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.

FREYA POV

I kept driving, but my mind stayed back at the gym, and I still kept feeling as if his hand was still on my throat. I know it is not there, but I felt the pressure. How his thumb is pressing right on my pulse. My skin remembered it exactly.

The ache between my legs got worse. My panties were soaked. The black dress stuck to my thighs. I pressed my legs together, but that only made it throb more.

I suddenly slammed the brakes. The car jerked. My body pushed forward then back against the seat. My breath came out hard. I looked around. The street was empty. I pulled over, put the car in park, and left the engine running.

I sat there breathing fast with my eyes closed. His fingers wrapped around my throat again in my head. Thumb on my pulse. Counting every beat. My heart raced under that spot.

It made me crazy. Wet. My nipples were still hard against the dress. I opened my eyes once to check the road. Still quiet. I closed them again.

My right hand left the wheel. I cupped my left breast through the dress. The fabric was thin. My breast filled my hand. Soft. Heavy. I squeezed it slowly. My nipple pressed against my palm. I rolled it between my fingers. It felt good. My breath got louder.

I kept squeezing my breast while my left hand moved down. I pulled the dress up higher on my thighs. The air hit my skin. I spread my legs wider in the seat. My fingers hooked the edge of my panties and pulled them to the side. The lace scraped my thigh.

My middle finger touched my clit. It was swollen and slick. I rubbed slow circles at first. Light pressure. Then a little harder. My hips lifted off the seat a tiny bit each time I circled.

Two fingers slid down. I pushed them inside my pussy. They went in easily. I was so wet. I pushed them deep. Curled them forward. Hit that spot inside. I started pumping slowly. In and out.

My right hand stayed on my breast. Squeezing. Pulling at the nipple. My left hand kept working. Fingers thrusting deeper. Thumb on my clit now. Rubbing tight circles. Wet sounds filled the car.

I thought about his hand on my throat again. Thumb pressing my pulse. That made my pussy clench around my fingers.

"Steve," I whispered.

I added a third finger. The stretch burned in a good way. I pushed them all the way in. Thrust faster. Thumb rubbing my clit harder. My thighs started shaking.

"Steve... fuck... Steve."

My back arched against the seat. My pussy gripped my fingers tight. The orgasm hit. Hard. My walls pulsed around my fingers. Wetness coated my hand. I kept thrusting through it. Slow. Until the last spasm stopped.

I slumped back. Breathing heavily. Fingers still inside me. My panties were twisted and wet. The car smelled like sex. My hand was sticky.

I pulled my fingers out slowly. Wiped them on my thigh. Fixed my panties. Pulled the dress back down. My legs felt weak.

And used tissue to clean up.

I started the car again. Drove home slower this time.

But I still felt his hand around my throat. And my pussy still ached for him.

****

I'm now right at the doorstep of what I should call my home.

I pulled into the driveway slowly, the house lights still on downstairs.

I know I looked a mess, but I didn't check the mirror to see; my pussy still felt swollen. 

After killing the car engine, I sat there for a while and let out a breath before I finally stepped out. My heel was loud on the concrete, but I managed to walk slowly. The moment I reached the door, I put the key in the lock, turned it slowly, and pushed it open quietly, and the dim living room lamp spilled yellow light.

But I noticed a figure, and that was Mark. He sat on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his head down; he looked like he'd been stuck in that position for a while, and the moment he heard the door click, he stood up so fast and turned right in my direction, and then he froze.

His eyes started at my face and dropped slowly, taking in the tight black dress hugging my hips and cleavage, the high hem, the short red heels, the messy hair, and the swollen lips. I don't know if he saw the mark on my neck as well.

"Freya"

His voice sounds low and rough, like it hurts to say my name.

He didn't step closer but just stood staring, jaw locked, eyes narrow, questions burning behind them. 

I shut the door and locked it; it clicked loud in the silence.

He took half a step, stopped, and scanned me again, slower, from heels to legs to dress to face, brows tight.

"You're dressed like that," he said, confused and angry. "Where the hell did you go?"

I stepped further into the living room fully, but my first instinct wasn't to look at him but to look straight at my daughter's room. I focused on the sliver of darkness under her bedroom door. The nightlight was on-her sleeping light. 

I'm sure she's fine.

Only then did I turn back to Mark.

"Hi," I said. I didn't even know why I said it. 

"Hi??" He threw the word back at me, his face twisting, more like he wasn't expecting that.

He still looked at me for a while, then let out a breath more like he put himself in control.

"Did you even check the time?" He said,

"Time," I repeated flatly. Then my eyes drift to the wall clock. 11:20 PM. I didn't respond. I just stood there. 

Mark took another step, his eyes fixated on me. 

"You look like you've been rolled in a gutter, Freya," he spat, the anger finally overtaking the confusion. He crossed his arms, trying to reclaim the authority he thought he still had. "Where were you? Who were you with? I called you twenty times. You don't just walk out of this house dressed like a whore and come back near midnight acting like nothing happened."

I felt a cold, sharp laugh bubble up in my chest, but I kept my face a mask of indifference. I reached up, slowly tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

"I was out, Mark," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "Is that a problem? I thought we were a family that didn't ask too many questions about where people go at night."

His jaw worked, a vein pulsing in his temple. "Don't play games with me. Look at you. You're... you're a mess."

"Well... maybe," I said. "What about we say goodnight now?" I added, turning to walk away.

I'd only taken one step when his voice cut in again, sharp and low.

"I asked you a question," he hissed. "Where the hell did you go?"

I didn't turn back, just kept moving, but his hand caught my arm and yanked me around hard. He looked furious-eyes wild, jaw clenched tight-and that pissed me off deep. What the hell was this? A man who fucked his college friend and kept the videos on record like trophies and now stood here acting like he had any right to be possessive?

I forced myself to stay calm, looking straight into his eyes.

Then I let the words slip out slowly, the same way he'd let his slip out the morning he broke me.

"You know what, Mark..." I said, voice quiet and steady. "Instead of giving yourself a hard time..."

"...why don't you just start thinking about divorce?"

He froze for half a second, eyes wide, then I snatched his hand away from my wrist like it burned.

"Good night."