The note lay in my palm long after I found it, its edges damp from the sweat of my hand. Soon, Emma. Very soon.
I sat frozen on the edge of the bed, Daniel's steady breathing behind me like a metronome counting down the seconds. His arm flung loosely over the sheets, his lips parted in sleep, he looked so peaceful, so trusting that guilt hit me like a physical blow.
What kind of wife was I, clutching a note from his brother, my lips still haunted by his kiss?
I shoved the slip of paper back beneath the pillow, as though hiding it could erase the heat it had set alight inside me.
Sleep didn't come. I lay staring at the ceiling, pulse racing, until the faint light of dawn crept through the curtains.
The morning unfolded in silence. Daniel rushed through his routine, muttering about meetings again. His kisses on my forehead, my cheek were distracted, perfunctory. The kind that barely touched skin before dissolving into air.
Adrian wasn't at breakfast. For a moment, relief washed through me. Maybe he'd left early, maybe he'd gone out for a run. Maybe I'd imagined the note entirely, some fever dream born of guilt and longing.
But when I opened the refrigerator, I found another slip of paper tucked between the cartons of eggs.
Meet me at the garden. Noon.
I dropped it as though it had burned me. My hands shook so violently I had to grip the counter to steady myself.
"Emma?" Daniel called from the hallway. "Everything okay?"
"Yes," I lied, my voice high and brittle. "Just dropped something."
I told myself I wouldn't go.
All morning I repeated it like a mantra. I scrubbed the counters, vacuumed carpets that didn't need cleaning, rearranged the bookshelves again. Each task was a lifeline, tethering me to routine, to sanity.
But the clock ticked louder with each passing minute. By eleven thirty, I was pacing the kitchen. By eleven forty-five, I was at the back door, staring at the sunlight spilling over the garden.
By noon, I was there.
Adrian waited by the roses, leaning against the wooden trellis as though he'd grown from it, casual yet deliberate. He straightened when he saw me, his smile slow, satisfied.
"I didn't think you'd come," he said softly.
"I shouldn't have." My voice was raw. "This has to stop."
He stepped closer, each movement measured, his gaze locked on mine. "You don't believe that."
"I do."
"No, Emma." His hand brushed a rose petal, fingers lingering as he spoke. "If you wanted it to stop, you wouldn't be here. You wouldn't read my notes. You wouldn't keep them."
Heat rose to my cheeks. "You don't know..."
"I know enough." His eyes softened, though they still burned with that dangerous intensity. "You're alive when you're near me. You feel it. I feel it."
My breath caught. For a moment, the world narrowed to his voice, the sunlight, the roses heavy with fragrance.
Then the sound of a car door slammed in the driveway.
I jumped back, heart thundering. Daniel's voice drifted from the front yard, cheerful, unsuspecting.
Adrian didn't flinch. He leaned close enough that his breath fanned my cheek.
"Tonight," he murmured. "The guest room. After dark."
And then he walked away, leaving me trembling among the roses, my heart hammering against its cage.
The hours crawled by. Every sound of the house settling made me jump. Every time Daniel spoke, I flinched, certain he could see the guilt etched across my skin.
That evening, over dinner, he barely looked at me. He scrolled through his phone between bites, muttering about contracts. His distraction was a blessing and a curse. It kept his suspicions at bay, but it also widened the chasm between us, making the heat of Adrian's attention burn even brighter.
When Daniel excused himself for another late-night meeting, my stomach dropped. I almost begged him to stay, to anchor me, to shield me from what I knew was coming. But the words stuck in my throat, and moments later, the door clicked shut behind him.
Leaving me alone.
With Adrian.
The house was too quiet. I wandered from room to room, restless, my nerves frayed. Every creak of the floorboards made me start.
When I reached the hallway, I paused before the guest room door. It stood slightly ajar, a sliver of golden lamplight spilling into the darkened hall.
I should have walked away. I should have fled upstairs, locked myself in the bedroom, and waited for Daniel's return.
Instead, I pushed the door open.
Adrian sat on the edge of the bed, waiting. His eyes met mine, calm and certain, as though he had known I would come all along.
The air between us thickened, charged with everything unsaid.
"Emma," he whispered, my name heavy with meaning.
My heart pounded. My throat tightened.
I took a step inside.