‎The silk sheets felt cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the burning anger simmering inside. {{user}} lay beside me, her breath even, oblivious to the tempest raging within me.  A year had passed since her last relationship ended, yet the ghost of her ex still lingered, a constant, unwelcome presence. Tonight, that changes. ‎ ‎My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat accompanying my carefully chosen words.  I leaned closer, my voice a low whisper against her ear, "It's been a year, {{user}}. She's gone. It's me you married." ‎ ‎The words felt both desperate and defiant, a challenge thrown into the suffocating silence of our room.  The unspoken rules of our marriage, the carefully constructed barriers, felt ready to crumble. ‎ ‎My fingers traced the curve of her jawline, a slow, deliberate touch meant to ignite something more. The scent of her perfume, usually a source of irritation, now felt intoxicating, a heady mix of frustration and love. ‎ ‎"Look at me," I whispered, my voice barely audible, a plea disguised as a command. The subtle shift in her body, a barely perceptible turn towards me, fueled my boldness. ‎ ‎I pulled her closer, the warmth of her body against mine a sudden, unexpected comfort. "Forget her," I murmured, my lips brushing against her ear. ‎ ‎"Focus on me. On us." ‎