We’d been on the road for hours. By the time.
we got home, it was late. Mrs. Davis had left for
the night. The living room was dark. Ethan
reached for the light switch, but I lunged
forward, pushing him onto the sofa. His long
legs splayed out on either side, supporting my
weight.
His clothes rumpled, his voice husky, he asked,
“What do you want?”
“Ethan,” I whispered in his ear, “I love you.”
His breath hitched. He steadied me by the
waist, preventing me from falling off him.
“Get off,” he said, his voice strained.
I blinked, surprised. “Really? You-”
“Don’t say anything,” he said, covering my eyes,
his words a stark contrast to his ragged
breathing. “And don’t look.”
Darkness fell over me. My eyelashes brushed
against the warmth of his hand as I blinked. I
hadn’t realized “I love you” had such a powerful
effect on him. It completely disarmed him.
I grinned. “I love you… I love you…” My playful
teasing was like a feather tickling his heart,
fanning the flames of desire.
I braced myself against his chest, feeling the
rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm. Softening my voice, I said, “Ethan, I love you.”
The next moment, his lips were on mine. He
kissed me with an unprecedented intensity,
trapping me in the corner of the sofa,
demanding my surrender. His hands, as if
caressing a treasure, traced the lines of my
face, my neck, cradling me gently.
Lost in the kiss, he murmured, “So
disobedient… Aren’t you hungry?”
“Starving,” I said, clinging to him like a koala,
slipping my hand inside his shirt. “Starving.
Let’s eat…”
Seeing he was still unmoved, I played my trump.
card. “Hey… have you thought of any
nicknames for the kids yet?”
Ethan’s eyes darkened. He carried me past the
dining table, heading straight for the bedroom.
The aroma of roast chicken stopped me in my
tracks. I peeked at the table, my eyes lighting
- up. “Wait! Davis left me a chicken leg-”
“Don’t even think about it,” Ethan said, refusing
me for the first time, his voice firm. “You only
get one chance. And now, I’m calling the shots.”
9
Ethan definitely had a knack for negotiation. He
was more than just skilled; he was a shrewd
businessman. His voice murmured in the
darkness, carrying me along like a boat on the
waves. His kisses trailed across my fingertips,
before his hand finally pulled me close, holding
me against his heart.
“I’m yours,” I murmured, lost in the moment. I
rolled over, pinning him beneath me. “Mine. All
mine…”
Later, after a shower, my eyelids grew heavy.
As I hugged him, my hands wandered, taking
full advantage. He was like a gentle giant,
endlessly patient.
“Sarah.”
“Hmm?” My voice was drowsy.
“When we were first married, you promised to
go to the movies with me. But the next day, you said you had a stomach ache and went to the hospital instead. Were you going to see him?”
That felt like a lifetime ago. I thought back. It had nothing to do with Dylan. The day before, Ethan had sent me a small cake. I’d also eaten a whole bag of spicy chicken feet, and ended up with gastroenteritis. I went to the hospital for an IV and medication, then came home and. went straight to bed.
But Ethan’s tone suggested he believed otherwise. My sleepiness vanished. I sat up.
After a moment of surprise, Ethan said, “I’m
sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m not angry.” I sat cross-
legged, facing him. “I’m just curious. Why did
you think I went to see Dylan?” With his
resources, he could easily track my movements.
He would have known I was at the hospital,
<
hooked up to an IV. But he hadn’t checked.
After a brief silence, Ethan confessed. “I could
see Dylan’s social media posts.”
“But he never posts anything.”
We stared at each other, confused.
Ethan handed me his phone. I eagerly clicked
on Dylan’s profile. My head spun when I saw his
posts.
“August 9th. Sarah promised to celebrate my
birthday with me today. Thankful for my love.”
“August 1st. Had a home–cooked meal made by
Sarah. Just like old times.”
I scrolled back further, until I reached a post
from six months ago.
<
“The movie is out. Waiting for Sarah…”
It was the day I had gastroenteritis.
I opened my own social media. Dylan’s profile
was blank. Those posts were only visible to
Ethan. And in reality, I’d barely interacted with
Dylan since I got married. He only contacted me
when the hospital called for payment or the
doctor needed to adjust his treatment plan. I
genuinely treated him like an old friend. Yet,
behind my back, he’d been hurting the person I
loved, time and time again.
My head throbbed. “And you believed him?”
There wasn’t even a single picture of me in
those posts.
Ethan looked down at my empty profile,
something flickering in his eyes. “Sarah, I
couldn’t afford not to believe it.” He opened
and closed Dylan’s profile repeatedly, as if
confirming comething or norbane it won junt
comminy something, or perhaps it was just all unconscious gesture, like someone blinking in
the sudden light after a long time in darkness. “I was afraid that if I investigated, I’d find out you really were at the movies with him. If that were
