Noah had been in my apartment before.
But never like this.
Never with my mascara smeared down my face.
Never after my husband abandoned me on our anniversary to take his pregnant mistress to the hospital.
He stood near the entryway and changed into the guest slippers I’d bought on impulse months ago. His gaze drifted to the framed wedding photo above the console table.
In that picture, Ethan was laughing, his forehead pressed to mine.
Noah looked at it for a long time.
Then at me.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked quietly.
I set my purse down and leaned against the wall. “If you leave now, I’ll transfer fifty grand to your account and we can pretend we never met.”
His face went white.
For one awful second, I thought he might actually take it.
Instead, his eyes filled so fast it startled me.
He crossed the room in three steps, dropped to his knees in front of me, and wrapped both arms around my waist.
“No,” he said, voice breaking. “No. Don’t do that.”
I looked down at him. “Noah—”
“I don’t care what I am to you,” he said. “A rebound. A replacement. A secret. I don’t care. Just don’t tell me to go.”
My throat tightened.
He was crying hard now, and somehow that made me feel powerful in a way I hadn’t felt in months.
Look at that, I thought.
Somebody still needed me.
“You should think carefully,” I said. “I can’t give you anything real right now. I may not be able to love you properly. Even after divorce, I may never remarry. I may never want children. I may never become the woman who makes sense on paper.”
He looked up at me, eyes red. “I’m sure.”
“You haven’t even heard the worst part.”
“I don’t need to.”
“My husband is sleeping with your stepsister,” I said flatly. “She’s pregnant.”
Noah flinched. Actually flinched.
I kept going because I needed to be cruel to someone. “Can you handle that? Can you handle people saying you’re with me because I see your face and think of him?”
That wasn’t why I’d first noticed Noah.
But it was true that if you looked quickly, there was a resemblance. Not enough to confuse them. Just enough to make people mean.
Noah stood up slowly.
“If I leave you,” he said, “I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”
The apartment went still.
The only sound was the hum of the fridge and the rain starting against the windows.
He reached up and touched my cheek with both hands, careful, like I was something breakable.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked.
Instead of answering, I kissed him first.
It should have felt reckless.
It should have felt wrong.
It felt like surfacing after being held underwater too long.
That night I stopped waiting for Ethan.
Really stopped.
Noah was young, warm, impatient, alive. Everything about him felt direct. Honest. He wanted me openly. No hiding. No shame. No crumbs.
For the first time in weeks, I fell asleep without checking my phone.
The next morning, I was late for work.
Noah tried to keep me in bed. I had an investor meeting, and he looked personally offended by that fact.
“I hate your job,” he muttered into my neck.
“You love that my job pays for this apartment.”
He grinned against my skin. “Also true.”
By the time I got dressed and made it into the office, my lips still wanted to smile.
Apparently, my secretary noticed.
“You look radiant today, Ms. Bennett.”
If only she knew.
I pushed open my office door and stopped.
Ethan was in my chair, head tipped back, eyes closed, like he owned the place.
When he heard me, he stood immediately and came toward me fast.
“Don’t move,” he said hoarsely. “Let me hold you.”
He pulled me into his arms.
I shoved him off so hard he stumbled.
Then I touched my mouth instinctively, as if he had contaminated the air around me.
He froze.
His eyes were bloodshot. Stubble darkened his jaw. He looked like he hadn’t slept.
“Last night,” he said, “I went back for you. You were gone.”
“It was thirty-eight degrees,” I said. “You left me in a thin coat on the side of the road.”
He stepped closer again. “Are you still mad?”
I stared at him.
Compared to Noah, he suddenly looked older than he ever had before.
Tired. Heavy. Distant.
“We have a meeting in ten minutes,” I said. “If you’re here for work, sit down. If you’re here as my husband, leave.”
His mouth hardened. “I’m here as both.”
That was the problem.