10: We Shouldn’t Have

LYRA

For a moment after he stepped away, neither of us moved.

My lips tingled. My chest rose and fell unevenly.

And my thoughts were a mess.

I stared at Raguel and he stared back, looking just as shaken as I felt. His chest was still heaving, his eyes dark with insatiable hunger.

Then, the cold reality of the damp alley air hit my skin, and the fog in my brain began to lift.

“Oh my goodness,” The words slipped out before I could stop them, my hands flying to my mouth. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

His jaw tightened.

“With you,” I added quickly, my voice rising. “I just…I just…” My breath hitched. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. “I have a husband.” I could still feel Raguel’s lips on my lips, but the weight of my wedding ring felt like a lead shackle. “I can’t believe I just did that. I can’t believe I did that to Aaron. I just cheated on my husband. What is wrong with me?”

Raguel’s expression shifted instantly. The raw heat in his eyes cooled into an icy annoyance. He didn’t snap at me, but the way his jaw tightened told me exactly what he thought of my husband being my first concern. He looked away, his frame stiff.

“I have to go,” he said, his voice clipped. He stepped back, the shadows seemingly reaching out to pull him away. “But I’m coming back for you, Lyra. Be ready.”

“No, Raguel, wait,” I started, reaching out a hand to stop him. “Don’t come. You can’t just—”

But he was already gone. He didn’t run; he simply vanished into the darkness as if he had never been there at all, leaving me standing alone in the mouth of a dead-end alley.

I stood there, staring at the empty space he had occupied, my heart still racing.

“What is happening to me?” I whispered.

The walk home was a literal blur. I could smell Raguel. It wasn’t just a lingering scent, but a heavy, intoxicating aroma of cardamom, sandalwood, and something heady like musk that seemed to cling to my skin. I didn’t understand why his scent was so dominant, or why it felt like it was trailing behind me like a physical cloak.

I rubbed my arms slightly, uneasy.

This wasn’t normal.

Everything was too loud. I could hear a couple arguing in an apartment down the road, their voices sharp and clear as if they were standing right next to me. I could smell the grease from the burger joint five streets away, and the scent of damp earth from the park made my head spin. It was all so amplified, so overwhelming, that I had to keep my head down and hurry, clutching my coat shut as if I could block out the world.

When I finally reached the apartment and collapsed onto the couch, the silence didn’t bring peace. The memory of Raguel’s touch—the way he looked at me—followed me into my dreams, a relentless loop of heat and possessive whispers that left me tossing and turning.

I woke up suddenly, feeling disoriented, my heart hammering against my ribs. Before I even opened my eyes, a scent hit me—stale whiskey and expensive cologne. Aaron.

My stomach did a slow, sickening roll and I sat up immediately.

My eyes scanned the room. I was alone but I could still perceive the scent like he was seated beside me.

I felt his presence in the room even before I heard the heavy, rhythmic thud of footsteps outside the apartment door.

The door swung open with a violence that made the hinges groan. Aaron stood there, his face filled with rage. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were bloodshot, highlighting the manic energy radiating off him.

“Aaron?” I sat up, pulling one of the throw pillows to my chest, trying to force a smile. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon. Welcome—”

He didn’t let me finish. With a snarl, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a stack of glossy papers. He didn’t hand them to me; he slammed them against the wall next to the couch. They hit with a sharp sound and scattered across the floor.

My breath caught as my eyes dropped to them.

And my stomach dropped.

Me.

And Raguel.

Kissing.