Lust, Love And The Investigator

CH1

Adeline’s POV

The chandelier above our dining table glows into the space, casting tiny glitters across the table like clustered diamonds. Yet, the only thing I can think about is the cold roast chicken, lying abandoned in the centre of the table.

Jason sits across from me, his eyes glued to his screen, mindlessly scrolling through it like I am not right there in the room. At intervals, he places it beside his plate, grabbing his fork and knife, cutting into his food without looking up once.

I want to scream that I am here. That I have been here for the last hour.

Yet, my lips remain shut, my eyes taking in the screen of his phone, lighting up with a name I don’t recognize. I swear I catch the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips, and a shielded glint in his eyes.

Bringing my bottom lip between my teeth, I angle my head and stare at him for a few seconds. He doesn’t notice. He never does.

“You’ve been getting quite a lot of calls lately,” I say softly, keeping my tone as casual as I can. I try to move to, stretching across the table to pull the plate of roast chicken closer to myself. Jason has left it abandoned long enough.

He doesn’t look up from his phone. “Work.”

“Work,” I whisper, making an attempt at a casual laugh. It feels trapped in my throat and comes out as a choke, like a call for attention. “It is midnight, Jason. I don’t think work should get in the way of us having a nice dinner.”

His eyes finally lift from his plate, and in that second, I wish I had just kept quiet. The warmth that used to be in his gaze, the one I fell for four years ago, is nowhere to be found. Instead, I find something in there.

A certain sharpness, tinged with judgment.

His eyes roam my greasy fingers from the roast chicken, which I am tearing into, and a soft sigh escapes his lips.

“If you spent half as much time worrying about your job at the company as you do about mine, maybe you would have gotten promoted from receptionist,” Jason says, it like he is talking about the weather, setting his fork down.

I swallow, hating the way a sharp pain crosses my chest. “I already work for your company, Jason,” I whisper. “And I have been doing that diligently….”

“My point exactly,” he cuts in, as his phone joins the fork. “You should be grateful. You should work harder to get recognized and promoted, rather than nag me to death about what I spend my evenings doing.”

“Jason…”

He pushes the plate away and stands. “I didn’t …. I just wish you would do more at the office. And stop eating that chicken, please.”

I look up at him.

“You might have to start using the gym on the first floor soon,” he murmurs, grabbing his phone again. “And stay away from greasy foods. They have done enough harm.”

My lips part and fall shut in quick succession. I have a lot to say, yet I find myself uttering nothing, just like I do round the clock at the office. I just sit behind that dumb desk, attending to guests all day, calling my husband Mr. Hawthorne, and not being able to show the slightest bit of emotion.

“Don’t wait up.” He pushes away from the table and heads towards the door. “I have a meeting downtown.”

“Another meeting?” I whisper, but before the words leave my lips, I hear the front door click shut, the ghost of his presence lingering in the walls. Silence meets me where I sit, my eyes falling on the untouched wine he poured for me earlier.

This is what my life has become, such a contrast from four years ago. Now, it has been reduced to fine dining I know he’d rather not be a part of, dark and lonely nights, and a husband who doesn’t even notice when I change my hair.

And he just called me fat.

The shrill of my phone reverberates around the space. Picking it up, I take in the name scrawled on the caller ID.

Mallory.

“So, how did it go?” She chirps when I press my phone against my ear. “Did you ask him if you could go on the girls’ trip with us?”

I begin to shake my head, then suddenly realize that my best friend cannot see me. “Yeah….No. I couldn’t… I didn’t go ahead with it. I don’t think….”

“Adeline,” she breathes. “You okay?”

I stare at the torn chicken, and it dawns on me strangely that I hate chicken now. Pushing it away, I get on my feet, heading towards the huge living room we barely occupy.

“Same story,” I whisper, throwing myself onto a couch I didn’t pick. I should have known right from the minute we got married, when I allowed him to choose a theme for the home we were supposed to make together.

“He left. Again. We were having dinner and then…. I’m tired, Mallory. That makes me a bad wife, right?”

I can imagine her rolling her eyes. “You need to stop pretending like you are fine, Adeline. Because you aren’t. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“He is my husband…”

“And he is cheating,” she interjects, her voice stern. “He is, Adeline, and everyone knows it. You are just not willing to accept it.”

“Mallory…”

“Think about how the workers at the company laugh each time you are not in the room. They accompany him to conferences outside the city. They know who he spends the nights with. And then, there’s you, who can’t even act like you are married to him in the office because he hates it.”

I feel a migraine coming on, and I press my fingers hard against my temples. “I don’t know that for sure,” I murmur. “I need to be certain before I ruin my marriage. You know I have a lot to consider.”

“Your daughter, whom he has no idea of, right?”

“Mallory…”

“Okay,” she sighs. “You need to know for certain, right? Then hire someone who can find out."