54. Wife's POV

While I was adamant about not leaving any clue behind.

…

SIGH.

…

A deep sigh slipped out of my mouth.

I felt ashamed and aroused by the little act I had pulled inside the washroom. How much lower can I stoop? I wondered, as my lips curled into a nasty smile.

The fact that I had left a clue... intentionally, with all my senses wide awake. A clue so dirty that merely thinking about it made my body heat up. And the clue wasn't somewhere in the house. It was somewhere... on me. On my body.

A clue my husband would never be able to find. Or could he, if he was smart enough?

He is a smart guy. I mean, looking back, that was one of the things I had fallen in love with him for. But at this point, I was enjoying his dumb side even more.

*AN HOUR AGO IN THE WASHROOM**

I had gone into the washroom to clean myself, that I had undressed and caught sight of it again. I had completely forgotten about it. So much had happened since last night that the memory had somehow been pushed to the back of my mind.

Just above my breasts, written in black marker, were a series of digits.

A phone number.

His phone number. [ Read Chapter 50]

I stared at it for a moment, almost unable to believe that I had forgotten it was there. Slowly, I brushed my fingers over the writing, tracing the numbers one after another.

His number.

The thought made my breath shorter.

For a whole moment, I felt as though I were looking at someone's private property, as though someone had left a mark on something that belonged to them. The idea should have made me uncomfortable, yet there was something deeply unsettling about the thought that made my cunt pulse harder.

What was I supposed to do with the number?

Should I write it down somewhere?

My first instinct was to shake my head. No. I shouldn't. I should wash it off immediately, forget that it had ever happened, and never think about it again. But that thought disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

Instead, I found myself reading the numbers again, one after another, like a good puppy, committing them to memory.

My heart was thumping faster now. This was wrong… but exciting.

I already knew what I wanted to do.

I would save the number once I got out of the washroom. The decision felt both reckless and strangely exciting. But there was still the writing on my skin.

I looked at it again. I could wash it away now. I should. Instead, I decided to leave it there for a while longer. Perhaps it was another way of punishing myself. Perhaps it was the joy of carrying that secret mark on my body, knowing what it meant and knowing that my husband had no idea.

Whatever the reason, I couldn't bring myself to erase it. I simply stood there, staring at those numbers, feeling that same guilty, degrading pleasure return.

…

…

I smiled at the thought as I turned around to look at him, oblivious to the thoughts running through my mind.

The clock was ticking, and the house was quiet. It was the perfect time to reminisce about old memories, a perfect time to gather my thoughts.

My eyes remained fixed on the glass of water in front of me as my mind wandered back to the days when I used to feel shy or nervous just imagining something even remotely dirty.

How innocent I had been.

And now?

I felt a strange presence within my own thoughts, as though another version of me had been watching silently all this time, waiting for the right moment to speak.

What about now?

She wasn't interested in comforting me. She wanted to question me. To tease me. To remind me of how different I had become.

You used to blush just thinking about something remotely naughty. Remember? You could barely entertain the thought without feeling embarrassed.

I drew a slow breath, trying to calm my thoughts.

And look at you now.

The voice in my head continued its teasing.

Just a thought is enough to make your cunt drip like a broken faucet. Enough to finger your pussy like a crazed beast.

I stared at the glass in front of me, refusing to meet the allegations in my own mind.

Is that really who you are now?

I remained silent.

The voice continued, softer this time, in a taunting manner.

You used to be embarrassed by those thoughts.

…

…

Now… you crave them.

…

I saw my reflection at the glass, how I was trying to hide the smile that was slowly spreading across my face. Perhaps the woman I used to be was still somewhere inside me. But she wasn't the only one living there anymore.

My thoughts drifted back to when our relationship was still new.

To how he had never crossed a line. How he had always respected my boundaries, never initiating anything until I gave him permission. He had done everything he could to make me feel comfortable.

How sweet, she remarked, nearly as though she were laughing at him, mocking him, as if his kindness itself had become something she could use against me.

Even our first kiss had happened because I had asked him to close his eyes. I had leaned forward, given him the smallest peck on his lips, and then run away to my house before I could embarrass myself any further.

She laughed again

He was too careful with you, wasn't he?

I closed my eyes in embarrassment. It embarrassed me to think about all the kindness he had shown me, all the patience and warmth he had given me, and how I had somehow managed to spoil something so precious.

Perhaps he should have known that there was another side of you waiting to be discovered. Perhaps he should have realized that beneath all that shyness was a pathetic slut.

I felt a hot throb at the thought.

But he didn’t.

She seemed delighted by that.

And now someone else has discovered the parts of you that he never even knew existed.

…

I could hear her laughter. And, embarrassingly enough, I found myself chuckling too.

She was right.

I had been given warmth, patience, tenderness and a kind of love I had once believed I could never live without. My husband is still the man I had fallen in love with, and I wanted him to remain that way.

But somewhere along the way, another part of me had awakened. A part that craved something completely different. Something darker, more demanding, more dangerous.

And perhaps that was the strangest part of all. I didn't want my husband to become that person. I wanted him to remain the sweet, patient man I had chosen. The other side of me had already found what it was looking for, in someone who had managed to draw out a woman I had kept hidden even from myself.

Moments passed. There was nothing more I could do about any of it at that moment, so I forced myself back into the routine of the house. I finished the chores that needed to be done, moved from one small task to another, and tried to convince myself that keeping busy would quiet the thoughts flowing through my head. For a while, it worked. The familiar things around me gave me something ordinary to hold on to, something that didn't demand that I examine what I had been thinking or why I had allowed myself to go so far.

Later, I stepped onto the balcony to get some air. I stood there for a moment, letting the evening breeze brush against my face, when I noticed him. The young neighbor was outside, talking on his phone, apparently absorbed in whatever conversation he was having. I immediately felt a little shy seeing him after everything that had happened, and my first instinct was to turn away and go back inside. But I didn't. Instead, I remained where I was, pretending to be interested in the view while my eyes kept finding their way back to him every few seconds.

He seemed busy, completely unaware of how much attention I was paying him. Then an unexpected thought crossed my mind. Who is he talking to? I watched him for another moment. Is it a woman? The thought annoyed me? Not sure. I had no reason to care, and certainly no right to feel anything about it, yet a small spark of irritation had already made his way inside me. I didn't know whether to call it jealousy, curiosity, or something else entirely. Whatever it was, I didn't like the fact that I felt it.

Then, for a brief moment, he looked in my direction. Our eyes met, and my heart skipped. I don't know what I expected from him after that. Perhaps a smile, perhaps some little gesture to acknowledge that he had seen me. Instead, he simply continued his conversation. There was no reaction, no sign that my presence mattered to him at all. I found myself standing there longer, waiting for something that never came.

When he finally walked away, I went back inside feeling strangely off. I told myself it was nothing, that I was being foolish, but the feeling followed me. I had wanted him to notice me, and the fact that he hadn't given me the reaction I had secretly hoped for bothered me far more than I was willing to admit.

Then I remembered the piece of paper I had tucked away inside the drawer. His number was there, waiting for me.

I rushed to the bedroom and pulled the drawer open. There it was, exactly where I had left it. I picked it up and stared at the familiar digits for a moment, and suddenly, all the thoughts I had managed to push aside came rushing back. I knew what I should do.

I reached for my phone.

My fingers felt awkwardly unsteady as I opened the keypad. I looked at the paper again and began entering the digits, one after another. Each number felt like another small step across a boundary I had no business crossing. I could still stop. Nothing had happened yet. I could simply delete everything and walk away.

But I didn't. I saved the number.

For a few seconds, I just stared at the contact on my screen. Seeing it there made everything feel more real. Until that moment, it had only been a number written on a piece of paper. Now it was sitting inside my phone, something I had deliberately chosen to keep.

My heart began beating faster.

I opened the chat window and stared at the empty space where a message could be written. My mind immediately began arguing with itself. Don't do it. Another part of me answered instantly. Then why did you save the number?

I felt embarrassed by my own hesitation. I was behaving like someone who had never done anything reckless in her life, when the truth was that I had already made one questionable decision after another.

My thumb moved across the screen before I could talk myself out of it.

I typed two simple letters.

Hi.

I stared at the word for several seconds, suddenly overwhelmed by the absurdity of what I was about to do. It was such a harmless little message, yet I knew there was nothing innocent about the reason I had typed it.

I took a breath, closed my eyes for a moment, and finally pressed send.The moment it disappeared from the screen, I felt a rush of something .

There was no taking it back now.