CHAPTER ONE #2
The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings and phone calls. I was good at my job, good at compartmentalizing, at keeping the different parts of my life separate. Work Henrik was professional and focused. Husband Henrik was distant but functional. Lover Henrik was passionate and attentive.
None of them were entirely real.
By seven-thirty, I was in my car, heading to the Riverside Bar where Amelia and I usually met. It was on the edge of town, far enough from our usual haunts that we were unlikely to run into anyone we knew. We'd been careful for the past eight months, and so far, no one suspected a thing.
Or so I thought.
I didn't know that Bryony had been piecing things together. That she'd noticed the late nights, the distant behavior, the way I flinched when she touched me. That she'd been gathering evidence, building a case in her mind, preparing for a confrontation.
I didn't know that today would be the day everything came crashing down.
All I knew was that Amelia was waiting for me, and for a few hours, I could forget about the mess I'd made of my life and lose myself in something that felt good, even if it was wrong.
I parked in the back lot, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror.
I looked tired, older than my twenty-seven years.
The affair was taking its toll, even if I didn't want to admit it.
The constant lying, the sneaking around, the guilt I tried to suppress—it was all there in the lines around my eyes, the tension in my jaw.
But when I walked into the bar and saw Amelia waiting at our usual corner booth, all of that faded away.
She was beautiful in a completely different way than Bryony—blonde where my wife was dark, confident where Bryony was uncertain, experienced where Bryony was still learning. She wore a tight red dress that left little to the imagination, and when she saw me, her smile was pure sin.
"There's my favorite man," she purred as I slid into the booth beside her.
"Sorry I'm late," I said, though I wasn't really. I'd timed it perfectly—late enough that Bryony would have given up waiting for me to come home for dinner, early enough that I could spend a few hours with Amelia before heading back.
"You're here now. That's all that matters." She leaned in, her hand sliding up my thigh under the table. "I've been thinking about you all day."
"Yeah?" I caught her hand, stilling its movement. Not here, not yet. We had rules. "Tell me what you've been thinking."
Her eyes darkened with desire. "About your hands on me. Your mouth. The way you make me scream your name when you—"
"Amelia." My voice was rough, warning. "You're going to get us in trouble."
She laughed, low and throaty. "That's kind of the point, isn't it? The danger? The thrill of almost getting caught?"
She wasn't wrong. That was part of the appeal—the forbidden nature of it, the risk. It made everything more intense, more real somehow than the safe, predictable routine of my marriage.
We ordered drinks, made small talk, played the game we'd perfected over eight months. To anyone watching, we might have been colleagues having an after-work drink. But under the table, her foot was sliding up my calf, and the promise in her eyes was anything but professional.
"I got us a room," she said casually, sipping her martini. "At that place off Highway 9. The one with the hourly rates."
Something about that should have bothered me—the seediness of it, the cliché of the affair motel. But instead, I just felt anticipation coiling in my gut. "When?"
"Now, if you want." She leaned closer, her breath hot against my ear. "I want you to fuck me, Henrik. Hard. The way you never fuck her."
The mention of Bryony should have been a bucket of cold water, a reminder of what I was doing, who I was betraying. Instead, it just made me harder. Because Amelia was right—I didn't fuck Bryony like this anymore. I barely touched her at all.
"Let's go," I said, throwing cash on the table for our drinks.
We took separate cars to the motel, maintaining the illusion of discretion even though we both knew what we were doing. The place was exactly what you'd expect—cheap, anonymous, the kind of place that didn't ask questions as long as you paid in cash.
Amelia had already checked in, and she led me to a room on the second floor. The moment the door closed behind us, she was on me, her mouth hungry and demanding, her hands already working at my belt.
"Fuck, I've needed this," she gasped between kisses. "Needed you."
I backed her toward the bed, my hands sliding up her thighs, pushing her dress up. "Tell me what you want."
"You know what I want." She bit my lower lip, hard enough to sting. "I want you to use me. Make me forget my own name."
This was what I'd come for—the raw, uncomplicated desire, the way she gave herself over completely without asking for anything more than physical pleasure. No emotional intimacy, no deep conversations, no wounded looks when I pulled away.
Just this.
I pushed her onto the bed, and she laughed, spreading her legs in invitation. "Come on, Henrik. Show me what that perfect husband of yours can do."
The words should have stung, should have reminded me of the vows I'd broken, the woman waiting at home. But I was too far gone, too caught up in the moment to care.
I didn't know that while I was here, losing myself in another woman, Bryony was at home, finally finding the evidence she'd been looking for.
That she was reading through my text messages on the old phone I'd forgotten to wipe, seeing the explicit photos, the dirty messages, the proof of my betrayal.
I didn't know that her world was shattering while I was creating new cracks in our already broken foundation.
All I knew was the feel of Amelia beneath me, the sound of her moans, the temporary escape from the guilt and the lies and the man I'd become.
The perfect husband, fucking his mistress in a cheap motel while his wife's heart broke.
It would be hours before I learned what I'd done. Before I understood the consequences of my choices. Before everything came crashing down in blood and metal and the realization that I'd ignored the one warning that mattered.
But in that moment, in that room, I was just a man chasing pleasure and running from responsibility.
And I had no idea how much that would cost us both.