Chapter 4

As we exited the eatery, I noticed Carter's eyes lingering on me—a clear challenge, a wordless invitation. The journey home was fraught with tension, the vehicle filled with unspoken thoughts.

Scarlett attempted to ease the atmosphere, her tone artificially upbeat as she chattered about trivial matters. I remained silent, focusing on the road ahead, gripping the wheel tightly.

That evening, in our bed, Scarlett nestled against me, her thin arms encircling my torso.

I finally spoke, my voice quiet but sharp. "Scarlett, why do you have an unfamiliar scent? One I've detected before... but not on you."

She froze instantly. Leaping from the bed, she retreated to the bathroom with surprising speed. "It must be the sanitizer from the hospital!" she called out, her voice quavering. "I'll take a quick rinse. Don't wait up, dear."

I lay there, listening to the running water, staring at the ceiling. Two more days. Two more days, and this ordeal will conclude.

The following day, I awoke to the aroma of cooking. It was almost midday. Scarlett entered, beaming, her voice saccharine. "Love, time to rise. I've prepared all your preferred dishes!"

At the table, she sat opposite me, watching intently as I ate. "I'm staying in today," she announced. "I want to be with you every moment. Just us, together always."

Throughout the day, she kept her word. She remained close, ignoring her constantly ringing phone.

We viewed sappy shows, played nostalgic games, and shared laughter over nothing. For a brief moment, it almost felt like old times. Almost. But I knew better.

As darkness fell, the doorbell interrupted our facade. Scarlett rose to answer, her tone light. "Who could it be at this hour?" Her voice changed abruptly upon opening the door. "Why are you here?"

Carter's voice followed, low and pitiful. "I had nowhere else to go. Can I come in?"

Upon entering and seeing me, his face displayed exaggerated surprise. "Henry! I didn't expect you here. My hotel had problems, and Scarlett mentioned you had a spare room. I hope it's not an inconvenience?"

I glanced at Scarlett, who had paled, her hands fidgeting nervously. "Of course," I replied evenly. "Make yourself comfortable."

I excused myself to fetch some spare sleepwear while Scarlett guided Carter to the guest room.

Upstairs, I moved silently, staying within earshot. I overheard Scarlett's harsh whisper, barely containing her anger.

"Have you lost your mind? What are you thinking?"

Carter's response was soft, pleading. "I miss you, Scarlett. I miss our baby." There was a brief pause before Scarlett snapped, her voice now icy.

"Be quiet! The child I'm carrying is my husband's. Do you understand?"

But Carter persisted. I heard subtle movements, the unmistakable sound of a kiss.

Perhaps the wedding photos on display had emboldened him, but he was relentless, clinging to Scarlett as if she were his only hope.

Their muted whispers continued for several torturous minutes before Scarlett seemed to regain composure. "No," she said firmly, though her voice wavered. "My husband is upstairs. This is madness."

Carter chuckled softly. "He'll never hear us. The master bedroom is on the second floor, and we're on the first. Come to me when he's asleep."

His arrogance made my blood boil, but I maintained my composure. I knocked gently on the door and entered.

"Captain Brooks," I said, offering a set of pajamas. "These were a gift from Scarlett. I haven't worn them yet. I hope that's alright."

Carter accepted them, feigning surprise. "If Scarlett chose them, I'm sure they're perfect. Thank you, Henry." His gaze didn't leave Scarlett, who stood motionless, her expression unreadable.

Before I left, Scarlett practically pushed me out of the room, muttering excuses about needing to show Carter around.

That night, Scarlett waited until she thought I was asleep before slipping out of bed. She left the bedroom quietly, the soft click of the door closing behind her barely audible.

I didn't follow. I didn't need to. Under my roof, in our shared home, their betrayal felt more blatant, more intentional. Perhaps the thrill of getting away with it was part of the allure.

But time was running out. Two more days.