Page 45 of If He Hadn't Cheated
“Why?”
He pauses. “Because I have to remember who I am before the world tells me what to be.”
The simplicity of it hits me harder than I expect.
He steps closer to the mirror, his reflection sharp and still. “When my father died, I promised myself I’d never lose control. I built everything on that promise. But control can become a cage.” His voice is quiet, almost tired.
I walk until I’m standing beside him. Our reflections merge in the mirror. For a moment, I can’t tell where he ends and I begin.
“You don’t have to hold it all together,” I say.
He meets my eyes in the reflection. “And you don’t have to fall apart to feel alive.”
The words hang between us, heavy and soft.
I turn to face him fully. “You think you know me.”
“I see you.”
“No one really does.”
“Then show me.”
My chest tightens. “That’s dangerous.”
“So is pretending.”
The quiet stretches. My heartbeat fills the room. He doesn’t move, doesn’t reach for me. He just waits, letting me decide.
I take a slow breath and step closer. My fingers graze his wrist. His skin is warm, his pulse steady.
“Lana,” he says, voice low. “If I touch you now, it won’t be out of control. It’ll be because I want you. All of you. No hiding. No regrets in the morning. I’m sorry for what I said but I can’t share any part of you with him.”
“I don’t want you to control it,” I whisper. “I want you to feel it.”
He turns, closing the small space between us. The air thickens, every breath shared. His hands settle gently at my waist, and for a moment we just stand there, watching each other in the mirror.
The reflection of us feels like something out of time, two people holding on to what’s left of themselves, afraid it might vanish if they blink.
When his lips finally meet mine, it isn’t rushed or wild. It’s slow. Careful. Honest. I sink into him, every part of me unraveling as he deepens the kiss. His hands slide up my back, grounding me, and I realize I’m not falling this time. I’m being caught.
The mirrors blur as he presses me closer, his breath mixing with mine. His control is gone now, replaced by something gentler but just as powerful.
21
The morning starts like any other.
Coffee. Reports. The quiet hum of the office.
But the energy feels wrong. The kind of wrong that sits in your stomach before your mind catches up.
I feel it the second I step off the elevator. The looks. The silence that follows me through the hallway. Conversations stop mid-sentence. Screens flicker off just a little too fast.
Something’s happened.
By the time I reach my desk, my phone is already buzzing. Notifications flood the screen. Messages from coworkers. Unknown numbers. Articles.
And then I see it.
