My Husband's Rival Wants Me

Aria I woke up staring at the same ceiling cracks that kept me company for months. Thin morning lights slipped through the blinds and landed on the wedding dress hanging across the room. It was mine, yet it felt so unfamiliar. Like it belonged to someone else. The house was already moving downstairs in preparation for the wedding tomorrow. My wedding. Instructions were going round everywhere. The right silverware, everything. Everyone knew their lines. I kept telling myself this was right. My father had carried Aurora and me alone after Mom died. He’d worked himself to the bone so we never went without. Marrying Adrian Johnson would lock in the family legacy, repay the debt I felt every time I saw the lines around his eyes. One clean deal. The door flew open. Aurora stormed in wearing a short red dress that hugged every curve, her hair loose and shining, smiling too bright for seven in the morning. “This is your last night of freedom, sis. Get up. You’re not spending it in bed like you’re already dead.” I pushed myself up on my elbows, sheets pooling around my waist. “I’m fine.” “You’re lying.” She crossed the room in three steps, grabbed my wrist, and tugged. “Let’s go to the bar, Aria. It’ll just be one drink, then you can go back to being the perfect bride for all I care.” I didn’t fight her. Staying here alone with the dress and the quiet would drive me crazy. The bar glowed under low gold lights as music pulsed through the floor. People laughed too loud, leaned too close, spilled drinks and secrets they would regret when they were sober. Aurora walked in like the room had been waiting for her. Within seconds she was swallowed by a group of friends. “I’ll circle back,” she called over her shoulder. That was the last I heard of her. She was never ‘back.’ I found a booth near the edge of the room. Slid in and ordered a gin and tonic I didn’t really want. The ice melted slowly while I stared at my phone screen, then at the crowd, then back at the phone again. I was used to this rhythm. Aurora moved forward and I waited. Always had. The man appeared uninvited. He dropped into the seat across from me like he belonged there. Smile wide, and a confidence that could only be achieved by a crazy amount of alcohol. His hand landed on my forearm before I could shift away. “You look lonely,” he said, his voice as greasy as he looked. “I’m not interested.” He chuckled, then leaned in. “Come on, one drink. You’re too pretty to sit here by yourself.” A frustration I knew so well coiled in my stomach. Being talked over. Being dismissed. Being made small again. I opened my mouth to repeat myself more firmly when a shadow appeared across the table. The man looked up. His smile faltered. He stared for half a second, then pushed back from the booth without another word. Muttered something under his breath and vanished into the crowd. The new arrival sat down. His broad shoulders filled the space across from me. Dark hair fell slightly over his forehead. Blue eyes watched me calmly. “You okay?” he asked in a low voice. I nodded, “Thank you.” “Waiting for someone?” “My sister. She… stepped away.” He glanced toward the knot of people Aurora had joined. “I noticed you earlier. Sitting alone in the middle of all this noise.” Then we started talking. I didn’t mean to. The words just came. It felt strange how easy it was, without pressure or performance. He listened like every sentence mattered. The knot in my chest loosened with every question he let me answer fully. “Tomorrow I’m getting married,” I heard myself say. The confession slipped out before I could catch it. “To a man I barely know. Adrian Johnson. It’s arranged. For the family. For the business. I don’t want it, but…” I traced the rim of my glass with one finger. “My dad raised me alone after Mom died. He gave up so much. This is how I pay him back.” He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t offer quick fixes or tell me I was wrong. He just listened. His blue eyes steady on mine the whole time. I kept going, voice softer. “Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to choose something. Anything, without weighing what it costs everyone else.” A heavy silence stretched between us, then he leaned across the table. The kiss started slow. His lips brushed mine slowly, and I met him halfway. The careful brush turned hungry in seconds. His hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, tilting my head so he could take more. I gasped against his mouth and he swallowed the sound. My hands found his shoulders, then his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt like it was the only solid thing in the room. The kiss deepened. Lengthened. His tongue slid against mine, slow at first, then demanding. Heat rolled through me in waves. I arched closer, knees bumping the table edge. His free hand slid to my waist, pulling me across the booth until I was half in his lap. Fingers dug into my hip, possessive but not bruising. I moaned softly into his mouth and he answered with a low growl that vibrated through me. The world narrowed to this. His taste. Whiskey and salt. His scent, clean soap and something darker underneath. The way his thumb stroked the sensitive skin behind my ear. Time stretched. The bar noise faded to a distant hum. Guilt screamed somewhere far away, but I drowned it in the press of his body against mine. I wanted more. Needed more. My nails scraped lightly down his neck; he shuddered and kissed me harder, teeth grazing my lower lip. We were losing control. His hand slipped under the hem of my top, palm hot against bare skin. My fingers tugged at his collar, desperate to feel more of him. The booth felt too small, the air too thick. I could feel him hard against my thigh, and the realization sent another rush of heat through me. I rocked forward instinctively, chasing friction, and he groaned low in his throat, the sound raw and desperate. Then reality crashed back like cold water. I broke away, chest heaving, lips swollen. Pulse hammering in my ears. “I’m getting married tomorrow,” I whispered. He didn’t apologize. Didn’t chase my mouth. He just held my gaze, breathing rough. His eyes were dark with hunger. I slid out of the booth on shaky legs and walked out without looking back. The night air slapped my face, cooling the flush on my skin. I pressed trembling fingers to my lips. Tomorrow I’ll forget this ever happened. The next morning, I walked down the aisle on my father’s arm. The church smelled of lilies and wax. Adrian waited at the altar. Tall, handsome, suit tailored to perfection. His hand extended when I reached him, without warmth in his eyes. The officiant spoke words I barely heard. Adrian leaned in for the ceremonial kiss, I closed my eyes. And tasted him. Whiskey, heat, the promise of something reckless and alive. My heart slammed once. I was married. And I could still taste him.