When I got back to the apartment, he was passed out on the couch, snoring softly. The TV was still on—muted, casting blue shadows across his face. I tucked a blanket around him, careful not to wake him. He looked so damn peaceful it made my chest ache.
Peaceful—like he hadn’t shattered me just hours ago. His phone buzzed. Two unread messages.
Both from Zoraya.
“She made sure I got home safe, don’t worry Mr. Lambert! ”
“Goodnight, see you tomorrow! ”
My hands shook. I told myself to let it go. That I was being paranoid. But my thumb didn’t listen.
It hovered. Then tapped. I scrolled up.
“You left a mark on my thigh It’s still sore.”
“You liked it.”
“Obviously. I was soaking through my underwear before you even touched me.”
And then the photo dropped in. Blurry. Low light. But unmistakable. Her on his desk. Hair messy. Bra pulled down. The corner of his nameplate visible in the background. Our office. The one we built.
A buzzing started in my ears.
“Remember the way I moaned when you whispered my name?”
“Like music.”
Then another line. Time-stamped. Same day I was curled up in bed, head splitting, shivering through a fever.
“She’s sleeping. I told her not to come in today.”
“Good. I want you to taste me without rushing this time, Zeus.”
And I just… stopped. Tears slid down my face before I even realized I was crying. They dripped onto the phone screen. Onto her skin. Onto his words.
I tried to breathe. But it felt like my lungs were full of stones. I stared at him, slumped on the couch—lips parted, completely unaware. I tried to speak. Tried to say his name. Tried to scream.
But nothing came out. Then I stood. Walked to the study like a ghost in my own home.
Opened the drawer. Pulled out the pregnancy test and the crumpled report with the diagnosis still circled in red ink. I slid them under the ledger. Buried them. I didn’t want to see them. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
Behind me, Zeus stirred. Made a noise in his sleep. I looked back at him, my heart like glass underfoot. And in that moment, I knew:
He would never be the same man again.
And neither would I.
---
By seven, I heard him stir.
Zeus walked in, rubbing his temples like he’d just come down from something hard. He looked like the kind of man who ran a crew—sharp gray slacks, sky-blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the tattoos creeping down his forearms.
That face…