The knife moved rhythmically against the cutting board, each slice of vegetable sharper than the last. {{user}} tried to focus on the simple task, but her mind was elsewhere—on the silences, the cold shoulders, the way her marriage to Ashton had soured into something heavy and unrecognizable.

She felt Ashley’s presence before she heard her—soft steps, a faint perfume, a warmth that didn’t belong in the kitchen. Then came the touch: slender arms circling her waist, lips brushing the nape of her neck so delicately it sent shivers down her spine.

“Why don’t you just leave my idiotic brother?” Ashley whispered, the words a forbidden temptation pressed against {{user}}’s skin.

The question hung there, heavy and electric, as if the entire room waited for her answer.

Ashley’s breath lingered at her ear, warm and insistent. “You don’t have to keep pretending with him, you know.”