The Suspicion Grows
1308 Words
The hangover hits like a f*****g truck. My head’s pounding so hard it feels like someone’s inside my skull with a hammer, and my mouth tastes like regret and tequila. Maya wasn’t kidding about those shots, one too many and suddenly you’re waking up with a brain that feels like mashed potatoes.
I drag myself into the kitchen, praying coffee exists, and of course Adrian’s already there. He looks like he stepped out of a magazine spread, suit perfect, hair perfect, sipping his fancy espresso like it’s liquid gold. Not a single sign of life messing with him, while I look like death dragged across the floor.
“Morning,” I mutter, heading for the coffee machine like it’s oxygen.
“It’s past noon.” He doesn’t even glance up, just keeps scrolling on his phone. “Rough night?”
Something about the way he says it makes me pause. There’s an edge in his voice I don’t recognize, like he’s not just making small talk.
“The girls got carried away. Rosa’s divorce—Maya brought tequila, you can guess the rest.” I try to keep it light, like I’m too tired to care.
“Mhm.” He sips again. “I tried calling you. Around eleven.”
My stomach drops. Eleven o’clock. At eleven, I wasn’t drunk off my ass. I was on a rooftop terrace with Damian, his mouth too close, his words making my body hum in ways that should’ve scared me more than they did.
“You did?” I ask, forcing casual.
“The music must’ve been too loud for you to hear your phone. Or you were too drunk to answer.”
I swallow, gripping the counter. “Sorry. Like I said—it was loud.” Another lie. Christ, they’re slipping out of me so easily now.
He finally sets his phone down. “Where exactly was ‘there’?”
That’s weird. Adrian never asks about my nights out. He barely cares. For him to suddenly take interest now? My skin prickles.
“Velvet. Downtown. Maya’s been dying to try it.”
“Interesting crowd there, I imagine.”
“I guess. I wasn’t really paying attention to other people.”
“No?” He tilts his head, his eyes sharp now. “Not even the people you were talking to on the terrace?”
My blood runs cold. How the hell does he know about the terrace?
“I went outside for air, it was hot inside.” I keep my tone as even as I can.
“Alone?”
“What?”
“Did you go outside alone?”
The way he’s watching me makes me feel like I’m already caught. Like he’s just waiting for me to hang myself with my own words.
“Maya came with me. You know how she is—always pulling me aside for gossip.” My voice wavers, just barely, but I hope he doesn’t hear it.
He nods slowly, like he’s filing my answer away. “Right. Maya.”
By now my hands are shaking as I pour coffee. He’s never done this before—never interrogated me, never cared this much about where I was or who I was with.
“Why all the questions?” I try for annoyed. “Since when do you care about girls’ night details?”
“Just curious. You’ve been going out a lot lately.”
“Have I?”
“Three times in the last two weeks. That’s unusual for you.”
He’s been keeping track. Adrian, the man who barely notices when I change my hair, is suddenly counting my nights out like it’s his new hobby.
“Rosa needs me. Divorce is hard.”
“Very generous of you,” he says, but the way his voice dips tells me he doesn’t buy it.
Right then my phone buzzes. My chest seizes, terrified it’s Damian. But it’s Maya, thank God, just a picture of us clinking glasses last night, looking like happy drunks.
Adrian glances at it, his face unreadable. “The girls sharing memories?”
“Something like that.”
He stands, straightening his tie. “I’ll be late tonight. Meetings all evening. Don’t wait up.”
Sure. Meetings. More like Sophia—the blonde investor’s daughter I’ve seen hanging around his office too much.
“Actually,” he says, stopping at the door, “cancel dinner tonight. Something came up.”
“What dinner?” My heart sinks because I already know.
“Our anniversary dinner. Romano’s. Eight o’clock. You forgot, didn’t you?”
Fuck. Our anniversary. Three years, and I forgot.
“I didn’t forget, I just,”
“It’s fine, Elena. Clearly you’ve got other priorities.”
“That’s not fair,” I snap. “I’ve been planning,”
“Have you? Funny, because when I called Romano’s this morning, they told me you canceled the reservation yesterday.”
My jaw drops. “What? I didn’t cancel anything.”
“Wouldn’t you?” His voice is calm, but his eyes are ice. “You’ve been distant. Distracted. Secretive.”
“I haven’t,”
“Late nights. Phone calls. The look you get when you think I’m not watching. You really expect me not to notice?”
Panic slams into me. How much does he know? How much has he seen?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” He steps closer. That expensive cologne fills my nose, sharp and cold. Nothing like Damian’s warm, rough edges. “We’ve been married three years. I know when something’s wrong.”
The irony nearly knocks me over. Adrian, who hasn’t looked at me properly in months, now suddenly thinks he knows me inside out.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I lie. “I’m just tired. The charity work, social obligations. Sometimes I need space.”
“Space.” He studies my face like he’s looking for cracks. “Right.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I hope that’s all it is, Elena. For both our sakes.”
There’s weight in those words, almost like a threat. He knows something. Maybe not everything, but enough.
“I should shower,” I say quickly.
“Of course.” He checks his Rolex. “See you tonight. Assuming you’re not out again.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Good.”
And just like that, he’s gone. No kiss goodbye. Not that he usually bothers, but today it feels sharp.
In the shower, I scrub my skin until it’s red, trying to wash away Damian’s scent, Damian’s hands. But it’s Adrian’s look that clings. He’s suspicious. He’s watching.
And then the thought hits me like ice water: I never canceled that reservation. So who did?
My phone buzzes again. Damian this time. Can’t stop thinking about last night. When can I see you again?
God, all I want is him. But if Adrian’s watching…
Soon. Need to be careful right now.
Everything okay?
Adrian’s asking questions. I think he suspects something.
Do you want to stop this?
I stare at the words, my heart twisting. Stop? Go back to the emptiness of my marriage? To a life that feels like slow suffocation?
No. But we have to be smarter.
Leave that to me. I’ll figure it out.
Damian…
I’m not giving up on us, Elena. No matter what your husband thinks he knows.
The heat in my chest spreads, dangerous, addicting. I delete the texts, but his words stay.
No matter what Adrian thinks he knows.
The real question is: what does he know? And how far is he willing to go?
Tonight, when he comes back from his so-called meetings, I’m going to start asking questions of my own.
Because if Adrian wants to play suspicion games, then so can I.
- Writer
