HIS FIRST LADY(SANDRO MARCOS)

Chapter 11: Leave Your Husband

The accusation catches me off guard.

Jealous? How could I be jealous? Sandro and I had one passionate night together, sure, but that's all it was. I never had any claim over him. Even when we were together, I knew it was only for that single night.

I have no right to be possessive, so I can't possibly be jealous.

Except... when I picture Sandro leaving me to dance with someone else, I can't help but feel a pang of irritation. Part of me wants to yank that hypothetical woman's hair out.

But I'm not about to admit that, especially not to Sandro.

So I lie. "It's nothing dramatic. You're young and successful. I just thought you'd enjoy dancing with someone closer to your age. There are plenty of women here already competing for your attention."

"You think I care about any of them?" Sandro frowns.

"You should," I reply. "More than you care about me, at least. I don't need to remind you that I'm married."

"I'm not blind, Rafha. Others might choose to ignore your unhappiness, but I see it as plain as day. That night—"

I quickly hush him.

He pushes on, undeterred. "You were heartbroken and needed more than just comfort—you needed to feel desirable again. You know what that tells me? That your husband has been neglecting you for a long time."

"Please, keep your voice down," I say, glancing around.

Fortunately, no one seems to be paying attention to us, aside from a few single women glaring at me from the sidelines. But they're too far away to hear. The other dancers are preoccupied with the music and their partners.

"And today," Sandro continues, though this time he lowers his voice to a whisper near my ear, "your husband introduced another woman as his date. If you ask me, Rafha, your marriage is far from happy."

"You don't know what you're talking about," I respond, even as the hurt I've been trying to bury rises to the surface again.

There was a time when Samuel was a devoted husband. He whispered sweet promises, took me on romantic dates, and showered me with gifts. When we said our vows, I never would have imagined he'd eventually take on a mistress or ask me for an open marriage.

I don't know what changed—whether he was always deceptive or if his feelings for me faded gradually. But something has undeniably shifted over the past ten years, and now everything feels so broken that I doubt we could fix it even if we tried.

But Samuel is still my husband and the father of my children. Even without love, certain bonds are hard to break.

"Your marriage is in serious trouble, Rafha," Sandro says.

As if I don't already know that.

"What do you expect me to do?" I ask, looking up at him. We're still so close that I can see the concern flickering in his eyes. "Why should I even trust you? You don't know what I've been through. And you're still so young."

"I can help you." Sandro's expression turns serious, as if he's making a solemn vow.

Why would he want to involve himself with someone like me? He's young and successful; he could have anyone he wants.

And why would I want to get involved with him? In my situation, starting a new relationship would only bring more problems. I can't just run away from my responsibilities. I have to think about my children.

I fell for Samuel's sweet words once, years ago. He's only two years younger than me, whereas Sandro is nine years younger, but I refuse to let myself be fooled again.

To Sandro, I'm probably just a distraction—a way to pass the time when he's bored. Once the drama becomes too exhausting or loses its novelty, he'll likely move on to the next lonely woman.

I dedicated myself to helping Samuel build his career and our life together, only to end up with a broken marriage. My children are the only bright spot left.

Now, I'm just a housewife, out of the workforce for too long to be relevant beyond these social events. I'm too old to believe in the possibility of finding love again, especially after such a painful first attempt.

"Rafha," Sandro says, tightening his grip on me. I meet his gaze and see his determination burning through. In a commanding tone, he says, "Leave your husband."

For a fleeting moment, I actually consider it. I could leave Samuel and run away with Sandro. The chemistry is undeniable.

But then reality sets in. Sandro would eventually realize he nearly sacrificed everything for a washed-up older woman and leave me behind.

If I publicly left Samuel, he'd probably win custody of our children in the divorce.

I'd lose everything.

I'm too old to believe in fairy tales, and what Sandro is offering is exactly that.

"I'm sorry, Sandro. I appreciate your concern, but aside from that one night, my personal life is not your business."

Sandro freezes, and our dance comes to an abrupt halt. The other couples continue to swirl around us, a few casting curious glances our way.

"I have two daughters," I tell him. I don't want him to be upset. He needs to understand that I value his offer, but it's simply impossible for too many reasons. If he listens, maybe he'll drop the subject. "If it weren't for them, I'd be tempted, I really would..."

Sandro's brow furrows slightly.

"I don't need love to be content in life. Maybe I did when I was younger, but not anymore." I give him a soft smile to emphasize my point. "All I need is for my children to be happy and cared for. I could never leave them."

"I'm not asking you to. You could—"

"Sandro."

I can't help but feel a warm affection for him and what he's trying to do. He wants to rescue me like a knight in shining armor. That's something young men do when they're still full of hope, before life teaches them that they can't save anyone—not even themselves.

"My girls need their father. Whatever my relationship with Samuel is now or becomes later, I would never take him away from them. He may be my husband in name only, but he'll always be their father."

"He doesn't deserve that title," Sandro mutters, his voice thick with anger.

I shake my head gently. This conversation has to end, for both our sakes.

"Forget the night we spent together," I say.

"I won't," Sandro insists.

"Why not? There are so many women who want you. You could have any of them whenever you want. They'd all be eager to be with you."

Sandro lets out a frustrated sigh. "You think I want those other women?"

I'm genuinely puzzled. "...Yes?"

He narrows his eyes, studying me with a mix of pain and disbelief. I can hear the hurt in his voice as he asks, "Do you really not remember me?"