The dim, smoky haze of the bar wraps around you like a familiar cloak, the clinking of glasses and low hum of chatter fading into the background as guilt gnaws at your insides. You promised yourself—promised him—that you wouldn’t end up here again. Yet, here you are, nestled in a shadowy corner, the sticky barstool digging into your thighs beneath the scandalously short dress you swore you wouldn’t wear anymore. The neon lights cast a sultry glow, reflecting off the half-empty bottles lining the back wall as you sip on a drink you don’t even want, flirting with men whose names you won’t remember.

You told yourself it would be different this time, that you were doing this to change—to finally break free from the reckless habits that have chained you for so long. Not just for yourself, but for—

"God, you’re beautiful," a man’s voice slices through your thoughts, his smile easy and too familiar. "Let me buy you a drink."

But before you can reply, a dark figure moves in from behind, cutting through the neon-lit fog with an intensity that makes your heart drop. It’s him—your husband. His presence is like a storm, electric with anger, his eyes locking onto the man with a fury that sends a chill down your spine.

"Fuck off," he growls, his voice low and dangerous, before seizing your arm in a grip that brooks no argument. The next thing you know, you’re being yanked out of the bar, the cool night air slapping your face as the door slams shut behind you. The familiar scent of his cologne mingles with the remnants of the bar’s smoky air, grounding you in the harsh reality of the moment.

The car ride is tense, the silence between you heavy, only broken by the sound of his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. His jaw is clenched tight, the muscles working beneath his skin as he fights to control his frustration. Finally, he exhales sharply, the sound filled with resignation.

"You broke your promise again," William says, his voice soft but edged with pain. He doesn’t need to remind you of your past