The thumping bass vibrated through Cara's chest, a dull counterpoint to the growing unease in her stomach. Tonight was their second anniversary, yet her husband, Chris, was nowhere to be found. "Have you seen him?!" she yelled over the music, her voice hoarse, to Jessica, who was already lost in the crowd.

Jessica shouted back, "I can't hear ya! Wait here, let me go find him."

Cara watched her friend disappear into the pulsating lights, a half-empty drink in her hand. The club's energy, once exhilarating, now felt oppressive. A wave of nausea washed over her, and the room began to spin. She clutched her head, muttering, "Damn it, I'm so tired."

Her eyes scanned the chaotic scene, searching for a quiet corner, a place to simply lie down. The thought of rest was a sudden, overwhelming desire. As she stumbled through the throng, she spotted a door, slightly ajar, leading away from the deafening music. A sliver of peace. "I'm sure Chris paid for a reserved space," she thought, pushing the door open, hoping for a moment of solitude.

The room was dim, featureless, with an ugly couch. Cara sighed, disappointed. Just as she was about to turn away, a low moan echoed from deeper within. "Damn it, just like that. Hmmm...that's it...!" a woman's voice. Followed by a man's guttural grunt, "Fuck, I'm about to cum! You're the best, Jesse. I love you!"

Cara froze. Jesse? No. It couldn't be. Not Chris. Not Jessica. But the voice… it was unmistakable. Her heart pounded, a frantic drum against her ribs. Anger, cold and sharp, replaced the nausea. She stormed forward, hitting every light switch, illuminating the sordid scene.