Amara’s POV

“Amara Cole! Amara the Cole”.

I looked up to see Jemima, my long time friend, confidante and business partner sashay into my office holding a folder. She looked beautiful in her red tailored suit and soft makeup.

She slipped into the chair opposite me and looked at me. I raised my brow and looked at her.

“What is the matter?”

“Nothing. I just wanted you to take a look at this business proposal”, she replied as she pushed the folder she’d come in with towards me on the desk. I took the folder from her and slipped my fingers inside.

A couple of photographs fell out and landed on my desk. I looked down at them and at Jemima. This time she raised a brow and shrugged.

“What’s going on Jemima?”

“Go on, take a look”, she replied, nudging her head in the direction of the photographs.

I picked up the pictures and felt my blood run cold. I picked up another and another one. They were still the same, if not worse.

“Where did you get this?”

“Paparazzi. Saw a couple of them and decided to pay them off to not go viral with those coupled with some threats”.

I looked at the pictures, my husband Nicholas was with a woman I had no knowledge of. They’d both gone for a coffee run maybe which was strange and they were photographed in damning intimate positions.

What was going on?

“Maybe a business partner?”

“Is he always that cozy with business partners?”Jemima asked as she reclined into her chair and looked at me with what resembled pity.

I sighed and shelved the pictures back into the paper, “You didn’t have to print it, you know”.

“Maybe you’d see it better if I did. Nicholas is playing you sweetie. Real hard”.

I looked at her, my mind swirling with thoughts. I remembered the way he’d darted for his phone when it rang earlier this week and when I'd asked, he’d simply replied that he was irritated and didn’t have time to explain.

It had been an investor. I’d checked later and he was right. I know sometimes he made bad decisions but not to go this far.

“Jemima….

She raised a hand, stopping me from speaking, “It’s fine. I have business to attend to”.

“What would you rather have me do?” I asked exasperated.

She’d been dropping hints, soft evidence for weeks now planting doubt in my mind concerning my marriage. At this point I didn't know what exactly she wanted. I was aware she wasn’t fond of Nicholas.

She stood up and headed for the door, then she stopped, her hands still on the handle and she turned back to look at me.

“You know what to do”.

And she left.

I leaned back into my chair and bit on my lower lips. I hated this, I hated being confused.

I picked up my phone and dialed Nicholas’ number. It rang and I stared at our wedding photo that was the caller backdrop.

He didn’t answer, it went to voicemail. I called again, the same thing.

Maybe he was busy, he’d return it later. He knew better than to do anything that would need PR and he loved me.

After I lost my parents, Nicholas had been there for me, helping me establish my own agency and supporting me at my lowest. Although he’d been acting strangely lately because of the stress of closing a very important deal.

I called again, no answer. I stared at the door and I dialed my PA. she answered with one ring.

“Hello Mrs. Cole”.

“Order my husband’s favorite. We’re having dinner tonight”.

“Alright ma’am”.

I ended the call and looked at the folder with a small frown on my face. I’d get exactly what Jemima wanted.

She was my best friend but at this point I didn't know what she wanted.

**********

I was driving home playing melancholic music. The road wasn’t exactly busy today and I was loving every bit of it. Halfway I decided to make a detour to Nicholas’ office. We could go home together from there.

I made to take a turn when i heard a loud screech and unconsciously stepped on my brakes, almost hitting my head on the steering wheel.

I took a deep breath as I came out of my daze. Jesus Christ, what the heck was that? This was why Nicholas had always insisted I got a personal driver but I just wanted to drive.

I stepped out of the car and went around, the driver of the other car, a chauffeur perhaps because he wore a uniform had stepped out with an apologetic look on his face.

“I’m so sorry ma’am. So sorry, I got distracted”.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I said, my voice rising, “Do you want to have me killed?”

“No ma’am. Please please. My boss has to get to an important meeting”.

And with what he slipped back into the car and drove off. I caught a glimpse of the man in the back. He was on his phone, didn’t even look up.

I was livid. I got into my car and drove off heading to Nick’s office. I got to the parking lot, drove in rather aggressively and parked. I got out , my face masked with a frown.

The security details walked up to me, “Ms. Cole”.

I held up a hand signalling them to stop. They did.

“Is my husband in?’

He nodded and I walked in, took the elevator to his office suites, brushing off the imaginary dust that had settled on my suit. The elevator pinged and opened and I walked straight into his floor. His executive assistant was seated right outside in her cubicle.

I walked past and she quickly offered me a greeting. The door to Nick’s office was left slightly open. I took in a deep breath, still irritated and offended and pushed open the door.

I stopped right in my tracks, every muscle in my body going still. Somewhere in the back of my throat, I was stifling a scream.

Amara’s POV

The scream stayed lodged in my throat, refusing to come out.

I stood there, my hand still on the door, staring at something I would give anything to unsee at this moment.

Nicholas, Celine. My husband and the woman I'd only ever known as a name on his call log, his goddamn secretary, tangled together on the leather couch in his office like the world outside didn't exist.

She was straddling him on the couch moving against him like a snake moaning lightly while he squeezed her butts and sucked on her breasts.

For a second, I thought I was hallucinating. Maybe the near-accident on the road had rattled me more than I realized. Maybe I'd hit my head after all and this was some cruel joke my mind was playing.

But no. This was real, too real.

Celine saw me first. Her eyes went wide and she scrambled off the couch so fast she nearly tripped over her own heels, yanking her blouse back into place.

"Oh my God," she said, more to herself than to me.

Nicholas turned and for one full second, his face did something I'd never seen it do before. It went blank. Like his brain hadn't caught up with what his eyes were seeing.

"Amara…"

"Don't," I said, internally surprised my voice didn't shake. It was steady but my core wasn't.

I was in utter confusion and disarray.

"Baby, this isn't…. I can explain"

I almost laughed, almost. Because what was there to explain? I wasn't stupid. I'd seen the pictures Jemima shoved under my nose that morning. I'd told myself it was nothing. A business partner. A coincidence. I'd defended him in my own head like a fool.

And here he was, confirming every single thing I didn't want to believe.

"Amara, please, just let me—"

He took a step toward me and I took one back. That stopped him.

Celine had gone quiet, hovering near the window like she was hoping it might swallow her whole.

Smart woman.

If she knew what was good for her, she'd stay exactly where she was.

I looked at Nicholas, my eyes full of pain and disbelief. Was this the man I married? The man who held my hand at my parents' funeral. The man who told me he'd never let me feel alone again.

He looked smaller somehow. His eyes were filled with guilt.

Pathetic, I almost spat out.

"I have to go," I said.

"Amara, wait…"

I didn't wait. I turned and walked out of that office with my spine straight and my chin up, because if I was going to fall apart, it wasn't going to be in front of him or in front of that bitch whose breast he'd been shoving into his mouth.

I almost winced at that thought.

His executive assistant looked up as I passed her desk, already sensing something had gone terribly wrong. I didn't stop to explain. I didn't owe her one either.

"Mrs. Cole?" Nicholas called from behind me, his voice cracking slightly. "Amara!"

I kept walking.

The elevator ride down felt like it took a decade. I stared at my own reflection in the metal doors, waiting for it to crack the way I felt like doing. My hands had started shaking somewhere between the office and the lobby, and I shoved them into my pockets so no one would see.

The security guard from earlier gave me a small nod as I passed, the same one who'd let me up without question. If he noticed anything different about my face, he had the decency not to show it.

I made it to my car and sat there for a second, gripping the steering wheel like it was the only solid thing left in my life. My throat burned, my eyes burned but I refused to cry.

Not yet, not here.

Jemima's voice rang in my head. You know what to do.

She'd tried to tell me. Those weeks of soft hints, careful nudges, that folder she'd shoved across my desk this morning like a woman throwing a rope to someone drowning and I'd brushed it off every single time.

I told myself I knew my husband, lied to myself that we were fine.

God, I was such an idiot.

I started the car and pulled out of the lot, no real destination in mind. The streets blurred past, buildings and traffic lights bleeding into each other. I turned the radio off. I couldn't stand the sound of anything right now, not even silence.

At some point I realized I was crying. Quiet tears, sliding down my cheeks without permission, without sound. I didn't even wipe them away.

I just kept driving, my knuckles white against the wheel, my mind replaying the same image over and over like a broken record. Celine's wide eyes. Nicholas' blank face. The couch. The one we'd picked out together for his office two years ago.

I don't know how long I drove. Maybe long enough that the sky had shifted, dimming into that soft gray color before evening.

my phone had buzzed against the passenger seat more times than I cared to count.

I didn't look at it. I already knew who it was.

Eventually I spotted a bar tucked along a quieter street, one of those low-lit places with a neon sign flickering half its letters out. I didn't know the name of it. I didn't care. I just needed to be somewhere that wasn't my car, wasn't my house, wasn't anywhere near him.

I pulled in, parked crookedly, and sat there for a second with my hands still on the wheel, staring at the entrance like it might have answers for me.

It didn't. Of course it didn't.

I sobbed really hard, my mind racing through a lot of things.

My phone rang again and I spared it a glance. It was Jemima.

I didn't pick up, there was this crushing feeling and I wanted to get it off my chest.

I got out anyway, smoothed down my blouse, and pushed through the door, letting the noise and the lights swallow me whole.

As I stepped in, I heard a loud holler, something wheezing past my head and a shattering glass sound.

Amara's POV

I froze the second I stepped inside.

Somewhere near the counter, a man had shoved another one hard enough to send a barstool skidding across the floor, and a glass went flying, shattering against the tile and then amber liquid spraying everywhere and glass shards all over the floor.

What was I thinking?

A woman shrieked. The bartender was already yelling for someone to break it up, his voice sounding sharp over the music, and two men near the door moved fast to pull the fighting pair apart before it turned into something worse.

I stood there for a second too long, blinking at the scene like it belonged to someone else's life. Like I hadn't just watched my marriage fall apart forty minutes ago in an office two miles from here.

Nobody noticed me.

That was fine. I didn't want to be noticed. I didn't want to be seen at all, honestly. I just wanted somewhere dark and loud enough to drown out my own head for a while.

I skirted around the edge of the commotion, weaving past a cluster of women near the entrance who barely glanced my way, and found an empty stool at the far end of the bar, as far from the noise as I could manage.

My hands were still shaking when I sat down, so I pressed them flat against my thighs and took a breath that didn't do a single thing to calm me down.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked, already sliding a napkin in front of me.

"Whatever's strong," I said. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else too. It was more steady than I felt, hollow in a way I didn't recognize.

He didn't ask questions, just nodded and got to work, pulling a bottle down from the shelf. I appreciated that more than he'd ever know. The last thing I needed tonight was a stranger asking if I was okay.

When the glass landed in front of me, I wrapped both hands around it and raised it to my lips.

The first sip burned going down, and for one blissful second, it was the only thing I could feel. Not the image of Celine's skin on my husband's mouth or the sound of my own name cracking in his voice as I walked away. Just heat, and the dull ache it left behind, spreading slow through my chest.

It didn't last.

The memory crept back in anyway, uninvited, the way it probably would for the rest of my life. Nicholas's blank face.

He couldn't even regard the couch we picked out together, the one I'd argued for because the leather felt right under my hands in the showroom.

I thought about the first year of our marriage, back when he used to leave sticky notes on the bathroom mirror before work, back when a two-minute phone call from him could carry me through an entire bad day. Back when I actually believed forever meant something to him.

I hated how much that memory still hurt more than the one from an hour ago. I hated that some stupid, stubborn part of me still missed the man from the sticky notes, even sitting here with proof that he didn't exist anymore. Maybe he never had.

The bar was loud around me, full of people laughing, clinking glasses, living lives that hadn't just quietly imploded in the span of a single afternoon.

I watched a couple near the window lean into each other easily as they flirted. I had to look away before the ache in my chest turned into something I couldn't hide at a bar full of strangers. I'd never felt more alone in a crowded room in my life.

I finished the drink faster than I should have and immediately regretted it, my head swimming slightly, my chest still tight with everything I hadn't let myself cry out yet.

I needed a minute. I needed air, or water.

I needed Jemima.

"Bathroom?" I asked the bartender.

He pointed toward the back, past a dim hallway lined with flickering bulbs, the light stuttering every few seconds like it couldn't decide whether to stay on.

I slid off the stool, my legs less steady than I expected, and made my way through the crowd, murmuring quiet apologies every time I brushed against someone.

The hallway was quieter than the main room, the music was muffled behind me now.

I walked further in, my phone's flashlight sitting useless in my bag, squinting at the shadowed doors ahead trying to figure out which one led where. Everything smelled like old wood and spilled liquor back here, and the further I walked, the more the noise of the bar felt like it belonged to a different building entirely.

I turned what I thought was the right corner.

It wasn't.

I collided with something solid and warm, and it took my brain a full second longer than it should have to register what — who….I'd just walked into.

A man. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his hand braced against the wall beside a woman's head, her fingers tangled in the front of his shirt. They were kissing deeply, tongue and all like they had all the time in the world and hadn't noticed anyone else existed until I stumbled directly into them.

They broke apart. The woman blinked at me, annoyed, smoothing a hand down her dress like I'd personally offended her by existing.

The man just looked amused, one brow lifting up like I'd interrupted something mildly entertaining rather than intimate, his eyes followed me with an ease that made my face burn even hotter.

Heat flooded my cheeks so fast it almost hurt.

"Oh my God, I'm…. I am so sorry," I stammered, already stepping back, my hands raised like that might undo the last five seconds of my life. "I wasn't trying to— I was looking for the bathroom, and I just…"

I didn't wait for a response. I turned on my heel and half-walked, half-ran back the way I came, my face burning, my mind somehow finding room to be embarrassed on top of everything else it was already carrying tonight.

I made it to the bar and to my previous position.

Then I heard a voice from behind me, a low, almost sexy baritone.

"You were not even going to ask my name habibi?”