She finds out

Elena steps inside, her athletic frame relaxed yet poised, that slow smile lingering as she shrugs off her jacket and drapes it over the back of the couch. The apartment feels warmer with her in it, the faint scent of her citrus lotion cutting through the stale air from last night's dinner. Steak and something earthier that Tessa's presence had layered in still linger. She kicks off her shoes by the door, toes flexing into the rug, and glances around with a casual familiarity, but I catch the subtle hitch in her movement, the way her eyes sharpen as they sweep the room.

I close the door behind us, the lock clicking softly, and hang my keys on the hook. "Make yourself at home," I say, my voice even, carrying that amplified charisma without conscious effort. She nods, moving toward the kitchenette, but her steps falter just slightly, her fingers trailing the counter as she inhales deeply. Her nose wrinkles, a faint crease forming between her brows, and she turns back to me, the smile not quite reaching her green eyes now.

The air hangs heavier for a beat, charged with something unspoken. I lean against the fridge, watching her, my mind already parsing the shift. Her posture a touch stiffer, that playful spark dimmed into something probing. "Wine?" I offer, pulling a bottle from the rack, but she waves it off gently, her gaze flicking to the couch, then back to me.

"Wait," she says, her voice steady but threaded with curiosity, the word hanging between us like a question. She crosses her arms lightly over her chest, the freckles on her nose catching the low lamp light as she tilts her head. "What's that smell? Perfume? It's... not yours." Her eyes search mine, direct and unflinching, that recent divorce sharpening her intuition into something acute. She doesn't sound angry, not yet, but there's an edge to it, a quiet demand for honesty that pulls the moment taut. "Was someone here? Last night?"