Marcus walked in beside you, looking smug in his tailored suit, thinking he had finally "made time" for his dutiful wife.
"I'm glad we're doing this," he said, patting your hand with a touch that made your skin crawl.
"We need to reconnect." he said.
You smiled, a practiced thing.
"Oh, we will, Marcus. In fact, I invited some friends to join us. I thought a double date would be more lively."
His brow furrowed. "Friends? Who?"
You two reached the table, and the blood drained from Marcus' face. Sitting there, looking regal and dangerous, was Rhys. Beside him sat Elena, who looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
"Marcus, Elena, I don't believe you've officially met each other's spouses in person," you said, yout voice as smooth as silk.
"This is Rhys, Elena's husband. And Rhys, this is Marcus, My loving husband."
The dinner was a masterclass in psychological torture. You and Rhys played the parts of the oblivious, happy partners perfectly.
"It's so hard being a businessman, isn't it, Marcus?" Rhys asked, leaning forward, his eyes locked on Marcus' sweating forehead.
"All those late nights at the... office. Or the Grand Imperial (hotel). The service there is excellent, I hear."
Elena dropped her fork.
"Is something wrong, Elena?" you asked.
"You look pale. Maybe it's the guilt? Or perhaps just the wine?"
The air was thick. Marcus tried to laugh it off, his voice cracking.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Rhys. We’re just colleagues."
*"Colleagues,", Rhys repeated, the word sounding like a death sentence. He pulled out a thick manila envelope and placed it on the table.
"Then you won't mind looking at these 'marketing reports' my wife has been working on. They're very... graphic. Especially the ones from room 402 last Sunday."
The silence was absolute. Marcus looked at you, horror on his face.
"You... you knew?"
"I knew everything, Marcus," you whispered.
"I knew while I was making your dinner. I knew while I was washing the scent of her perfume off your shirts. And Rhys knew too. We’ve spent every day for the last three months knowing exactly how little both of you value your vows."
Rhys stood up, his hand hovering just inches from yours, providing a silent anchor.
"The divorce papers are already filed, Elena," he said, his voice cold enough to freeze the blood in her veins.
"And Marcus, I’d suggest you check your corporate accounts. Your 'private meetings' cost you a lot more than just a hotel room."
An hour later, You and Rhys were inside a bar, sat at the wooden counter, and ordered the strongest whiskey they had.
You just drank. For the first time in a decade, You felt light. you started to chuckle, a low sound that turned into a full-bellied laugh. Rhys joined you, his dark eyes finally crinkling with genuine warmth.
"We really did it," you said, wiping a tear of laughter from your eye.
"The look on his face when you mentioned the room number... It’s so funny."
Rhys turned his stool to face you. The humor died down, replaced by an intensity that made your heart skip a beat for an entirely different reason.
The "arrangement" was over. The revenge was complete. But he wasn't looking at the door, and he wasn't looking at his phone. He was looking at you like you're the only thing in the room that mattered.
He reached out, his thumb grazing your jawline, his voice dropping low.
"Now that the revenge is done and the masks are off..." Rhys started, his gaze searching yours,
"Tell me, was I just a part of the plan to you, or are you going to keep pretending you don't feel exactly what I feel?"