Page 28 of Unfaithful

I couldn't risk scaring her.

She already hated me enough.

I splashed my face with cold water, the chill snapping me awake, then reached for a new toothbrush and toothpaste from the vanity drawer. I knew they always kept fresh ones, a habit I was familiar with from the countless times I had been here.

When I finally stepped out, I found only Herston and Janet in the kitchen.

Janet walked over and pulled me into a hug, and it took everything in me not to break down right then and there. There was something about her. She had that distinct motherly warmth that wrapped around you like a shield, offering comfortand safety, making you believe everything would be okay—even if it wasn't.

I wanted to hold on to that feeling. To hear her tell me I wasn't the despicable man I knew I was. To let her words push me to be better. For Sara. For myself.

She pulled back and met my gaze, eyes softening as if she understood everything without me having to say a word. She saw the guilt and the regret. My own eyes burned with unshed tears. I closed them briefly, shaking my head, trying to rein in the overwhelming emotions.

"Where's Sara?" I asked, my voice strained.

"At the back, by the pool," she answered gently.

I nodded and wordlessly walked to the back of the house, feeling their gazes following me. When I reached the double doors, I hesitated, standing there for a moment.

There she was. My wife. My Sara.

She sat under the umbrella; her legs crossed, shoulders slumped as if carrying a weight too heavy to bear. Her eyes were fixed on the city below; the house, perched atop a cliff, offered a view stretching endlessly beneath the morning sun—beautiful and serene, a stark contrast to the inner storm I knew she was enduring.

The storm that I had unleashed.

From where I stood, I could only see her in profile, but even then, her beauty still took my breath away.

Guilt crashed over me like a tidal wave, dragging regret along with it, suffocating me all over again.

A figure rose from the heated pool, immediately drawing my attention.

Archibald.

He rose from the heated water, droplets sliding down his tattooed skin. His black swim shorts, clinging to him, ended at mid-thigh. He was showing too much skin in front of my wife. My jaw tightened. My hands curled into fists at my sides as I watched him rake a hand through his wet hair, shaking off the excess water before making his way toward her.

Anger. Jealousy. A fire burned in my chest, scorching through every rational thought.

Like hell, I'd let him near her.

I shoved open the double doors and stepped outside. Archie was already in front of Sara, both of them unaware of my presence.

They were talking. He said something that made her smile—a sight that sent a sharp pang through my chest.

They only noticed me when I cleared my throat loudly as I walked over to them.

As I expected, the warmth vanished from Sara's face in an instant. The change was immediate, startling. One moment, she was soft, her lips curved ever so slightly. The next, her expression hardened into something cold.

Like I was nothing to her.

The realization hit me like a blow. To her, I wasn't anything anymore.

But that didn't mean I'd stop fighting for her.

Archie turned first, his sharp eyes raking over me, assessing. Sara didn't even bother looking my way. Instead, she exhaled slowly as if bracing herself. Then, with deliberate slowness, she uncrossed her legs and stood.

"Whatever you want to say, Cole," she said flatly as she walked past me, "I have nothing left to give."

Archie grabbed a towel from the lounge chair, running it through his damp hair. Our eyes met, a silent battle waging between us—unspoken challenges, unyielding stares.

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