Selene

  I light the candles anyway.

  The aroma of rosemary chicken and garlic rice fills the kitchen as I move with practiced ease. Music plays softly in the background, just enough to drown out the silence. I dim the lights, setting a warm, inviting glow around the table.

  The clock ticks.Still no Adrian.

  I sit longer than I mean to, my gaze never leaving the front door. Everything is perfect. It has to be.

  It feels like an hour has passed. I can’t be sure. The food is getting cold.

  I stand and head over to the kitchen counter.

  No phone.

  With a sigh, I grab my keys and step into the night. Cold air hits my lungs, sharp enough to sting. My breath clouds the windshield as I slide into the driver’s seat. I find my phone on the passenger seat, cold to the touch, and my fingers feel stiff as I pick it up.

  Nothing from Adrian.I tap his contact, and listened as the call went straight to voicemail. No ring. No text. Just dead air.

  I roll my eyes, teeth chattering. He’s pissed me off. Tonight was planned perfectly.

  I hover over the keyboard, thumb paused.

  Don’t annoy him. Don’t nag. Just wait.

  I start to tuck my phone away. My eyes linger on the last message from Alarica.

  We should talk. In person.

  The words float hazily on the screen. I start typing.

  Paused and then I erase it.

  I slip the phone into her pocket and step out of the car.

  That’s when I see it.

  A dark sedan idling two houses down, engine low, headlights off. A shape sits in the driver’s seat, still as stone.

  The cold has me shaking as I squint through the night air, certain I’m not alone.

  A blink later, it was gone.

  The space where it had been was empty.

  I tell myself it’s nothing and force my attention back where it belongs. I’ll repeat it later, when the lights go out.

  I walk back inside, leaving the message unsent.

  The table is untouched.

  I sit.

  The seat across from me stays empty.

  In five years of marriage, I have never eaten dinner alone. Not like this. Not with candles.

  The food is indeed cold by the time I start picking at it.

  Halfway through, I give up, stand, and push the plate away. The scrape of silverware against porcelain shrieks, that grating sound always makes me flinch.

  I carry both plates to the sink, scraping them one spoonful at a time.

  I flip the switch. The grind of the garbage disposal fills the kitchen with noise. When it stops, I feel loneliness comes back louder.

  I leave the dishes in the sink this time. I can’t bring myself to care.

  Alarica

  She gripped the wheel harder than necessary, headlights cutting through the early dusk. Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into her driveway. Her porch light flickered, buzzed, then died.

  “Of course,” she grumbled, snatching her bag from the seat and stepping out into the chill.

  Alarica climbed the steps and froze.

  The door was cracked slightly open.

  Her keys dug into her palm. Maybe I forgot to lock it. Maybe I didn’t.

  She checked her security app. Everything looked normal.

  But Tiffany wasn’t barking. That was wrong.

  She nudged the door open, bag thumping the rug. Her hand found the taser. Her body tightened, motion turning cautious.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “Everything’s okay.” Not convincing.

  The hallway was still. Silence thickened around her. Alarica edged forward, skipped the squeaky step, pushed into the bedroom and shrieked as something lunged at her face.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Her heel slipped, crashing her to the floor.

  A wet nose. A wagging tail.

  “Tiffany!”

  Alarica slumped against the wall, clutching the dog. “You ever do me like that again, I’ll send you straight to Jesus.”

  She let out a shaky laugh. “You scared the literal crap outta me,” she muttered into Tiffany’s fur.

  Downstairs, Alarica sank onto the couch, Tiffany curled in her lap, and reached for the glass of wine she didn’t remember pouring. Her fingers trembled just enough to spill a drop.

  Tiffany shifted, restless, the soft jingle of her collar drawing Alarica’s attention. She brushed her thumb along the fur at her neck and stilled.

  A piece of paper sat tucked just under the collar, hidden against her nape.

  She stared at it. A warning.

  Another drop landed on the cream-colored carpet.She needed Selene to listen, before that drop became a flood.

  Selene

  The mattress dips beside me.

  Adrian.

  His movements are careful, shifting his weight inch by inch. I keep my eyes closed and listen... no jingling of keys on the nightstand, no rustle of him hanging his jacket. Just the soft, damp sound of fabric against fabric, like he changed clothes before coming into the room.

  Where the fuck has he been?

  I keep my breathing steady, my body still, feigning sleep. But my senses sharpen. I draw my nose up.

  Something isn’t right.

  There’s a fragrance on him that doesn’t belong to me.

  It damn sure doesn’t belong to him.

  It isn’t his usual mix of clean soap and the faint trace of aftershave. This is different, stronger. Feminine.

  A sweet floral perfume.

  The kind that clings to skin and fabric long after the night is spent. Beneath it, something else makes my nose wrinkle.

  Wine.

  My stomach knots. The scent is wrong. My pulse quickens with questions I don’t want to face.

  Adrian turns his back to me, settling in without a word. He doesn’t reach for me like he usually does after a long day. He’s just silent.

  I crack one eye open.

  The red glow of the digital clock bathes the room in dim, eerie light.

  3:54 a.m.

  I bite my lip, forcing down the unease crawling up my spine. I want to believe work held him late—another break for his business. But this is different. This isn’t just exhaustion.

  This is avoidance.

  I tell myself the scent could be from someone at a meeting. A spilled glass of wine. Anything.

  But hope is already rotting into suspicion.

  Had he been with another woman?

  The thought slices through me, too sharp to ignore.

  Is that perfume on his shirt hers? Is that why he’s coming in this late?

  My throat tightens. My heartbeat stutters out of rhythm.

  Just ask. Turn over. Demand where he’s been.

  But what if I’m wrong? What if I wake him and find the same man I married—quiet, distant, but faithful?

  I stare at the ceiling, fingers curling into the sheet.

  Would it matter?

  Would the truth comfort me… or collapse everything?

  Adrian exhales beside me, slow and even. Already drifting into sleep.

  Coward.

  Or maybe I am.

  I stay silent. Let the questions burn holes in my chest.

  It’s easier that way.

  Then, like a ripple across memory, Alarica’s words surface.

  Watch his patterns. Silence has a rhythm.

  Back then, it sounded bitter.

  Now, it feels prophetic.

  Minutes pass. His breathing deepens, roughens into a soft snore.

  He’s asleep.

  I’m not.

  I lie there, staring at the ceiling, my mind gnawing at the unfamiliar scent still lingering between us.

  Buzz.

  The vibration cuts through the silence.

  My heart lurches.

  I turn my head slightly, straining to hear. It’s faint. Muffled, coming from his side of the bed.

  Buzz.

  Again.

  Who the hell is calling at this hour?

  Buzz.

  A third time.

  I swallow hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. The calls come back-to-back.

  Relentless.

  Desperate.

  The screen lights the nightstand with each call before dimming again.

  I shift carefully, edging closer to his side. I brace a hand on the mattress, muscles locked tight with hesitation. Part of me screams to stop.

  Just turn over and go back to sleep.

  But curiosity claws at me.

  Who would call my husband this late?

  Why from a blocked number?

  I glance at Adrian. He hasn’t moved.

  My hand slips past his shoulder toward the phone. It’s face down, guarding its secrets.

  His warmth brushes my arm, the air between us heavy with sleep.

  Do I really want to know?

  My gut twists with something I can’t name. My hand moves before I can stop it.

  I lift the phone.

  The screen glows.

  Three missed calls from a blocked number.

  My mouth goes dry.

  My chest tightens.

  A text lights the screen.

  The sudden brightness startles me so badly I nearly drop the phone. My fingers clamp down as I suck in a sharp breath.

  I read it.

  Time’s almost up.

  You know what happens if you don’t handle this.

  No more warnings.

  My blood turns to ice.

  I stare at the words, my mind scrambling for meaning.

  My grip tightens.

  I look back at Adrian. He’s still asleep.

  The air in the room thickens, pressing down on me.

  This isn’t a lover’s message.

  This is a threat.

  I hold my breath without meaning to. My gaze darts to the window, half-expecting to see a shadow watching from the street. The glass reflects only my own pale face, but the darkness outside shifts, like someone just stepped out of sight.

  My heart hammers, thoughts spiraling.

  Money?

  Something illegal?

  Something dangerous?

  A current breaks loose inside me.

  Is he in danger?

  The thought fractures before it settles.

  Or is he the danger?

  The words pulse on the screen, a silent reminder that someone is watching.

  I place the phone back exactly where it was, careful not to make a sound. Every movement is deliberate.

  Calculated.

  I slide back under the covers, curling onto my side. My body stays rigid, my mind wired and restless.

  Outside, the wind shifts against the windows.

  My fingers curl beneath my pillow, brushing the cool edge of my own phone.

  Not tonight.

  Not yet.

  But I know exactly who I’ll call the moment I stop pretending.

  And deep down, I already understand the truth…

  Tonight is only the beginning.