Dinner that evening was a carefully balanced performance.

Victoria sat at the head of the long dining table, elegant as always in a silk blouse, talking about her latest project at the architecture firm. Marcus sat across from Elena, looking every bit the composed family man—nodding at the right moments, asking questions about his wife’s day. Elena tried to focus on her plate, pushing grilled salmon around while her mind replayed the previous night and her weak resolve from the morning walk.

Her phone buzzed silently in her lap.

She glanced down under the table.

Marcus: You look beautiful tonight. That sweater hides what I marked last night… but I...