Marry me 99 more times

The following week, Ethan surprised her by coming home every night-on time. He even cooked. "My mother said protein helps wounds heal," he said as he placed a perfectly pan-seared cod fillet in front of her. "She's sweet. Please thank her for me." "I'm sweeter." He picked her up and sat her on his lap. He often brushed back her bangs to check on her healing scar, touching her with such care it felt sacred. Sophia rested in his arms, basking in the warmth. The doubts and insecurities from before seemed to melt away in this week of tenderness. They'd only been married six months. Rushing things naturally led to a lack of trust. She should give him more time-and herself more patience. She scheduled a follow-up at the hospital for the weekend. Ethan offered to go with her, but she refused. She didn't like clinging to him unnecessarily. If she could handle something alone, she always would. Last night, he had been working late in the study. Sophia had planned to gently persuade him to get some rest. When she tiptoed in, she found Ethan staring blankly at his laptop, clearly troubled. It was rare to see the usually composed and collected Ethan looking so anxious. She softly knocked on the door to get his attention. When he saw her enter, Ethan quickly closed the laptop, replacing his worried look with a faint smile. "Still awake?" he asked gently. "Mm." She wished she could help solve his troubles-just listening would be enough. But in six months of marriage, they had never really opened up to each other. She knew nothing about Ethan's past. And he seemed uninterested in hers. "Why aren't you sleeping?" he asked, pulling her into his arms. "I can't sleep without you." He smirked knowingly, lifting her onto the desk-then came a flurry of kisses. It seemed only in this way did they shed all masks and give themselves completely. The next morning, she accidentally spotted the gold-embossed business card Lucas had given her. Without hesitation, she tossed it in the trash. The check-up went smoothly. She was in a great mood. But when she got home, Ethan wasn't there. Something led her into his study. His laptop was open. She tried a few simple passwords she knew. All wrong. Then, she typed in their wedding date. The screen unlocked. She froze. That she hadn't expected. The desktop was clean. But in the corner was a thumbnail of a photo. She clicked it. The woman in the picture had waist-length hair, teary eyes, and wore a white slip dress. A stark white bandage wrapped around her delicate arm. The lighting, the angle, the expression-it was perfect, portraying the ideal image of vulnerability and allure. It wasn't her. Nor was it anyone Ethan had ever mentioned. She slammed the laptop shut like it had burned her. Then, she called Ethan. The line rang and rang. Every beep pierced her nerves. "Hello?" he finally answered. The background was noisy. She forced her voice to sound casual. "My hardworking husband working on the weekend-I just wanted to check in." "Did you go to the hospital?" "Yeah, the doctor said it's nothing serious." She paused and tilted her head. "You sound like you're at a hospital?" She distinctly heard the announcement system in the background. There was a beat of silence. Then he said calmly, "Yeah. At the hospital." "Are you hurt?" "I'm fine. A friend got injured." "Male or female?" "Female," he answered without hesitation. Sophia couldn't speak. If she asked one more question, the paper-thin illusion of harmony between them would tear. "Well, enjoy taking care of your lady friend. Your wife's tired-going to nap." She tried to sound lazy and indifferent. Just as she was about to hang up, his voice came through-low, amused. "Are you wearing anything?" ".What?" she blinked, then blushed furiously, shouting into the phone, "No!" "Hm." His voice dipped, magnetic and teasing. "I'll handle you when I get back." Call ended. Sophia held the phone, somewhere between laughter and tears. The photo she'd seen and the casual, flirty conversation tangled in her mind. Maybe. she was overthinking. Maybe the woman really was just a friend. She shut the laptop and climbed into bed, forcing herself to sleep. She slept deeply. So deeply, she didn't stir until his cool hand slid under the covers, lighting fires across her skin. "No." she murmured, half-asleep, pushing at his wandering hands. "Liar," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "Lied about what?" she mumbled, still dazed. "You said you weren't wearing anything." He chuckled lowly, then kissed her deeply, silencing any protest. Froze for a second, then she clung to him, responding to his every move. In this primal connection, she felt it-he was her husband. They were one. She tried to ignore the smudge of lipstick on his collar. But any woman would spot that-who could pretend otherwise?