บททั้งหมดของ Our Twisted Vows : บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

Imani knew something was off the moment Malik started being extra gentle with her. Not affectionate—he was always affectionate. Malik was the type of husband who kissed her shoulder while she washed dishes and warmed her car before she left for work. No, this was different. This was careful. Like he was handling glass instead of a woman who had stood beside him for eight years. She noticed it first that Sunday morning when he slid her coffee across the kitchen island exactly the way she liked it—two creams, one sugar, dash of cinnamon. He watched her take the first sip like he was waiting for approval. “You good?” he asked. She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Why you looking at me like I’m a science experiment?” He smirked but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Can’t I just admire my wife?” Imani hummed and took another sip. Something in her chest stirred, a quiet instinct she’d learned not to ignore. Malik only acted like this when he wanted something. A new car. A risky investment

The room had grown quieter. Not silent—Malik was still talking—but quieter in the way a room feels when something shifts underneath the surface. Like the air itself had started paying attention. Imani nodded at something he said, though she hadn’t really heard him. She was aware of other things now. The soft hum of the ceiling fan. The faint bass of music drifting from a neighbor’s apartment. The warmth of Zariah’s leg beside hers. Not touching. Just close enough to notice. She told herself she was imagining it. That she was being dramatic. That she was reading too much into nothing. Then Zariah shifted. It was a small movement—just crossing her legs—but her knee brushed Imani’s thigh as she did it. Light. Brief. Electric. Imani’s breath stuttered before she could stop it. Zariah didn’t apologize. She didn’t move away either. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, eyes sliding toward Imani’s face like she was checking for a reaction. Not bold. Not shy.

Malik couldn’t name the feeling sitting in his chest. It wasn’t anger. Not yet. It was tighter than that. Hotter. Like something slowly turning over beneath his ribs, looking for a place to land. Across from him, Imani laughed softly at something Zariah said. Not her polite laugh. Not her social laugh. Her real one. The sound hit him before he could prepare for it. He watched the way her shoulders loosened, the way her eyes warmed, the way her body angled—subtly, naturally—toward Zariah instead of him. He swallowed. “So what made you agree to this?” Zariah asked her. Imani glanced at Malik briefly, then back at her. “Curiosity, I guess.” Zariah nodded slowly. “Curiosity can be powerful.” Their knees brushed again. This time neither of them moved. Malik saw it. Saw everything. His jaw flexed. He told himself to relax. This was the point. This was what he wanted. This was the fantasy he’d suggested, planned, imagined. So why did it feel like he wa

The air didn’t move. It pressed in around them—warm, close, charged with everything none of them had said out loud. Imani could still feel Malik’s hand firm at her waist. Still feel Zariah’s thumb resting lightly against her side. Two different touches. Two different claims. Her pulse thudded between them like something alive, something waiting. Malik watched her face. Watched the way her lips stayed parted. Watched the way she didn’t lean back. Didn’t step away. Didn’t choose. Something possessive flickered behind his eyes. Not rage. Not yet. But pride. Desire. Challenge. If there was a current in the room, he wanted to be the one directing it. His hand slid from Imani’s waist slowly—not leaving her, just releasing her enough to move. He stepped around her, placing himself in front of Zariah instead. Close. Close enough that she had to tilt her chin slightly to look at him. Zariah didn’t retreat. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t break eye contact. Her expression stayed calm

The morning had stretched into afternoon, but none of them had moved far from the bed. Blankets twisted around their legs, pillows scattered across the floor, and the faint hum of music still lingered from the night before. The air between them was warm, heavy with the memory of last night’s closeness, the soft weight of lingering touches, and the quiet hum of desire that still threaded through the room. Every glance, every sigh, every small movement felt amplified, magnified by the intimacy they had shared.Imani lay on her side, facing Zariah. The warmth from last night still thrummed in her chest, slow and steady, leaving her skin tingling with awareness. Every time Zariah brushed a hand along her arm, leaned a fraction closer, or let their legs brush together under the tangled blankets, a shiver ran through her—quick, electric, impossible to ignore. She felt alive in a way she hadn’t before, alert to every sound, every subtle movement, every soft exhale. It was intoxicating, and s