Page 1 of My Only

PROLOGUE

NOW – EARLY SUMMER 2023… PRESENT DAY

Ayla

I sighed, trying to stop my stomach muscles from twisting. When that didn’t work, I rolled my tongue around in my mouth, immediately tasting the bitter aftertaste of the coffee, I’d had two hours prior.

I’d been sitting in the same spot since 10 p.m.

It was now 2 a.m.

And Hassani was still not home.

I shook my head and attempted to loosen the tension in my jaw, but it clenched right back.

The kitchen was dimly lit, with only the stovetop light on. The soft orange glow cast faint shadows around the room. It seemed like the shadows grew darker the longer I sat there.

My eyes drifted to the plate of food still sitting on the kitchen table across from me. I rubbed my lips together at the sight of it.

I’d peeked at it too many times since I placed it there hours ago—before I’d woken up, after turning in at nine, only to realize my husband still wasn’t home.

My eyes burned like hell. Beyond the exhaustion from lack of sleep, my mind had been working on overdrive, creating scenarios to fill in the blanks reality had left.

I was alone in this big-ass house… again.

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the fresh cup of coffee I’d brewed. My second cup. The first was at midnight. I made both just to stay awake—because I couldn’t bring myself to fall asleep in our bed again, only to wake up wondering how late he got home this time.

His absence was because of the Greene Gardens Project.

Hassani becoming the principal architect responsible for the commercial and residential properties in the new upstate development had been a thorn in my ass I couldn’t pull out. Sure, his involvement had changed our lives in great ways, but it also had him staying out late, spending time with a particular person he had no business spending time with, and pissing me off every fucking day.

I should’ve said something sooner. When his late nights started happening too frequently, I should have spoken up instead of worrying about sounding like the proverbial nagging wife.

Because this was ridiculous.

My focus snapped to the clock on the stove just as the time changed to 2:05. My attention kept bouncing between the plate of food and the time… constant reminders that he wasn’t here.

I inhaled a deep breath and stood. Padding my way to the kitchen window, I leaned over the sink, trying to get a glimpse of the front of the house.

I didn’t know what I expected to find. Maybe a part of me half-expected to see Hassani’s car in the driveway. Or to see him stepping out of it just as I went to look.

And would that have made shit any better? Would it have been any less fucked up to see him arriving home at two in the morning?

I pressed my lips together and bit the inside of my cheek as I ruminated on that question.

The thought of calling him had crossed my mind at least five times. First, when I got out of bed. Then, when I checked our home office, thinking I’d find him sketching in that sketchbook of his, like always. If he had been in there, I would have teased him about it like I always do, saying that sketchbook was his Bible.

Twice, I thought about calling him as I sat at the kitchen table for the past four hours.

And now, the thought returned.

Because something had to have happened for him to still be out this late.

Despite my concern, my thoughts kept drifting to deceit and betrayal.

I returned to my seat at our kitchen table, slid my coffee closer, and took a sip. A few minutes later, the lock on the front door clicked, breaking the silence in the house.

I turned my head in that direction, setting my mug down. Hassani’s footsteps were heavy as he made his way down the corridor from the front door to the kitchen. I picked up on the faint sigh and suppressed groan that escaped him.

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