UNFAITHFUL

CHAPTER ONE

Cole

The keys felt awkward in my grip, their weight unfamiliar, heavier than before. The night pressed in, dense and silent, making the metallic clatter seem unnaturally loud as I fumbled with the lock. My body ached from the long drive, each movement stiff and sluggish. I lingered on the doorstep, the key's cold bite sharp against my palm. Drawing a deep breath, I slid it into the lock, turned it, and stepped inside.

Elsa's voice called out from somewhere deeper in the house. "Cole, is that you?"

"It's me," I replied, slipping off my shoes and placing the keys in the bowl atop the rack near the door.

"Hi, honey." Elsa appeared from the kitchen, moving quickly despite the fullness of her pregnant belly. She looked radiant—one of those rare women who seemed to carry pregnancy effortlessly. Her middle and breasts were fuller, but the rest of her frame remained slim and graceful.

"Hi," I greeted her with a small smile.

She came right up to me, pressing herself against me and linking her hands behind my neck. She leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my head slightly, and her lips landed on my cheek instead. Her brow furrowed.

"Are you feeling okay today?" I asked, resting my hand lightly on her belly. "How's the baby?"

"She's good," Elsa replied with a warm smile. "A little kickboxer. She's been at it all day, like she's trying to find her way out early."

I gently released her hands and stepped into the kitchen. She trailed after me.

"Have you eaten yet?" she asked.

I shook my head. "What do you have?"

Elsa smiled softly, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Your favorite—spaghetti with meatballs," she said. "I figured you'd be hungry after the drive."

I nodded, pulling a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. "Thanks. That sounds great." I took a sip, glancing at her from the corner of my eye. "But you didn't have to do that."

"It's nothing, Cole," she said with a shrug. "Cooking helps pass the time when I'm restless. And, well..." She patted her belly again, grinning. "She's keeping me on my toes."

I leaned against the counter across from her, the tension of the day still clinging to me.

"You should rest, Elsa. You're doing enough just carrying her."

Elsa rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm not made of glass, you know. Pregnancy isn't a sickness."

"Doesn't mean you have to push yourself," I countered gently, setting the glass down. "You need to take it easy. Especially after that scare last week."

She tilted her head, studying me for a moment, her brows creasing slightly. "You seem... off. Did something happen today?"

I hesitated, running a hand through my hair. "It's nothing. Just tired."

Her frown deepened, and she stepped closer, her hand brushing my arm. "Cole, you've been saying 'it's nothing' a lot lately. Talk to me. What's going on?"

"It's really nothing," I said, stepping closer just enough to offer a hint of affection, a small reassurance that might settle the unease in her. She needed something, anything, to make this feel normal again. So, I gave her that. Just a little.

Her expression softened, the sharp lines of concern slowly giving way to something closer to understanding, even relief. I almost convinced myself it was enough.

"It's just been a grueling day at work, that's all," I added, my voice a little gentler than before, trying to smooth over the tension.

I wanted to shrug it off, to bury it like always, but the way she clung to me made it harder. Her hands pressed against my chest, her body edging closer. Wide eyes searched mine, looking for something I couldn't give. She wanted me to kiss her, to touch her like I cared.

But I didn't. I couldn't.

It wasn't sudden, this feeling of indifference toward her. It was a slow unraveling, like a thread pulled too tight, fraying bit by bit until there was nothing left to hold it together. Every forced smile, every hollow conversation and every time she looked at me with that same needy expression—it wore me down. Whatever flicker of affection I might have once felt for her had long since burned out, leaving only the smoldering remains of obligation.

Because that's all this was now. An act of mercy.

I stayed because I felt responsible because I couldn't be the one to break her. I stayed because I pitied her.

But now, as she stood there—too close—her hand on my chest and her eyes locked on mine, I felt nothing but the weight of it all.

Her presence clung to me, stifling and heavy, like I was drowning in a sea I didn't want to save myself from anymore.

I moved away from her, the motion instinctive, like pulling back from a flame that had burned too hot for too long. Her hand dropped to her side, the warmth of her touch fading as quickly as it had come. She said nothing, but I could feel her eyes on me, heavy with confusion. Or maybe hurt. I just didn't care enough to figure out which.

"Where's the spaghetti?" I said, my voice sharp and detached, cutting through the silence like a slap.

"The sauce is on the stove," she replied, her voice hesitant, like she wasn't sure how to read the mood. "The pasta's over there."

"Okay," I muttered, moving toward the stove without looking back. "I'll help myself."

I felt her eyes on my back as I moved away, but I didn't turn. There was no point.

The kitchen was dim, the stove's heat barely making a dent in the cold that had crept into my bones. I grabbed a plate, moving on instinct, trying to push the tension aside. She was still there, standing behind me, silent, waiting. I could feel her eyes on me—expectant, hoping I would say something, do something—anything to close the distance I'd been creating.

The spaghetti tasted incredible, as always. The meatballs were perfectly round, the sauce thick and steaming. She was sitting next to me, and I could almost hear the unspoken lines running through her head. She wanted us to have small talk, like a normal couple. Something to fill the gap, something to make it seem like we were okay. But the silence dragged on, stretching between us, and I didn't know how to break it.

Perhaps because I didn't want to.

I dug into the pasta and took a bite, focusing on the simple task of chewing. The action felt mechanical, a way to fill the space without having to say anything.

But Elsa broke the silence first like she always did. "We have a doctor's appointment next Thursday. Do you think you can come with me?"

"Of course," I said, nodding with no need to think. I always wanted to be there. I wanted to see our little girl, to see her moving on that screen. There was nothing I wanted more than to see my child.

But then the thought hit me again. What happens when she's born? Can I keep doing this? Keep pretending it's fine, keep living like everything is okay when it feels like it's not? The questions always seemed to find their way back, no matter how much I tried to push them aside.

And as usual, Elsa was oblivious to my mood—or perhaps she ignored it. She started talking about her day. "I went to prenatal yoga again today," she said with a dramatic sigh. "And it was exhausting, oh my God. I swear, the instructor acts like we're all professional athletes or something."

I nodded, unsure of what to say.

"And what about you?" Elsa asked, breaking into my thoughts. Her eyes were on me now, expectant. "You really look tired, Cole." She tilted her head, watching me closely. Her hand reached out and touched my cheek. Her gaze softened. "Maybe try not to work so much."

"Yeah, I know," I said flatly.

She didn't look convinced, but she didn't push it either. Instead, she turned her attention back to her belly, smiling widely as she felt the baby kick. "She's kicking me again. Ooh!" Elsa's face lit up in a way that looked like pure, uncomplicated joy that I couldn't quite share.

I forced another smile, the guilt creeping in again. "That's good," I murmured, though the words felt hollow.

Elsa smiled, surprisingly pleased with my bland response, and that smile still had the power to draw me in. She was beautiful, undeniably so, and it was the reason I couldn't resist her. In the beginning, I couldn't wait to see her, to feel that magnetic pull between us, the electric chemistry that always seemed to crackle when we were together.

It was like fire—wild and intense, the kind that made everything else disappear. There were moments when I'd need her, craving that heat, the way she made me feel alive. The overwhelming desire for her was a need I couldn't shake, and it constantly filled my thoughts. But like all fires, it had dwindled down to something smaller, less urgent, until it was barely a flicker. Until it was nothing at all. Until I couldn't keep up the pretense anymore.

Then came the guilt, a heavy realization that this was all wrong.

I shouldn't be here with her. Not like this. I shouldn't have let it go this far. Fuck, I shouldn't have started it at all.

And now, we were about to have a child. A child I already loved deeply, even though I hadn't met her yet. It was that love—the overwhelming need to be part of her life—that kept me here. Not the mess I'd created, not the mistakes I couldn't undo. And certainly not Elsa.

I turned my head, my gaze falling on the beautiful woman sitting beside me. Her gaze was full of affection and tenderness that was almost unbearable, fixed on me. Elsa loved me. I knew that. She loved me so much that she had accepted this life with me, where she knew I couldn't love her the same way. She knew I could only give her a fraction of myself.

And she knew I didn't really want to be here, that I was here because I had to be, not because I chose to be.

In the early days of her pregnancy, I tried my best to satisfy her, to make her happy. After all, she was carrying my child. Her desire was insatiable. She needed me to fuck her constantly, nagging relentlessly, always on fire. And I gave in every time, convincing myself I had to, because she needed it, because of her pregnancy. I'd rush to her, finding her already naked, her gloriously hot body on full display. My body would traitorously respond, gradually hardening, and I'd follow through even though I felt like a machine, mindlessly going through the motions.

She surely sensed it. That my mind wasn't with her anymore. But Elsa never gave up; she never stopped trying.

I could see it in her eyes as she looked at me just after I finished my meal. She was ready to try again.

She rose from the stool she had been sitting on, a seductive look playing across her face. Softly, she breathed my name, "Cole," as she gently pulled me, turning me to face her. Sliding between my legs, her eyes locked with mine, full of longing. They spoke loudly about how much she had missed me, how deeply she wanted me, how desperately she needed me.

Her hands reached for the hem of her shirt, pinching it lightly before slowly lifting it over her head, revealing the smooth, bare skin beneath. Her bare breasts looked full and heavy, her nipples hard and pointed toward me. I glanced down at her round stomach, where my little girl was growing, then back up at her face. She saw it in my eyes at that moment. I had given her my permission.

Her hands moved to my crotch and began massaging my shaft over my pants. Even though I despised her with every piece of my fucking heart, it started to fill. By the time she unfastened my belt and slid down the zipper, I was already hard. She pulled it out, her hand wrapping around it as she stroked up and down. She leaned in to kiss me, but I turned away, avoiding her lips and her gaze. It was hard to face the hurt in her eyes.

Elsa took my hand and gently tugged me toward her, guiding me off the stool. Without a word, I followed her to the bedroom. She pushed down her shorts and panties before sitting at the edge of the bed, completely naked, beckoning me closer.

I stood before her, towering over her, watching as she slowly pulled down my pants and boxers until they reached my mid-thighs. She looked up and smiled before wrapping both hands around my shaft, stroking it again. Then she leaned down, licking the slit before the head disappeared entirely inside her mouth, stretching her lips. I hissed at the sensation. Her head began to bob up and down, pushing in further and further until she gagged.

The sensation captivated me for a moment, and I wondered why it felt different this time. But it didn't last. I felt it. The familiar fading, the way it lost its strength, slowly softening completely. Lately, it had always been this way.

Elsa noticed, too, pulling away with a quiet pop. Her eyes searched mine, silently asking, “ Why, Cole?”

I knew the answer all too well. It was the guilt, always lingering in my subconscious. The guilt that stopped me from going any further. That I couldn't do this to Sara. To my wife. Not anymore.

Because despite everything—the fact that I was a fucking asshole, a cheater—my heart, every part of it, still belonged to Sara. No one else had even come close except for my daughter.

I would always go back to Sara. And there would be no one else. Not even Elsa.

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I can't."

Stepping back from her, I fixed my clothes and walked back to the kitchen. I carried the empty plate to the sink, rinsed it quickly, then placed it in the dishwasher. Standing there, I glanced around the house—the townhouse I'd bought for Elsa. The monthly allowance I sent her covered everything, more than enough to maintain a life of comfort and luxury. She didn't need to work a single day if she didn't want to, yet she still insisted on doing so.

"I'm going now," I said, turning toward the door and finding her already standing there, already clothed.

She said nothing, her gaze following me with that same expectant look.

I walked over to her, leaned down, and brushed my lips against her cheek. Nothing more than a fleeting touch.

"Take care of my baby. I'll be back in a few days."

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heels and headed for the door. She followed me silently, her eyes fixed on my back. I slipped on my shoes, grabbed the keys, and just before I stepped out, her voice came—soft but heavy with feelings.

"I love you, Cole. See you tomorrow."