BAD WIFE

Chapter {18}

He swallowed, his throat tightening. "Sure."

She led him up to the second floor, her fingers brushing his briefly as she unlocked the door. The apartment was a modest studio—no separate rooms, just a kitchen tucked into the corner, a small living area, and a neatly made queen-size bed in the back. It smelled faintly of vanilla and lavender, something warm and comforting.

She flicked on the lights. "Make yourself at home," she said casually, though he caught the faint nervousness behind her voice.

He settled onto a red loveseat adorned with two mismatched yellow throw pillows, resting one arm along the back as his eyes followed her every movement. She took the flowers he had brought earlier—sunflowers, her favorite—and placed them gently into a glass vase on the kitchen table. Then, she bent to remove her sandals, placing them neatly in the closet before checking a letter left on the counter. Her brow furrowed in the cutest way as she read, lips pursing in concentration, and without realizing it, he smiled.

Suddenly, she dropped the letter and hurried to the fridge. He straightened as she turned around holding a small chocolate cake—homemade, he could tell—with a single candle flickering in the center.

"Surprise!" she beamed.

His brows lifted in disbelief. "Is this for me?"

She nodded and brought it to the coffee table, setting it down carefully. "I wanted to celebrate. You passed your exam. It's a big deal, and I thought you deserved something sweet."

He stared at her, awestruck. Her sincerity, her thoughtfulness—it floored him. "You didn't have to do all this."

"Blow out the candle," she grinned. "Let's eat."

He did as she asked, but his gaze didn't leave her for a second.

She disappeared briefly into the kitchen and returned with a fork. Without hesitation, she cut a piece and leaned in to feed him the first bite. "Congrats," she whispered. "I'm really proud of you."

He chewed slowly, savoring the cake, but more so the tenderness in her eyes. "It's amazing."

He reached forward, slicing a small piece, but instead of using the fork, he picked it up with his fingers. Slowly, gently, he brought it to her lips. She opened her mouth slightly, and as his thumb brushed against the corner of her mouth, a visible shiver ran through her. The gasp she made was barely audible—but he felt it all the way through him.

She pulled back, her cheeks flushing. "I-I should get us some plates," she mumbled, turning toward the cupboards like she needed distance, like she had to focus on something else.

But he wasn't ready to let the moment go.

"Clair," he called softly.

She turned. Her wide eyes met his, and time froze.

"Come here," he said.

She hesitated. Her body tensed as if unsure whether to run or move toward him. Something flickered in her gaze—fear, vulnerability, anticipation. She didn't move.

"Please," he added gently, the edge of command softening into something more sincere.

Still, she didn't speak.

"What's wrong?" He stood slowly and approached her with caution. "Why do you look so afraid?" His voice was calm, reassuring, but his pulse was racing. "You invited me up. You're here with me... that means you trust me."

He reached out, wrapping his fingers around hers, and tugged her closer, guiding her gently into his space.

"I can't stop myself from kissing you anymore, Clair," he said quietly.