Chapter 3 HUNGER & SILENCE

Drake stayed late at work more often now.

It wasn't that he loved crunching tax numbers or enduring his boss's endless rants about deadlines. But work was less disappointing than home. At work, things made sense problems had answers, equations balanced. At home, everything felt like walking on broken glass in the dark.

He missed his wife. The version of her who laughed easily, who smiled when they cooked dinner together, who rested her head on his shoulder during movie nights. But lately, she felt more like a roommate who flinched at his touch.

And he was tired of feeling like a thief in his own marriage.

One night, as he locked up the office and stepped into the quiet Manhattan street, his phone buzzed. A message from an unsaved number:

"Heard you got married. Bet she can't handle you the way I did. M."

Drake froze. He didn't need to guess. Michelle.

The name hit him like a forgotten perfume one he hated to love.

Michelle had been his longest relationship before Beauty. She was fire and thunder, wild and unapologetic. Their nights together had been intense, passionate, even chaotic. She had matched his drive in every way, physically and emotionally.

They had ended badly, of course. She had wanted more, he wasn't ready. But now, a single text brought back months of temptation he had tried to bury.

He didn't respond.

Not that night.

---

Beauty, meanwhile, buried herself in work and prayers.

Every evening she knelt by the bedside, whispering words to God that sounded more desperate than faithful. "Fix me. Make me want him. Help me be a better wife."

But God seemed silent. And so did Drake.

The next day, Evelyn noticed the dark circles under Beauty's eyes during lunch breaks.

"You're not sleeping," she said.

"I'm trying," Beauty replied, managing a weak smile.

Evelyn hesitated. "Have you two... talked?"

"He doesn't talk much anymore. He just stays out late, comes home and falls asleep. Or tries to touch me when I'm already drained."

"Maybe he's frustrated."

"I know. I want to do better."

"You shouldn't just try to please him, B. You need to understand your body too. Explore what makes you feel good. You can't pour from an empty cup."

The thought of it made Beauty blush. Pleasure has always been a word surrounded by shame in her world.

But maybe Evelyn was right.

That night, Beauty lit candles again. She stood in the mirror, trying to see herself the way Drake used to. Soft. Desired. Worthy.

She made an effort. Put on lotion. Choose a soft playlist. She was determined to give them another chance.

But he didn't come home until 1 a.m.

The candles had burned out by then. She lay asleep in bed, one arm stretched toward his side of the mattress, untouched.

He slipped in quietly, smelling like cigarettes and city air. He stood by the bed for a moment, staring at her peaceful face. Guilt clutched at him. She was trying. He knew that. But something inside him had shifted something hungry, something lonely.

He had seen Michelle that night.

He hadn't planned it. Just wanted to talk. Needed to vent. She listened. She smiled that same devilish smile. She touched his arm while laughing.

He hadn't kissed her. Not yet.

But the desire was back.

And loyalty was slipping like sand between his fingers.

---

Three days later, he texted her.

"Let's talk."

Michelle replied instantly.

"About us? Or your celibate marriage?"

Drake didn't answer.

He didn't need to.