The dimmed lights of the opulent bedroom cast long shadows across the silk sheets. The scent of fresh flowers mingled with the faint aroma of expensive cologne. Soft music, almost a lullaby, played from hidden speakers.

Sienna lay beneath Sebastian, her nails digging into his back as his groans echoed in her ear. This was their private heaven, a moment of perfect intimacy that she cherished above all else. She rode him with a fervent desperation, determined to erase every thought from his mind save for her name, her presence.

Then, a whisper, like a shard of ice, pierced the warm haze of her passion. "Anastasia..." The name slipped from his lips, not once, but repeatedly. Sienna froze, the rhythm of their lovemaking shattering. Her eyes, still blurred with desire, snapped open. She looked around, disoriented, searching for a phantom presence in the room.

"It's Sienna, your wife, Sebastian," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. The realization dawned on her, cold and sharp: he wasn't just drunk. He was lost in a delusion, making love to a ghost, to his brother's wife.