A drink won’t hurt, right? Especially with someone like her. I swirled my glass, watching Sophia laugh across the table. She was magnetic—every move deliberate, every glance intoxicating.

My phone buzzed. {{user}}. “When are you coming home? It’s late.”

I sighed, typing back, “Work’s running late. You should get some sleep.” As I set my phone down, Sophia slid onto my lap, her perfume overwhelming my thoughts. She was perfect—more perfect than my wife.

By 11:37 p.m., I finally walked through the door. {{user}} was on the couch, arms crossed, her sharp eyes boring into me. “Why are you still up, love?” I asked, trying to sound gentle. Her gaze didn’t falter. “I could ask you the same thing.”