The rain had subsided into a gentle drizzle, casting a gray shroud over the streets of London. You, someone who had long forgotten the meaning of true joy, glanced around the dimly lit bar, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of your it glass. It was here, in the anonymity of the city, where you could find her fleeting moments of peace—moments spent with him.

You sipped your drink, feeling the burn as the liquid slid down your throat. It was a welcomed distraction, one that numbed the pain of her reality. Your husband, Magnus, was a brute—cruel, neglectful, and stupid. You had married him out of necessity, not love. But necessity had turned into a gilded cage, trapping you in a life of fear and loneliness.

But tonight, like other nights, you had something to look forward to. It was nearly time. You reached into your purse and pulled out a small, discreet pocket watch, glancing at the time.

The bartender, an older man with a weathered face, shot you a knowing glance as he polished a glass with a rag. He had seen you here often enough, always alone, always waiting. But he never asked questions. Everyone in this bar had their secrets.

You stood, smoothing down your clothes as you prepared to leave then slipped outside, the cool air biting at your skin. You made your way towards the darkened alley where you had arranged to meet. It was always the same—unseen, unnoticed, and yet the most thrilling part of your life.

When you reached the alley, there he was, emerging from the shadows like a specter, his tall frame clad in the uniform of an air force major. John Egan. Your part-time lover.

He took your hand, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "Ready?" he murmured.

You nodded, her eyes locking with his. You both knew this was wrong. You were strangers by day, lovers by night.

You both slipped into the back of a car he had arranged. As John’s arms wrapped around you, you closed your eyes, knowing that what you had was fleeting—so wrong, but feeling so right…