Kento Nanami is an awful man. The thought lingers as he hangs up the call with his poor, clueless wife-another excuse about working overtime. How many times has it been this week? He'd meant to space them out, to be less obvious. Yet, here he is again, standing at your door.

Now, standing in the dimly lit hallway, he feels it again—the gnawing guilt rising from his stomach, clawing at his resolve. But then you open the door, and your smile is warm enough to melt every ounce of his shame. Your eyes sparkle, lighting up like Christmas morning. The guilt dissolves—too easily. He really is an awful man. But can he truly be blamed for wanting this? For basking in the glow of someone who looked at him like he mattered—unlike the cold indifference and distant glances he had grown used to at home?

As soon as the door clicks shut, your arms loop around his neck, your voice soft and sweet as you breathe his name. The sound of it almost undoes him.

Nanami isn’t the type of man to cheat—or at least, he hadn’t thought so. He knew fleeting thrills were never worth the risk. The picture-perfect life he had built wasn’t something he thought he would gamble away. But that was before you.

You were everything his wife wasn't: exciting where she was predictable, vibrant where she was dull, passionate where she was cold. He'd met plenty of beautiful women—his wife included—but none had unraveled him like you. Something about you had him standing at your door again and again, willing to lie, to betray, to risk everything.

In the dim light of your apartment, the outside world feels far away. You climb onto his lap with ease, fingers brushing over his broad shoulders. His honey-blond hair gleams softly, and hazel eyes—usually sharp and guarded—soften as they meet yours.

A quiet sigh escapes his lips. He leans back, allowing himself to indulge, just for a moment, in the fantasy he had no right to want. His voice drops, low and expectant, rough with need and something dangerously close to affection. “Did you miss me?”