Chapter 2: Secrets and Celebrations.

Izzy's Pov.

My mother in law clearly suspected something was going on with me and her sons. That shook me to my core. And the last thing I wanted was to continue sitting at that table, as if everything was normal when she got back.

“I don’t feel too well,” I mumbled, forcing my voice to sound casual. My stomach twisted, but it wasn’t nerves—it was the remnants of Adrian. His scent lingered on my skin, in my hair, like a brand I couldn’t wash off.

Matt’s brow furrowed, concern etched across his face. “Want me to take you home?”

I nodded, grateful for the escape. “Yeah… that would be nice.”

The drive was quiet, tension humming beneath the ordinary. Every time I looked at him, I reminded myself: he’s my husband, he doesn’t know. He shouldn’t know. My pulse quickened anyway, the memory of Adrian’s hands creeping up my spine like wildfire.

When we got home, I practically ran to the bathroom. The shower was hot, scalding, relentless—enough to strip away Adrian’s scent, his heat, the way my body still ached for him. Steam curled around me, my skin tingling under the pounding water, and I tried to center myself, tried to breathe.

And then—Matt.

I froze. He stepped in without a word, hand brushing the glass, close enough to make my heart stutter. His eyes softened, gentle, concerned. “I’m here, Izzy,” he murmured.

I didn’t know how to say no. Couldn’t. So I let him.

His hands were warm, sure, methodical. He kissed me, slow, careful, like he was threading comfort into me, like he didn’t know how else to soothe his own anxiety. My body responded, mechanically at first—because it was him—but it wasn’t the fire I felt with Adrian. It was a slow, steady burn, not the inferno that left me trembling in the bathroom two nights ago.

He whispered my name, pressed closer, and I gave in, soft moans that were guilt-laden and confused. His hands roamed, lips sought mine, but every touch, every motion, reminded me it was not the same. Not forbidden. Not dangerous. Not thrilling.

My mind was a battlefield—Adrian’s smirk, the risk, the reckless ecstasy flashing against Matt’s warmth, steadiness, and innocent concern. The contrast stung like salt on a wound.

Afterwards, we lingered in the steam, wrapped together, and I forced myself to feel gratitude instead of desire. Matt sighed, oblivious to the storm still raging inside me. I rested my head against his chest, heart pounding, trying to convince myself that this… was enough.

But it wasn’t.

Not really.

Adrian’s ghost was still on my skin, in my veins. Every careful stroke Matt offered was a reminder that my body, my heart, my very instincts—were already tethered elsewhere. And that tether didn’t care about loyalty, vows, or the world outside the bathroom door.

I closed my eyes, pretending calm, knowing full well: I was playing a dangerous game, and I was already losing.

The office smelled like polished wood and coffee, but my stomach churned with a different kind of heat. Adrian was there, of course—sitting just a few feet from my desk, perfectly composed, radiating that dangerous calm that always made my pulse spike.

He leaned over to grab a file, brushing past me just a little too close. The fabric of his suit brushed mine, the subtle scent of him—cologne, sweat, heat—curling around me like smoke. My hands trembled as I typed, trying to focus on spreadsheets that blurred before my eyes.

“Everything okay?” he asked casually, but the tilt of his lips, the dark glint in his eyes, made me forget every word I was supposed to type.

“Yes… fine,” I said, voice tighter than I intended.

He smirked, leaning back in his chair, giving me that look—quiet, teasing, dangerous—the one that made my heart hammer, my legs ache, my mind spiraled into don’t, don’t, don’t.

I looked away, told myself to breathe, to focus, to survive the next thirty minutes without collapsing into sin. But the memory of the bathroom, the heat, the stolen touch, flickered across my skin and made my pulse race again.

By mid-morning, my stomach was twisting. Not just nerves—the nausea hit like a wave, sharp and relentless. I sat down hard in my chair, pressing a hand to my forehead. Too hot. Too dizzy. Something wasn’t right.

Then it hit me: my period. Late.

Panic roared to life. My heart jumped as I remembered every reckless, stolen moment. The bathroom. Matt. The heat. The pleasure. The forbidden.

I didn’t know how to process it. How could I? My hands shook as I grabbed my purse, fled the office under the guise of a headache, and locked myself in the tiny bathroom of the apartment I shared with Matt.

The test was simple, white, clinical—and the result made my stomach drop faster than any rollercoaster. Two lines. Positive.

I stared at it, my chest tight, sweat prickling my skin. My breath hitched, and I felt dizzy again.

And then the terror set in.

Whose child was this?

Adrian’s? My husband’s? My mind spun in frantic circles, heart hammering, fingers gripping the edge of the counter like it was a lifeline. I wanted to cry, to scream, to run, to hide—but I couldn’t.

The forbidden thrill, the lust, the stolen heat… it was all tangled with fear, guilt, and a secret I couldn’t untangle.

I sank to the floor, leaning against the cold tiles, trying to breathe. My body was betraying me, my heart was betraying me, and the man who had set my blood on fire was obliviously two miles away—or maybe closer, always closer.

I closed my eyes, shaking, knowing only one thing for certain: nothing would ever be the same.

The sound of the apartment door opening made me freeze.

“Izzy?” Matt’s voice was soft, curious. Before I could hide the test, he stepped closer—and saw it.

His eyes widened, then lit up. Joy, pure and unfiltered. “We’re going to have a baby,” he whispered, and before I could process, he scooped me into a hug, his warmth crushing, grounding, terrifying.

“Wait—Matt, I—”

“I don’t care,” he said, voice shaking with excitement. “This is perfect. It’s us. Our family.”

He grabbed his phone before I could say another word. “I have to call my parents,” he said. “They need to know. We’re having a dinner tomorrow night. A celebration. You’ll see, Izzy—we’re going to be a family.”

A knot twisted in my stomach. A celebration. With his parents. Tomorrow.

My mind spun, visions flashing: Adrian’s smirk, the bathroom, the stolen heat, the thrill I still carried on my skin. And now—mother-in-law. Adrian. Both at the same table, both aware, both dangerous.

I swallowed hard, the room suddenly too small, my hands trembling. How could I face them? How could I sit there, smiling, pretending? My secret, my forbidden thrill, the tiny life growing inside me—what if it wasn’t Matt’s?

My pulse hammered in my ears. The stakes had just skyrocketed. One dinner, one evening, one glance… and everything could unravel.

I pressed the test to my chest and whispered, barely audible: “How am I going to survive tomorrow night?”