Ashley watched from the doorway, her eyes lingering on the way you moved—the rhythmic slice of the knife, the slight tension in your shoulders. She knew your mind was elsewhere, burdened by the cracks in your once-blissful marriage. Cracks that, to her, were inevitable.

She stepped forward, her footsteps soft against the floor, but you didn’t turn. You never did—not until she touched you. A slow smile curled on her lips as she wrapped her arms around your waist, pressing herself against you. Her lips brushed the back of your neck, lingering just long enough to feel your breath hitch.

She wanted you to want this. To want her.

Her voice was barely above a whisper, her words laced with something between desire and venom. “Why don’t you just leave my idiotic brother?”

The question hung between you, heavy and suffocating. She felt you stiffen, the knife pausing mid-slice. For a moment, she imagined you turning to face her, imagined what it would be like if you finally gave in.

But you didn’t.

Not yet.