A Wife For Him (Hearts Under Contract)

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass panes of the office building, painting soft golden streaks on the polished floor. 

Irene glanced at her watch as she packed her things. For once, the ticking hands brought no urgency. 

Her workload was lighter today, and for the first time in weeks, she was finishing early.

A faint smile played on her lips as she thought about the evening ahead. 

Today was Dave’s birthday—a day she had been planning for weeks. 

Four years together had taught her how much he valued small surprises, and this year, she intended to make it unforgettable.

As she stepped out of the office, the familiar hum of the city greeted her. 

Cars honked in the distance, and pedestrians moved past with hurried strides, their faces painted with end-of-day weariness.

 But Irene’s heart was light, her steps steady with purpose.

“Irene!”

She turned to see Sarah and a few of her colleagues gathered near the building's entrance.

 Sarah waved her over, her bright smile framed by soft curls.

“You’re done early?” Sarah asked as Irene approached.

“Yeah, for once,” Irene replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“We’re heading out for drinks to celebrate surviving the week,” Sarah said, gesturing toward the small group. 

“You should come. It’ll be fun.”

Irene hesitated, her gaze flickering toward the street where taxis zipped by.

 A drink sounded tempting—she hadn’t had a proper night out with her colleagues in ages—but tonight wasn’t just any night.

“I’d love to,” she said, her voice warm but resolute, “but I can’t today.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, her smile turning teasing. “Oh, let me guess. Dave?”

“Dave,” Irene confirmed with a small laugh.

“Of course,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes playfully. “Well, have fun with Prince Charming. We’ll just be drowning our sorrows without you.”

Irene chuckled. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Better,” Sarah called over her shoulder as she and the group headed toward a nearby bar.

Irene lingered for a moment, watching them go before turning toward the bakery. Her heart swelled with anticipation.

The bell above the bakery door chimed softly as she stepped inside. 

The warm scent of sugar and vanilla wrapped around her, instantly lifting her mood.

 Irene scanned the room, her eyes landing on the colorful display of cakes behind the counter.

“Good afternoon!” the clerk greeted, her cheerful tone matching the bright decor of the shop.

“Hi,” Irene replied, stepping closer to the counter. “I’m looking for a birthday cake. Something simple but… thoughtful.”

The clerk nodded, pulling out a small notepad. “Any specific flavor?”

“Vanilla with buttercream frosting,” Irene said, glancing at the display for inspiration. “And I’d like to add a message on it.”

“Of course. What should it say?”

Irene paused, the words forming slowly in her mind. “Write, ‘Happy Birthday to the Best Man in My Life.’”

The clerk’s smile widened. “That’s lovely. Just give me a moment.”

As she waited, Irene’s thoughts wandered. Memories of her and Dave flickered like snapshots—long walks in the park, lazy Sunday mornings, the day he proposed. 

She had been so cautious in the beginning, hesitant to let her guard down, but Dave had a way of making her feel safe.

Today felt significant in more ways than one. Over the past few weeks, she had been preparing herself for something she had put off for a long time—intimacy.

 The thought made her cheeks warm. She had spent countless nights researching, reading articles about what to expect, even watching videos that broke down the emotional and physical aspects.

 She wanted tonight to be perfect.

The clerk returned with the cake, now boxed and tied with a neat ribbon. “Here you go. I hope he loves it.”

“I’m sure he will,” Irene said, handing over the payment. “Thank you so much.”

The walk home was calm, the weight of the cake in her hands grounding her. 

She imagined Dave’s face lighting up when he saw it, the way his smile always managed to erase the stresses of her day.

Their apartment complex came into view, a modest two-bedroom they had shared for nearly two years.

 She climbed the stairs, her anticipation growing with each step.

“Dave?” she called softly as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The apartment was quiet, but something felt… off. Her gaze swept across the living room, where a trail of clothes led toward the bedroom. 

A shirt hung over the armrest of the couch. A pair of pants was draped across the coffee table.

Irene frowned, the first twinge of unease creeping into her chest. Dave had always been a bit messy, especially when he was in a rush, but this… this was different.

Balancing the cake carefully, she followed the trail. Her heart thudded against her ribs as she reached the bedroom door.

 Voices filtered through the thin wood—Dave’s, unmistakably, and then a woman’s laughter.

She froze.

The laughter was light, carefree, and painfully familiar.

A male voice joined in, one she didn’t immediately recognize.

Her pulse quickened. What were they saying? She strained to hear, her mind racing to make sense of the situation.

With trembling hands, she reached for the doorknob. The cool metal felt foreign under her palm.

She turned it slowly, her breath hitching as the door creaked open.

The scene that greeted her was both surreal and devastating.

The cake slipped from her hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Icing smeared across the wood, but Irene barely noticed.

Her gaze locked on the bed, her chest tightening as she took in the image before her.