"Julian, what is that look on your face? Look at what you've done to Bill—you've scared him half to death!"
I'd just caught Louise in bed with another man.
No explanation. No guilt.
Instead, she shielded her lover without an ounce of shame.
Behind her, Bill slowly lifted his head. The fear on his face had already vanished, replaced by a smirk aimed squarely at me.
But the instant Louise glanced back at him, the terror snapped right back into place.
Watching Louise hover over him like a mother hen guarding her chick, something inside me went cold—completely, irreversibly cold.
"What's wrong with the way I'm looking at you?"
"And don't you think you owe me an explanation?"
"You told me you were working overtime. So how exactly did you end up in your 'little brother's' bed?"
Louise's eyes flickered—two rapid, involuntary blinks.
But the guilt was swallowed almost instantly by indignation, as though she were the one who'd been wronged.
Her head snapped up, bristling like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, her voice shrill enough to cut glass:
"Julian! What the hell are you talking about?!"
"Following me is bad enough, but now you're going to slander me too?"
"Five years! Five years together, and you can't even give me the most basic trust?!"
I nearly laughed. I actually nearly laughed.
She hadn't addressed a single word of her own deception. Not one. Instead, she'd flipped the entire thing on its head, piling every ounce of blame onto me—as though the one in the wrong wasn't the cheating wife, but the husband who'd uncovered the truth.
Trust.
I turned the word over in my mind, and it felt like the punchline to the worst joke of the century.
"You're the one who lied to me first. And now you want to lecture me about trust?"
Louise faltered, her mouth opening and closing. Then she stiffened her neck and barreled on:
"So what if I lied to you?"
"Do you have any idea how much pressure I'm under every single day? And what do you do? Cook. Clean. That's it. What else have you ever done for me?"
"Bill and I grew up together. He's family to me. He's like my brother!"
"He felt sorry for me and wanted to give me a professional spa massage so I could relax for once!"
"How does that become something filthy in your eyes?"
Every word rang with righteous conviction.
If it weren't for the trail of intimate red marks covering her skin, I might have almost believed her.
"Julian... you really have the wrong idea. I—I just thought Louise has been working so hard lately, and I wanted to help her unwind..."
Bill peeked out from behind Louise, half his face visible, his voice small and trembling.
"There's nothing between us. I swear. I would never have any inappropriate thoughts about her."
He spoke carefully, watching me the whole time—as if I were some kind of monster that might devour him alive.
A cold laugh escaped my throat.
"A misunderstanding? No inappropriate thoughts?"
"Do you even believe the words coming out of your own mouth?"
I stared at him with open contempt.
No inappropriate thoughts—and yet he'd sent me photos of them in bed together just to provoke me?
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. Please, Julian, don't fight with Louise because of me."
Bill's eyes reddened at the rims, making him look like a wounded puppy begging for mercy.
He made a show of trying to stand, but his gaze slid sideways—a furtive glance toward Louise.
Right on cue.
And she didn't disappoint.
Bill's pitiful act hit Louise right where it was meant to. Sympathy flooded her face, and with it, a fierce surge of protectiveness.
She threw an arm out to stop him, then whipped around to glare at me.
"Julian, are you done yet?!"
"Look at yourself right now. You're acting like a jealous lunatic—do you even realize that?"
