STEVE POV

The text hits at 2:29pm.

"What happens if I come tonight?"

I stare at it until the screen dims. Tap it back on. Still there. 

Ten seconds after I sent "Door locks at 8:15. Don't be late." My thumb is still hovering like she might text back.

I lean back in my office chair. Leather creaks under my weight. The gym's quiet this time-only the low hum of the AC and the occasional clang from someone setting up downstairs. But still my pulse is still louder than both.

She sent it at 2:29.

Middle of the fucking afternoon.

It means she's been sitting with my card all day.

Probably turning it over in her hand, wondering if I'm crazy or just a salesman

Fuck.

I shift in the chair. When my head flashes back to her face. 

I walk up to that house this morning and hand the flyer to the woman at the door-Rebecca, the nanny or maid, whatever she is.

But the instant she takes it, she glances at the house, then mutters under her breath, low but clear enough:

"Right timing. Just when the boss complained about his wife's body."

The words hit like a brick.

I froze for half a second and - complained.

Then Freya steps out into the hallway.

Eyes red. One dry tear on that soft cheek.

And the rest of her-curves, softness, the way she stands like she's trying to take up less space.

And everything clicks.

Rebecca's mutter + Freya's face = he looked at this woman and told her her body was wrong.

My fingers dig into the armrests. Leather groans.

At the moment those tears hit, something in me tears open. I bet she's crying over the shit that scumbag might have said to her. Why the fuck is she crying? I fucking want her to see what her first sight is doing to me-how she stopped my chest cold the second she appeared.

I've seen beautiful women. Never once did one make my throat lock up and my words come out rough like I forgot how to speak normally.

But her?

The second I saw her standing there-shattered, trying to hide it-I lost control of my own damn mouth.

"You're crying?" came out like a growl. Like her pain was suddenly my business.

Because she's beautiful. Not fake, not gym-carved. Real. Soft. The kind of beauty that makes a man want to drop everything and just... look. Protect. Keep.

And Mark?

That fucker looked at the same woman and decided she needed fixing.

Decided she was a problem.

I crack my knuckles. Slow.

He doesn't get to do that.

He doesn't get to make her cry over the exact things that stopped my heart when she stepped out.

Whatever he's blind to, I see.

I see it all.

Her line. Her curve. Every single inch, he's blind to see or hated.

I want to claim it right there.

To show her someone finally sees what's right in front of him-and make sure the only tears she sheds from now on are the kind that come when she's lost in bed.

She tried to push me away.

Her small voice. Shaky.

"I'm married."

"I have a daughter."

It didn't matter.

It only made the pull stronger. Made me want to stand in front of her and block out anyone who ever made her feel less.

The phone stays dark.

I drag a hand over my jaw. Stubble rasps.

Come on, princess.

The moment I saw you, I couldn't think straight.

And I'm not getting that control back until you let me prove what I saw.

The office door bangs open hard enough the frame rattles.

My little sis storms in-Diana, with her usual chaos, phone already waving like a flag, grin wide and bright.

"Bro! Guess what-"

She stops dead. Eyes flick over me: phone gripped tight, jaw locked, the way I'm sitting like I'm coiled to spring.

She tilts her head. "Okay, you look like you're about to either fight someone or fuck someone. Which is it today?"

I don't look up. "Busy."

"Busy staring at your blank phone like it's going to-? Come on, Steve. Well, like I said, guess what? So the guessing is, Flora's back next week. And she's going to have a big house party. She's been asking about you. Like, asking, asking."

I snort once. Short. Sharp.

"So?"

"So you should come! You've been a damn ghost since you opened this place. No dates, no girls, nothing. Your abs are collecting dust, man."

I finally lift my eyes. Meet hers. "Tell Flora I'm good."

Diana groans, dramatic as always. Drops into the chair across the desk anyway. Legs kick up on the edge like she owns the place.

"Good at what? Being a monk? You need a woman, Steve. A real one. Not just the ones who come in for free sessions and bat their lashes."

I stand. The chair scrapes back loudly.

"Found one already."

Her mouth falls open. Eyes go huge.

"Wait. For real? Who? When? Details, now!"

I walk past her. Shoulder clips the doorframe on purpose.

"Lock up if you're last out."

She yells after me down the hallway. "You're not going to tell me?! Steve! Come on!"

I don't answer.

I head straight for the main floor. Lights are half-dim.

I drag one bench to the center-right under the overhead spots-and lie down with my back flat and take seconds to close my eyes. 

Her face appeared, and my chest tightened like a fist. Heat spikes through my arms and my neck. Fingers flex against the bench, reaching for nothing.

Fuck.

I mutter low, rough, and barely audible in the empty gym:

"You're killing me, princess... and you don't even know it yet."

FREYA

I'm done dressing up. I slip into the black dress-the one that hugs my body tightly.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror in the guest bedroom, far from the master suite. Mark's cologne still lingers in the air there,  and I hate that. That's how much I despise him now.

The fabric stretches tight across my hips, dips low between my breasts, and ends high on my thighs. I haven't worn it since the night I bought it two years ago-hopeful and stupid, waiting for Mark to look at me the way he used to. Or the way I thought he used to.

He never did.

Tonight the dress isn't for him.

I smooth my palms down the sides, feeling the tremor in my fingers. I step back and study the woman in the mirror. I've always wanted to step out like this, but stupid me wanted to do it with my husband.

The same husband that has been secretly ashamed of me

Now, looking at myself, a sudden question crawls into my heart: Am I really out of shape?

My phone buzzes, snapping me out before the thought can spiral too far.

I rush to the dresser and grab it.

Mark:

 Running late at the office. Luna's already at Lila's for movie night + pizza. You know she loves to be with her. Don't wait up.

No "love you" this time.

Good.

I type one word.

Me:

 Okay.

Then I delete the entire thread. I block his number. I don't even know why-let's call it anger. My thumb hovers over "Luna - My cutie" in contacts... but I can't bring myself to block my own child.

Instead I text Rebecca:

Me:

 I'm going out tonight. Luna's with her dad. If anything changes, call me immediately.

Rebecca:

 Understood ma'am. Be safe. ❤️

I exhale through my mouth like I'm blowing out birthday candles I never got to make wishes on.

The clock on the wall reads 7:12 p.m.

Forty-eight minutes until the gym door locks.

I slip on my only pair of heels-red, with thin ankle straps. I spray the perfume I stopped wearing because Mark once said it gave him a headache.

I grab my keys, the matte black card, and leave through the side door so the security lights won't catch my silhouette slipping away like a guilty teenager.

I drive following the address on the card. After a short drive, State-of-the-Art Gym sits on the corner of a newly developed strip. It's not a big building-glass front, black steel accents, bright neon sign. A single motorcycle is parked diagonally across two spaces.

Of course it's his.

I kill the engine and sit there, gripping the wheel until my knuckles turn white.

You can still leave, Freya. You still have a chance.

Just drive home. Cry in the shower. Pretend this morning never happened.

I'm still staring at the gym when Mark's voice from this morning slices through again:

"Maybe if you worked on yourself."

And Lila's laugh from that sex video-sharp, victorious, unbothered.

I don't know if it's rage or something else, but it surges through me. I open the car door instantly. The night air smells like concrete cooling and distant rain.

The gym doors are unlocked.

Inside it's darker than I expected-only emergency strips and a few overhead spots still on. Weights gleam under low light. Mirrors everywhere. The faint smell of rubber mats, metal, and sharp cologne.

No one at the front desk. Just the low hum of the air conditioner.

I'm still looking around when I hear boots-heavy, deliberate-coming from the hallway that leads to the offices.

The next second, Steve appears.

No gym shirt this time.

Just black joggers slung low on his hips and nothing else.

The tattoo sleeve on his left arm continues across his chest-one long thin line under his left pec, another across his lower ribs.

He doesn't smile. He just looks at me.

Slowly.

His eyes travel from the red heels, up the black dress, past the cleavage I suddenly feel too exposed, over the curve of my stomach, and finally to my face.

A slow smirk curves his mouth. It feels almost mocking, but there's something darker in it I can't name.

"This doesn't look like gym attire, princess."

The words land like a spotlight in my ears. Heat rushes to my cheeks. I suddenly feel ridiculous-overdressed, overdone, like a woman playing pretend. What the hell was I thinking, showing up in heels and a tight dress like some desperate cliché?

I take a step back toward the door.

"I'm sorry, I should go," I whisper, voice small. "This was a mistake. I don't know what I'm doing here."

My hand reaches for the handle. My pulse hammers. I could still leave. Drive home, delete his number, pretend none of this happened.

"You look sexy."

His voice stops me cold.

Sexy.

It hits my chest like a warm wave. When was the last time anyone called me that? Mark hadn't said anything close in years-not before Luna, not after.

The only compliment he ever gave was "You look better." Just... better.

I turn back to look at Steve. A single tear slips free, sliding down my cheek before I can stop it.

The instant he notices, his smirk vanishes. His expression darkens-that same feral protectiveness from this morning flashing across his face. He closes the distance in two strides-slow enough that I could back away, fast enough that I don't want to.

I wipe the tear quickly, but another follows.

My vision blurs. Tears slip free, hot and fast, carving wet lines down my cheeks.

He stops just in front of me. Lifts his hand. His thumb catches the tear before it reaches my jaw.

"Is this a tear?" he murmurs, voice gravel and smoke.

Freya POV 

I looked up at his face. His Storm-gray eyes locked on mine, intense, unblinking, like he was memorizing every millimeter of my face. And for the second time, it's just like my pain personally offended him.

And in that instant something inside me cracked open.

Just this once, I thought. I want to feel like a woman again. Desired. Seen. Commit a sin and pray not to regret it.

After all, after tonight I would file for divorce. I would pack Luna's things and mine, leave this city, run my business remotely, and leave the house that still smelled like Mark, leave the woman who had quietly taken my place in my daughter's stories and my damn husband's bed. 

I will go for a clean break. A new start somewhere the neighbors didn't know my shame.

And right now, just one reckless night with the man who looked at me like I was worth ruining for... it didn't feel like betrayal anymore. It felt like survival.

I lifted my chin, met his gaze, and let another tear fall on purpose.

"Yes," I whispered. "It is."

The words barely left my mouth before I moved.

I grabbed the back of his neck with both hands and pulled him down hard. My mouth slammed into his-with zero hesitation, no second thoughts. 

He groaned low in his throat the second our lips met. His arms locked around my waist instantly, yanking me flush against his bare chest so tight I could feel every ridge of muscle pressing into me. My breasts crushed against him, nipples already hard and aching through the thin fabric of the dress. I opened my mouth wider, tongue pushing against his.

He kissed back just as rough-teeth grazing my lip, tongue stroking deep, like he was ready to devour every corner of my mouth. One of his hands slid down to grip my ass, his fingers digging in, lifting me until my thighs wrapped around his hips. The hard length of him pressed right between my legs, thick and insistent through his joggers, rubbing against me with every shift of his hips. I moaned into his mouth, shameless, hips rocking forward on instinct, chasing that pressure.

My nails raked down his shoulders, hard enough to leave marks. He hissed but didn't pull away-only kissed me harder, walked us forward until my back hit the mirrored wall with a thud. The cold glass made me gasp, but I didn't care. I arched into him, grinding down, feeling how wet I already was, how soaked my panties had become just from his mouth and his hands and the way he held me like he couldn't get close enough.

His other hand came up, rough palm cupping my breast through the dress, thumb brushing over my nipple in slow, firm circles. I whimpered while my head fell back against the mirror. He dragged his mouth down my throat, sucking hard enough to bruise, teeth scraping the sensitive skin just above my collarbone.

"Fuck," I breathed, fingers tangling in his short hair, holding him there. "Don't stop."

He didn't. Kept sucking my neck. Licking. Biting lower. His hips rolled slowly against me. Deliberate. Grinding his cock right over my clit. Every drag sent heat shooting through my pussy. My thighs started trembling around his waist. I couldn't control it. My legs start shaking badly. Pussy clenching on nothing. Dripping so much I felt it run down my inner thigh.

His tongue moved up. Found my ear. Slid inside. Wet. Hot. Rolled slowly around the shell. Licked the sensitive spot behind my lobe. Then sucked the earlobe between his lips. Bitee gently. Tongue pushed back in. Fucking my ear with slow strokes. Breath hot against my skin.

My whole body jerked. Legs shook harder. Pussy throbbed. Clit swollen and aching against his grinding cock. I only wanted one thing now. Him inside me. Fucking me hard. Right here. Against the wall. Filling me. Stretching me. Making me come on his cock.

I reached down fast. My fingers fumbled at his jogger's waistband. Wanted to feel him. Wrap my hand around that thick length. Guide him inside my pussy. I need it now.

But his hand caught my wrist. Tight. It stopped me cold.

I froze. Breathing raggedly. Staring at him.

He pulled his mouth back just enough and looked at me. Eyes dark. Pupils are huge. Lips wet and swollen from mine. Chest rising fast.

"Not tonight," he said. Voice rough. Firm.

I blinked. "What?"

"Not while you're still married."

The words hit hard. Like ice water dumped on me.

I stared. My legs are still wrapped around him. My dress bunched at my waist. Pussy still pressed to his cock. Body screaming for more. And he said no.

"Are you serious?" My voice cracked. Angry. Hurt. Humiliated.

"Yeah." He didn't move. Didn't flinch. "I want you. Bad. But not like this. Not when you go home to him after."

I shoved his chest. Hard. He let me slide down. My heels hit the floor. My legs shook so bad I almost fell. Had to grab the mirror to steady myself.

"You're fucking kidding me," I spat. Hands trembling. Body on fire. Freezing. Aching.

He dragged a hand over his jaw. Exhaled roughly. "I'm not going to be the guy you use to get back at him. When that marriage is really done-come back. Then I'll fuck you until you forget his name. Until you can't walk straight. Until all you can say is mine."

Tears burned my eyes. Angry ones. the fact that he put the dot together already and figured out it's my broken marriage that flushes me out this way

I laughed once. Bitter. Broken.

"Fuck you, Steve."

I yanked my dress down. Hands shaking. Turned. Stormed to the door. Heels clicked loud and mad across the floor.

I thought he would call me back, but he didn't call my name.

Didn't try to stop me.

I shoved the glass door open so hard it banged against the wall.

The night air slapped my face.

I got in the car, slammed the door, and gripped the wheel until my knuckles hurt.

My thighs were still slick.

My lips still tingled from his mouth.

My body still ached for him.

And I hated him for stopping.

But mostly I hated how right he felt.

I started the engine.

And right at that moment, I made up my mind; I knew exactly what I was going to do next.

Divorce papers.

New city.

New life.

And maybe-just maybe-when it was all over, I'd come back here and let him finish what he started, but I prayed not.