent the address of the gym car park down the street from me. He couldn’t come to the house. I had more cameras here than HMP Shotts, so the gym car park would be the next best option. I knew it would be quiet and secluded this time at night.

I pulled off my silk dress and studied my figure in the mirror once more, gently swaying from side to side, making sure every angle, every curve of my body was perfect. I watched how elegantly the lace lingerie sat against my skin. There was nothing wrong with me, so why would my husband want to replace me? I wondered if they were even eating her home-cooked meal, or if he was now munching on Penelope’s own lasagne between her legs. I screamed, covering my face. Knowing I had to stop with the mental visuals.

Thirty minutes later, my anger hadn’t subsided. I pulled on a long trench over my underwear, popped up my black umbrella to shield me from the wintry drizzle and any prying eyes, then marched on foot towards the gym car park to meet Adam. Apprehension tugged at my stomach as I wondered when Rupert would get home, whether he’d feel bad I was unwell and cut his rendezvous short, and what he’d do if I wasn’t there. But something in me knew him well enough. He hadn’t even texted to check I was OK. I pictured Penelope and him playing happy families over their meal, wishing it was their own home, with me entirely out of the picture. I picked up my pace, desperate for some comfort. Desperate to be desired.

The car park was mostly empty, just a few scattered cars sitting under the dull glow of the street lights. Then I spotted a red Lamborghini flash its lights at me, so I pulled my brolly down further and walked over. My face felt like it had been through the wars, but still I stuck on a smile just as he drew down the window.

‘Hello there, gorgeous.’ His brows lifted, and I noticed his eyes drift to the split of my jacket where my suspenders showed at the top.

‘Hi,’ I said lightly, then walked to the passenger side of the car, opened the door and slid in. ‘Nice to finally meet up.’ Up close, Adam was exactly how I remembered him. Broad, rough around the edges, the kind of man who looked like he just rolled out of bed in the morning and still looked handsome. He was an ex-rugby professional – the complete opposite of polished – and there was something undeniably masculine and gorgeous about him.

‘So,’ he said, his Welsh accent coming through, ‘are you going to tell me what I’ve done to deserve this tonight?’

I let out a small laugh, pulling at the belt of my trench coat. ‘Well, I didn’t come here to chat.’ My voice sounded calm, calmer than I felt inside.

He raised his brows, looking amused at my bluntness. ‘Right, let’s go, then,’ he muttered under his breath, then started the engine.

‘Where?’ I asked.