Chapter 10
August
I know he's cheating
Cecily
“He’s been working so much lately, I barely see him anymore,” I confess to Harper as we sit sipping wine in her and Jonathan’s backyard during one of their occasional weekend barbecues. Alicia is at her best friend’s house, and Ethan decided to stay home.
Harper noticed how unusually quiet I’d been, and eventually, everything spilled out.
How absent Colin has become, how the distance feels more pronounced these days.
My gaze drifts toward the grill, where he and Jonathan stand shoulder to shoulder, a glass of scotch in hand, laughing as they turn the meat and vegetables.
The third couple in our little circle, Oliver and Felicity, are in Spain for two weeks, enjoying a summer vacation with their kids. Out of the six of us, Harper and Jonathan are the only ones who chose not to have children, and they’re perfectly content with that.
If Colin didn’t work so much, I wouldn’t mind having two or three more myself.
Though we’re both only children, he seems perfectly at peace with that solitude, while I’ve always felt a soft envy for people who grew up in noisy, sprawling homes.
The kind of household where no one is ever truly alone.
I’ve been trying to convince Colin to at least take Saturdays off so we could spend a weekend at his parents’ place in the Hamptons, but so far, he hasn’t been able to free up his schedule.
"Probably another big deal they’re about to close," Harper says.
"Maybe," I reply. "Can you believe his assistant had an accident and he didn’t even think to mention it to me? I only found out last week when I couldn’t reach him on his phone and ended up calling the office. That’s when someone else picked up—a Maya something—who, by the way, never passed on my message.
According to Colin, she’s just a junior assistant. "
"See? That explains it," Harper says with a knowing nod. "Jon mentioned something about Margaret. Poor thing. The new girl is probably still finding her footing, so everything’s slower than usual. It’ll settle down soon, and then Colin will be around more."
Her lips curve into a knowing smile. “And in the meantime, you could always plan something, whisk him away somewhere… just the two of you.”
I just smile and shake my head, not mentioning my failed attempt to plan a trip to the Hamptons. I also keep quiet about the uneasy feeling that seems to fade whenever Colin is home… only to settle right back in the moment he walks out the door again.
Colin
“I know he’s cheating.”
I hear Ceci say it just as I’m walking toward her and Harper. The words hit me hard enough that I stop mid-step. The sip of scotch I’ve just taken goes down the wrong way. I choke, coughing hard, enough to pull both their gazes toward me.
“You okay?” Cecily asks, worry softening her voice.
I nod too fast, forcing a smile and waving her off like it’s nothing. I set the glass down on a nearby table as I pass, then keep walking toward them, trying to steady my breathing, every muscle in my body strung tight with dread.
When I reach her, I perch on the arm of her chair and press a kiss into her hair. Too hard, too desperate. If she really knew, she wouldn’t let me touch her. She wouldn’t lean into me like this.
Would she?
Keeping my voice even, I ask, “What are you two talking about?”
“It’s a show we’re watching,” Harper says before Ceci can answer, all animated. “The main guy has a secret apartment his wife doesn’t know about. We see him going there constantly, but never inside. Cecily swears he’s cheating. Personally, I think he’s a serial killer.”
“Maybe he’s both,” I say, forcing a laugh that’s tight, brittle.
Letting my hand settle on her shoulder, I brush my thumb along her neck, trying to ground myself in the only thing that still feels real.
“Oh, please,” Harper groans, rolling her eyes. “Every time you’re within two feet of her, you have to touch her. I’m getting more wine… maybe I’ll find a little love for myself while I’m at it.”
When she’s far enough away to be out of earshot, I tilt Ceci’s chin up, my heart pounding. “Why are you so invested in this show?”
She blinks, surprised by the question, then gives a soft laugh.
“I don’t know. I just like it,” she says. “Same way I read true crime sometimes.”
She hesitates, then adds softly, “I read once that people are drawn to stories about infidelity because it taps into something almost… universal. It’s not just betrayal, it’s the emotional turmoil, the ethical questions, the way it shakes the foundations of a relationship.
On some level, everyone fears it happening to them.
And part of us wants to understand why something so painful happens in the first place. ”
My throat tightens. I can’t look away from her.
I cup her face and kiss her. Long, deep, possessive, like I could wipe everything clean if I just held her close enough.
“Get a room!” Jonathan shouts from across the yard.
“Your own house, not mine!” Harper adds, laughing.
Cecily pulls back, laughing with them, and says she’s going to check if Harper needs help. I catch her hand before she can stand.
“You shouldn’t waste time on shows like that,” I say, trying to sound casual. “They’re not good for you.”
She just smiles, shakes her head, kisses me once more, and slips inside.
Later, when we’re finally home, I make love to her slowly, committing every sound she makes to memory, every curve of her body beneath my hands. I hold her as if each touch might keep her from ever suspecting the truth.
As if loving her gently enough could finally loosen fear and guilt’s grip on me.
“Maya, come to my office.”
I release the intercom button before she can answer. Less than a minute later, there’s a knock. Three quick taps, and she steps inside.
Before she can speak, I say, “I need you to contact the heliport and confirm all the permits for Friday’s flight to Atlantic City. You’ll be coming with me.”
Her face brightens immediately.
“How many days will we be staying?” she asks, a little too eager.
“None. We leave early in the morning and return late afternoon, or as soon as the deal is signed.” I hand her a folder.
“Everything you need is in here. It also has the flight details and the hotel reservation Margaret booked before her medical leave began, for my wife and me, for the event next week. I need you to double-check that everything’s in order. ”
Her expression stays neutral, professional even, but I don’t miss the way her fingers tighten around the folder.
“That’s all,” I say.
She turns to leave, but pauses at the doorway, glancing back. “Will you be coming to my place tonight?”
I give a single nod.
A faint smile curves her lips before she quietly closes the door behind her.
Fresh from the shower, I start getting dressed while Maya lies sprawled across the bed, watching me. The sheet barely covers her thighs, her breasts are exposed without the slightest hint of shame. Her whole posture is languid, a silent attempt to pull my eyes back to her.
But what I can’t shake is the look on her face when I was inside her.
It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t lust.
It was something almost tender… something that had no business being there.
Even when I picked up my pace, even when I turned her over and took her from behind, stealing quick glances at the clock on the nightstand, pushing harder, faster, just trying to get it over with. That expression never left her eyes.
It followed me into the shower, clinging to me through the scalding water, burrowing under my skin in a way I couldn’t shake.
Now, tugging on my shirt, irritation prickling beneath my ribs, I finally ask, “This is still just sex for you too, right?”
She rolls her eyes, pulling the sheet up as if suddenly self-conscious, hiding what she’d been flaunting seconds before.
“Yes. You don’t need to worry about that.”
But the knot in my chest doesn’t loosen.
“I already have a wife and kids,” I say, voice flat. “I’m not looking for another relationship.”
“I know,” she snaps, getting out of bed and shrugging into her robe, tying it a little too tight around her waist. “You don’t have to keep saying it. I never forced you into this. You came here, Colin. I never showed up at your house.”
She’s not wrong.
And yet… something in her has shifted. It’s small, subtle… but I feel it. A subtle, dangerous shift beneath that polished composure.
I take a slow breath. “Fine. I just want to be very clear.”
Maya
The moment the door clicks shut, I grab the bedside lamp and hurl it against the wall. The crash is loud, satisfying, a brief relief for the pressure clawing at my ribs.
I don’t know what changed this weekend, what turned him so cold, so distant. On Saturday, everything was as it always is. He was here, in my bed, wanting me with that same raw urgency that keeps drawing him back. The fire between us burned hot, hungry, insatiable.
But by Monday he showed up different. All business. Face unreadable, voice clipped, eyes that wouldn’t linger on mine for more than a second. I kept wondering what she had done. Whether his wife had irritated him, disappointed him, reminded him of all the things he pretends he doesn’t miss.
I was practically buzzing all day, counting the hours until I could pull him back under, remind him why he keeps coming to me.
But he didn’t come Monday night. Or Tuesday.
At work, he barely looked at me. I felt him slipping away, and I knew I had to stop it before he convinced himself he could.
Today, all it took was one look. One murmured question.
And he came.
He’s trying to run from this, I know it. But I also feel the shift in him. Subtle, yes, but there. The way his hands linger a second longer. The way he holds me tighter, even when he’s pretending not to.
He may not admit it, not even to himself, but something is changing for him.
I won’t let him forget me.
And I’m not going to let him toss me aside like yesterday’s newspaper.