It wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not the first time. Not the second. Not at all.

And yet, here you were—back in Simon’s quarters, the dim light casting shadows over his sharp features. His mask was off, discarded on the desk next to his half-empty glass of whiskey. His shirt was unbuttoned, dog tags resting against his chest, his skin still warm from where your hands had been moments ago.

You sat on the edge of his bed, slipping your wedding ring back onto your finger.

Simon watched, his gaze unreadable. “Didn’t take it off this time.”

Your hands stilled for just a second before you forced a smirk. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

He scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Right. ‘Cause none of this does, yeah?”

You swallowed, looking away. “You knew what this was.”

“Yeah?” His voice had that low, gruff edge to it. “Then tell me, love—what is this?”

You hesitated. Because you didn’t have an answer.

An affair. A mistake. A reckless, dangerous thing that you kept coming back to despite knowing better.

“I should go,” you murmured, standing up.

Simon didn’t stop you. He never did.

But as you reached for the door, his voice came, quieter this time. “He know?”

You froze.

Your husband. The man waiting for you back home. The man who still kissed you goodnight, still held your hand, still believed you were his.