The world was supposed to be perfect. A spontaneous return from a work trip, a bottle of merlot, a silky nightgown—all for Nathan. I crept through our apartment, heart humming with anticipation, ready to surprise him. But the jazz playing through the speakers was wrong. Nathan didn’t like jazz. Then, I heard it. A moan. Low. Deep. Female.

I froze. The wine bottle slipped from my fingers, shattering on the marble floor, red liquid bleeding like a wounded artery. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the apartment. Each step toward the bedroom felt heavier than the last, my fingers brushing the wall, searching for something solid to hold onto.

The door was ajar, a sliver of golden light spilling into the hallway like a secret. From inside, soft gasps, breathless and intimate, reached my ears. The rhythm of bodies moving in synchrony. Whispers of pleasure. I pushed the door open. And my world… stopped.