Dale Atkins POV:

I leaned back in the plane seat, rubbing my temples. My head throbbed. Jetta's soft hand, small and boneless, covered mine, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on my skin. "Headache, Dale?" she purred, her voice a seductive whisper.

"Mmm," I grunted, my eyes still closed. She smelled of some light, floral perfume, not unlike Faith' s usual scent. My tense muscles relaxed under her touch.

I had brought Jetta on this trip, trying to clear my head, but Faith's image kept flashing through my mind. I didn' t want a cold war with her. I just wanted her to come back. I had envisioned our reunion, a warm embrace, a renewed intimacy. I thought she would be so happy to see me, to finally be home. I thought she was being overly sensitive, irrational even, about Jetta. I had told her I loved her. Wasn't that enough?

My frustration grew. My brow furrowed even deeper. Jetta' s hand, still massaging my temples, slid lower, tracing the line of my jaw. "Is Faith still giving you trouble?" she asked, her voice laced with feigned concern. "She was really upset about the tickets, wasn't she? I mean, they were just… pieces of paper. But she shouldn't have burned them. That was going too far." She paused. "Maybe you should just ignore her for a while. Let her know she can't control you."

I stared at my phone, waiting for a reply from Faith, a sign that she was ready to talk. I remembered leaving her in the hospital, thinking a little time apart would make her see sense. But she was so stubborn. I thought about all our years together, the arguments, the reconciliations. Faith was always the one to apologize first, to bridge the gap. I loved that about her. Her fierce independence, her unwavering spirit.

I typed out another message, offering an olive branch, hoping she would take it.

Jetta leaned in, her warm breath caressing my ear, her voice a soft murmur. "I've had such a wonderful time with you, Dale. It feels like a dream." She sighed. "I know I don' t deserve your love, your real love. But… can I just have this memory? Just this one night?" Her body pressed against mine, soft and pliant. "I promise I won't tell anyone. I'll just be here, for you, when she can't. I just want to make you happy, like she used to." She looked up at me, her eyes pleading. "Please, Dale."

My eyes darkened. My throat felt tight. I reached out, pulling her onto my lap.

Dale Atkins POV:

My hand moved to Jetta's collar, then hesitated. Faith. My Faith. The thought of her waiting for me at home, perhaps even forgiving me, was a sudden, cold splash of water. I couldn't betray her. Not like this.

The sudden rush of desire vanished, replaced by a wave of self-loathing. I gently set Jetta down, covering her shivering shoulders with my jacket. Her face was pale, a mask of confused disappointment. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice flat. "But Faith is my fiancée. I still love her."

I believed that. Deep down, I truly did. My mistakes, my weakness, my stupidity with Jetta – they were blips, not true betrayal. Faith's anger, her pain, was justifiable. I would return home, talk to her, make things right. We would get married, just as we planned. The image of Faith in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle, her face radiant, filled my mind. I imagined announcing our lifelong commitment to all our friends and family, a moment that would be the second happiest of my life, after Faith saying "yes."

Jetta, her face a storm of conflicting emotions, lunged forward, pressing her lips desperately against mine. "Please, Dale," she sobbed, "I've loved you for so long. I'll be your secret, your mistress, anything you want."

My voice hardened. "No," I said, pushing her away. "I have never, and will never, think of you that way. I am loyal to Faith. I am loyal to my marriage."

"But why?" Jetta cried, her voice rising. "Why do you keep thinking of her when you're with me? She doesn't deserve you! She probably cheated on you while she was abroad. She's cruel, she hurt me so many times!"

My voice dropped, cold and dangerous. "Faith is not someone you get to speak about," I snarled. I remembered punching a friend once, years ago, for daring to imply something similar about Faith. I pushed Jetta away, standing abruptly. "Faith is the most important person in my life. Yes, I was a fool, I hurt her. But you're nothing to me. Your internship is over. You'll be transferred to another hospital when we return."

I didn't look back at her tear-streaked face. I stormed out, leaving her to whatever fate awaited her.

That night, I still hadn't heard from Faith. I convinced myself she was just being stubborn, playing hard to get. I sent her a text, a playful message, telling her to pick me up at the airport tomorrow. I couldn't wait to see her.

The anticipation lasted all the way until the plane landed. I waited for two hours, scanning faces, hoping to see her. The air around me grew heavy, a storm brewing. Faith never showed.

My fists clenched around my phone, knuckles white. I dialed her number, my finger shaking. The cold, automated voice answered: "The number you have dialed is not available." She had blocked me.

The phone almost slipped from my hand. Rage, hot and desperate, surged through me, mixed with a chilling fear, a primal panic. She wasn't just mad. She was gone.

I threw myself into my car, speeding down the highway, running red lights, ignoring the blare of horns. My heart hammered against my ribs. I burst through the door of our penthouse, calling her name.

Silence. The apartment was pristine, almost sterile. Her side of the bed was untouched. No trace of her anywhere. The housekeeper, trembling, confirmed my worst fear: "She left yesterday, sir. With her luggage."

"Why didn't you tell me?!" I roared, slamming my fist against the wall, the dull thud echoing through the empty rooms. I was a caged animal, desperate and cornered.

The housekeeper, cowering, muttered, "Jetta told us not to."

Jetta. A cold, hard clarity cut through the fog of my rage. Jetta had orchestrated this.

"Find her," I commanded my assistant, my voice hoarse. "Find Faith. She's just hiding from me. She just wants me to apologize."

My assistant, looking uncomfortable, cleared his throat. "Sir, there's an email in your work account. From Faith. It's… about Jetta."

My heart leaped, a desperate flicker of hope. An email? From Faith? "Is it her new address? A surprise?" I stammered, my voice cracking.

My assistant looked even more uncomfortable. "It's… not exactly good news, sir. It's about Jetta."

My heart plummeted, the fleeting hope extinguished. From heaven to hell in an instant. My fingers, trembling, clicked open the email.

Dale Atkins POV:

The email contained a video and several images. My fingers hovered over the video file, my heart pounding in my chest. I clicked play, holding my breath.

It was security footage. I recognized the bar instantly. My blood ran cold as I watched myself, drunk and disoriented, leaning against the couch. Then Jetta appeared, her face a mask of false concern, her body pressing against mine. And then, the kiss. I had convinced myself it was a harmless peck, a drunken mistake. But the camera, from a detached, objective angle, showed the devastating truth. It was a long, passionate kiss, a deep betrayal.

My gut clenched. A wave of nausea washed over me, leaving me cold and trembling. I saw Faith then, standing in the doorway, her face utterly devoid of emotion, her eyes like dead coals. I watched Jetta approach her, heard Jetta' s cruel, venomous words, her taunts echoing in the sterile silence of the video. The insults, the accusations, the sheer malice in Jetta's voice – each word was a dagger twisting in my heart.

I doubled over, gasping for air, the pain in my chest unbearable. The housekeeper, who had been standing silently nearby, recoiled, thinking she had angered me further. She quickly tried to distance herself from Jetta. "Jetta ordered us not to tell you, sir!" she cried, her voice trembling. "She brainwashed us! She told us she was going to be the new mistress! She made us report your every move!" The words tumbled out of her, a desperate confession. "When Faith came back, Jetta made our lives hell. She made us slap Faith! She even made us give Faith a special allergy medicine, a huge dose! It was supposed to be lethal, but Faith was lucky, she made it out alive." She finished, tears streaming down her face. "And then Jetta punished us for messing up!"

My hands clenched into fists, trembling with a primal fury. Faith, in the hospital, her face pale, her body covered in angry welts. And I, the blind idiot, defending Jetta, accusing Faith. The shame, the guilt, the self-loathing burned through me, a raging inferno. I felt like I was being slowly tortured, Faith's disappointed eyes now a thousand tiny blades piercing my soul.

With a roar of pure frustration, I swept everything off my desk. "Faith is my wife!" I screamed, my voice raw with anguish. "My only wife! Are you all blind?!"

The housekeeper, cowering, mumbled an apology. "But sir," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "every time you came home, you argued with Faith. And you always smiled when you saw Jetta."

Her words landed with the weight of a sledgehammer. I fell silent, my mind reeling. She was right. I had been a fool. "It's my fault," I choked out, my voice thick with tears. "I hurt her." My body trembled, my teeth grinding, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth.

Just then, a light tap at the door. Jetta's soft voice, once a seductive murmur, now sounded sickeningly fake. "Dale? Are you there? I have something important to tell you."

The housekeeper, her eyes wide with fear, whispered, "She's here to drug you, sir. She wants to make you think you spent the night with her, then use it to blackmail you."

I laughed, a cold, humorless sound. My knuckles cracked. I had been so utterly blind. So easily manipulated. "Let her in," I said, my voice dangerously calm.