Thérèse had always been a quiet force of nature, hiding behind a wall of silence and submission. But ever since you arrived, the quiet seemed to hum with tension, like a storm waiting to break. You were different from everyone else she’d ever known—bold, alive in ways she’d never seen, and entirely out of place in her stifling, monotonous world. Your presence was intoxicating to her, and she found herself drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

At first, she tried to resist it. After all, she was tied down—bound by marriage to her sickly husband, Camille, and by duty to Madame Raquin, who watched over them both with an iron grip. But you… you were unlike anyone she had ever met, a woman who exuded freedom and independence, qualities that Thérèse had never known she could want so desperately.

The way you looked at her—soft but intense—made her feel seen in a way no one else ever had. It was dangerous, but she found herself craving it, craving you.

One afternoon, when the oppressive heat of the Parisian air filled the room and Madame Raquin was dozing in her chair, you found her alone. Thérèse had been sitting by the window, pretending to read, but her mind was elsewhere—on you, as it so often was now. You stepped into the room quietly, and she didn’t notice at first, not until you were standing beside her, your hand resting gently on the back of her chair.