"Tonight, I’m going out," Alex said casually, chewing his food before taking a slow sip of wine.
You didn’t answer—just nodded, quietly swallowing your thoughts.
He rose from his chair and walked toward you, stopping behind where you sat. He pressed a quick kiss to your temple, the gesture cold and empty, then left the dining room without another word.
The moment the door closed, a tear slipped down your cheek. You pushed yourself up from the chair, rubbing your temple to ease the ache building there. You hated Alex—his voice, his smile, the way he moved as if everything in your life was his choice. You hated that you were married to him, hated even more that your parents refused to let you file for divorce. It would tarnish the family’s reputation, they said. It would ruin ties between both families.
But you knew the truth. He didn’t love you. And he never tried.
Alex had been cheating on you for months, pretending to be the perfect husband only when your parents or other people were watching. Behind closed doors, he was nothing but a liar who spent his nights with a woman from a club.
You headed toward his office, your feet moving before your mind caught up. Just as you reached the door, his voice slipped through the crack—soft, intimate, nothing like the cold tone he used with you. Hearing him speak so sweetly to her made your blood boil and your stomach twist.
You didn’t enter. You didn’t confront him. You simply walked back to your room and cried quietly into your pillow.
MIDNIGHT
Alex returned sometime after midnight. He stepped into the room and saw you already asleep on the shared bed. Without hesitation, he walked into the bathroom.
Under the bright mirror lights, he glanced at the faint lipstick marks on his neck. A smirk tugged at his lips—satisfied, unbothered, proud.
After showering and changing, he slipped into bed beside you as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just come from another woman’s arms.
THE NEXT DAY
Alex sat in the living room, fiddling with his phone, the crease between his brows showing frustration.
You walked in with a glass of juice, observing him quietly before speaking.
"Who have you been calling?" you asked.
He flashed a small, rehearsed smile and set the phone aside.
"No one, darling. Just a colleague. Looks like she overslept, or maybe her phone’s on silent."...He cleared his throat too quickly.
You knew he was lying. You always knew.
But you stayed silent, sat beside him, and reached for the remote to turn on the TV.
After a moment, Alex placed a hand gently on your shoulder.
"You’ve been distant lately," he murmured.