Chapter 5 A WIFE'S INTUITION

Beauty didn't ask questions that morning.

She cooked his breakfast in silent oats, fruit, toast just the way he liked it. But Drake barely touched it. He mumbled a half-hearted thanks, grabbed his bag, and left without meeting her eyes.

The silence screamed louder than any confrontation could.

He was slipping away.

Beauty spent the rest of the day at work staring blankly at the computer screen, her body present, but her soul elsewhere. She didn't hear Evelyn call her name the first three times.

"B," Evelyn finally said firmly. "Talk to me."

Beauty blinked. "I think he's cheating."

Evelyn's expression softened. "Why?"

"He stayed out again. Late. Didn't call. Didn't even look at me this morning." Her voice trembled. "And I... I felt something was gone from him. Like he'd released something... or someone."

Evelyn reached out, squeezing her hand. "You don't know for sure."

"I do," Beauty whispered. "I can feel it. In my body. My bones."

Evelyn hesitated before asking, "Do you still want him?"

Beauty looked away. "I don't know what I want anymore. But I know I'm scared."

---

Drake, meanwhile, stood in the office restroom, gripping the sink.

Michelle's scent still lingered in his nostrils. Her touch burned on his skin. He had been reckless, weak. But he couldn't lie to himself, he hadn't felt that alive in years.

And he hated that.

He hated that sex with Michelle had stirred something he hadn't felt in his marriage since the honeymoon. With Beauty, it had always felt like begging for crumbs. A kiss here. A half-hearted moan there. He loved her God, he loved her but his needs were eating him alive.

Still, he had tried.

Until last night.

Now, the guilt sat like a weight in his chest.

He opened his phone and stared at Michelle's message.

"Round two?"

He didn't reply. But he didn't delete it either.

---

That evening, Beauty made up her mind.

She wouldn't accuse him. Not yet. But she would fight for her marriage.

She set the table, cleaned the apartment, wore a silk robe she had never dared try before, and sprayed perfume at her neck. She lit candles. Turned on soft music.

She practiced a smile in the mirror. Soft. Inviting. Pleading.

At 9:45 p.m., the front door opened.

Drake stepped in, exhausted, brows furrowed then froze at the scene.

Beauty stood in the dim light, heart pounding. "I wanted to surprise you," she said softly.

He blinked. "What's this?"

"A night for us."

His eyes fell on her robe, then her face. She looked beautiful, elegant, nervous, willing.

But all he could feel was guilt.

"I'm tired," he muttered.

Her heart cracked. "Just... sit. Eat. We don't have to do anything."

He sat, mechanically eating a few bites. They barely spoke.

After dinner, she moved closer on the couch, resting her head on his shoulder, her hand brushing his chest.

He flinched.

She pulled away.

"Drake... what happened to us?"

He didn't answer.

She touched his face gently, eyes glassy. "Please. I want you. I want to fix this."

He looked at her then, really looked. And he saw fear in her eyes raw, naked fear of losing him.

He kissed her forehead, whispering, "I'm sorry."

But he wasn't sure what for.

That night, they lay in the same bed.

But worlds apart.