Chapter 4 THE RETURN OF FIRE

It started with a message.

Michelle had sent the first one, short and sharp, like a hook tossed into dark waters:

"Are you ready to get pampered and satisfied in the other room?"

Drake stared at it for hours before replying.

"Let's meet. Just to talk."

They agreed on a Thursday evening. Quiet bar in downtown Manhattan. Drake didn't tell Beauty, of course. He only said he had to work late again. The lie slid off his tongue easily now.

The bar was dimly lit, filled with shadows and jazz. Michelle sat at a corner table, her lips painted wine-red, wearing a deep green dress that clung to her curves the way she knew he liked. Her eyes met his, and he was 22 again reckless, wild, and dangerously alive.

She smiled. "You look... hungry."

He chuckled. "You haven't changed."

"And you're pretending you have."

They ordered drinks, but Drake barely touched his. Michelle talked with the same fire she always had, her words laced with flirtation and challenge. She leaned in when she laughed, touched his hand lightly, the way she used to before dragging him into her apartment and making him forget who he was.

"You're not happy," she said after a moment of silence.

"I'm married."

"That wasn't the question."

He looked away. "It's complicated."

Michelle tilted her head. "Does she touch you the way I did?"

Drake's throat dried. His heart thundered. The weight of three years of sexual frustration, rejection, and restraint crashed through him like a storm. Beauty had tried he knew that. But it always felt like duty, not desire. He had grown tired of trying to awaken a fire that refused to burn.

Michelle stood suddenly and dropped her room key on the table.

"Room 312. If you come up, we both know what it means."

She walked away, hips swaying, the scent of her perfume trailing behind like a dare.

Drake stared at the key. His palm trembled as he picked it up.

He didn't go home that night.

---

Room 312 was dim, warm, and smelled faintly of vanilla and heat. Michelle opened the door wearing nothing but a sheer robe. No words were needed. Drake stepped in, dropped the key, and closed the door behind him like he was locking away his conscience.

She pulled him toward her, and his lips crashed against hers with years of suppressed need. He kissed her like he was starving, hands running down her back, gripping her thighs, lifting her. She moaned into his mouth as he pinned her against the wall, pulling the robe off her shoulders.

"You missed this," she whispered, nipping his neck.

"I'm dying without it," he groaned, pulling off his shirt.

Their bodies collided with a desperation that felt almost painful. She was soft, wet, and eager meeting every thrust with a rhythm that reminded him of who he once was. There was no hesitation, no pulling away, no fear of rejection. She wrapped around him, whispering filth in his ears, biting his lip, dragging her nails down his back. He lost himself completely.

He came hard, growling her name like it was a prayer.

Afterward, they lay tangled, breathless.

Drake stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling. "I betrayed her," he said quietly.

Michelle traced circles on his chest. "No. She pushed you away. I just opened the door you already wanted to walk through."

He didn't answer. But he didn't leave either.

---

At home, Beauty stared at the front door until 2 a.m.

She had prepared dinner. Worn the nightgown again. Lit candles. Tried to smile in the mirror. She even tried touching herself earlier. Evelyn's words rings in her ears but she felt guilty, clumsy, and dirty. Nothing stirred within her.

She wanted to try. She really did. She just didn't know how.

Her chest ached as she sat on the edge of their bed, phone in hand.

No calls. No messages.

Where was he?

A thousand thoughts clawed through her mind. What if something had happened? What if he was with someone else? What if he had finally stopped caring?

She called Sam, but he didn't pick up.

She sat in the dark until the sun rose.

And when Drake finally returned, shirt rumpled, smelling faintly of unfamiliar perfume he didn't offer an explanation.

He just walked in, kissed her forehead, and said, "I'm tired."

Then went straight to the shower.

Beauty stood there, frozen, heart cracking silently.

She knew.