In The Arms of Another

For the past three days, Adrian had been occupied with something far more dangerous.

Elena.

Six months had passed since his wife had looked him in the eyes and calmly admitted that she had slept with another man.

Six months since she had said:

It was my choice.

He had replayed those words more times than he cared to admit.

He had asked whether Marcus had threatened her.

No.

Blackmailed her?

No.

Paid her?

No.

Forced her?

No.

Then why?

She had simply looked at him and said she didn’t know.

Adrian had wanted to hate her.

Some days, he almost managed it.

Then he remembered the woman he had married.

And hated himself instead.

His phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

Stop asking why Elena did it.

Adrian stared at the screen.

Another message arrived.

Ask what happened before the hotel.

His expression hardened.

Then a photograph appeared.

He opened it.

For several seconds, he couldn’t breathe.

It was Elena.

Not in a hotel.

Not with Marcus.

Somewhere in Paris, outside a restaurant.

She was standing in the arms of another man.

The man’s face was turned away from the camera, one arm around Elena while she stood close against him.

Adrian’s grip tightened around the phone.

He zoomed in.

Elena wasn’t resisting.

She wasn’t frightened.

She wasn’t trying to escape.

She looked completely comfortable.

Almost as though she belonged there.

Something inside Adrian cracked.

He had spent six months telling himself that whatever Elena had done with Marcus had been a single terrible decision.

One night.

One betrayal.

One mistake.

But this photograph suggested something much uglier.

There had been something before Marcus.

Something she had never told him about.

Adrian looked closer.

The man’s face remained hidden.

But his clothes were expensive.

His posture was familiar.

And on his wrist was a watch.

Adrian froze.

He had seen that watch before.

He was almost certain of it.

But where?

His phone vibrated again.

You recognize him.

Adrian typed:

Who is he?

The answer came almost immediately.

That’s what you’re supposed to find out.

Another message appeared.

Ask Elena why she met him before she went to the hotel.

Adrian stared at the photograph.

His wife had always been selfish.

He knew that now.

She had walked away from their marriage without apologizing.

Without begging.

Without even pretending to understand what she had destroyed.

She had chosen herself.

Her freedom.

Her pride.

Her desires.

And perhaps someone else.

Adrian’s eyes returned to the photograph.

He zoomed in again.

The man was holding Elena.

And Elena had allowed him to.

His jaw tightened.

He didn’t care how much he hated himself for it.

The sight hurt.

Deeply.

Because some part of him still thought of Elena as his.

Not because she belonged to him.

Because she had once promised that she would choose him.

And she hadn’t.

His phone vibrated one final time.

Don’t confront Elena yet.

Adrian’s eyes narrowed.

Why?

The response appeared.

Because if she knows you’re looking, she’ll disappear again.

Adrian slowly lowered the phone.

For six months, Elena had insisted that what happened was her choice.

Now there was a photograph proving that her story began long before the hotel.

He looked once more at the unidentified man.

The watch.

The posture.

The familiarity.

Someone close to him.

Someone he trusted.

Or someone he thought he trusted.

Adrian locked his phone.

For the first time, he wondered whether the greatest betrayal of his marriage had happened somewhere he hadn’t even known to look.

And he was going to find out.

Even if the answer destroyed what remained of him.

Because the man in the photograph wasn’t Marcus.

And Adrian was almost certain he knew him.