~ROBERT'S POV~
The sound of the front door opening echoed faintly through the quiet house, sharp enough to pull my attention away from the glass of scotch resting on the table beside me. I leaned back in the leather chair, eyes narrowing at the clock. Past ten. Far too late for Tessa to be just strolling in as though time had no weight.
She stepped into the living room cautiously, like she was hoping to slip by unnoticed. But she should know better by now. I was always aware.
"Where are you coming from?" My voice cut through the silence, low and even, leaving no room for avoidance.
Her head lifted immediately, a flicker of guilt flashing in her eyes before she masked it with a strained smile. "I… I went to see Sophie. She just got back into the city, and we hadn't seen each other in years. I didn't want to miss the chance."
Sophie. The name rang a faint bell, but that didn't erase the unease pressing at the edges of Tessa's expression. She avoided my gaze too quickly, shifting her bag from one shoulder to the other as though the weight of it had suddenly grown unbearable.
"And you decided it was appropriate to stay out until now?" My tone didn't rise, but the sharpness in it made her wince.
"It wasn't planned. We got carried away talking, that's all. She's been through a lot, and I wanted to be there for her." Her words spilled faster than usual, defensive even when she tried to sound casual.
I studied her. The nervous way she pressed her lips together, the slight tremor in her hands as she tugged at the strap of her bag, it all told me something was off.
Tessa had never been skilled at concealing her emotions for the few days I had come to know her. She thought she could, but her eyes betrayed her every time.
"You could have let me know." I kept my tone controlled, but deliberate. "One message, Tessa. That isn't difficult."
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, forcing herself to meet my eyes. "You're right. I should have. I wasn't thinking straight. I'll do better next time."
The apology came too quickly, too rehearsed. It wasn't that I didn't believe she'd seen Sophie. It was the rest of it, the unease she thought she was hiding. The tension clung to her like a second skin.
I gestured to the seat opposite me. "Sit."
She hesitated before obeying, setting her bag aside and perching on the edge of the sofa like she was bracing for impact. I let the silence stretch between us, watching her shift uncomfortably under the weight of it.
"You're uneasy." It wasn't a question.
Her brows furrowed. "Uneasy? I'm just tired. I told you, it was a long night catching up."
"That's not what I asked." My gaze held hers, steady and unflinching. "You're uneasy. About me. About something. Do you think I don't notice when something changes in this house? When something changes in you?"
Color drained from her face for a split second before she quickly shook her head. "You're reading too much into it. I'm fine, Robert. Really."
"Don't lie to me." My voice hardened, carrying more weight now. "If there's something I need to know, I expect you to say it."
Her fingers twisted together in her lap, betraying her nerves. "There's nothing to say. I promise. Sophie and I… we just lost track of time. That's all."
Promises. Easily spoken. But the truth? That was something else. I leaned forward slightly, my elbows resting on my knees. "I don't enjoy repeating myself, Tessa. You owe me honesty. If I find out you've kept something from me…" I let the warning linger in the air, unfinished yet heavy enough to leave its impression.
Her eyes flickered, fear mixing with defiance for the briefest second before she dropped her gaze to her hands. "I'm not keeping anything from you. You're my husband. I wouldn't."
I studied her a moment longer, searching for the cracks in her voice, the gaps in her story. She looked fragile, her defenses wrapped tight around her but already beginning to fray. There was a part of me that wanted to press harder, to strip away the careful words until the truth tumbled out. But timing mattered. If she was hiding something, pushing too soon could send her running deeper into whatever secret she clung to.
Instead, I leaned back again, lifting the glass of scotch to my lips, taking a slow sip while my gaze never left her. "I'll let this go. For now."
Relief washed over her features too quickly, like someone exhaling after being underwater for too long. "Thank you. I just… I needed tonight. I won't stay out this late again."
"You won't," I agreed smoothly, my voice carrying the authority of a promise rather than a suggestion.
She nodded quickly, eager to end the conversation, but I wasn't finished. "I expect you home on time. No excuses. And if you plan to meet Sophie again, I want to know beforehand. Understood?"
"Yes. Understood." Her voice was soft, subdued.
I let her retreat into silence, watching her carefully. Every movement, every flicker in her expression only solidified my suspicion. Something had unsettled her deeply, and she was trying too hard to bury it beneath casual explanations. Sophie might have been the truth. But Sophie wasn't the whole truth.
Later, when she excused herself to the bedroom, I didn't follow. I stayed behind, the dim glow of the lamp throwing long shadows across the living room. The scotch swirled in my hand, the clink of ice cutting into the silence like a warning bell. My jaw tightened as I fixed my eyes on the hallway she had just disappeared down.
Her words still echoed in my ears, carefully chosen, deliberately smoothed over. Too careful. Her smile, forced. The way she wouldn't quite meet my eyes, shifting instead to the clock, the table, anywhere but me. I could smell it. Deception. And Tessa's lies had never been small ones.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, the glass sweating against my palm. She thought she was clever, that she could bury whatever truth she was holding and walk past me as if I were blind. But I wasn't. I saw everything.
Confronting her now would be too easy, and too kind. No, let her stew in her own secret. Let her think she was safe. I had learned long ago that patience was sharper than rage, that waiting was its own form of control. And when the mask finally slipped, I would be there, ready to seize it.
My gaze drifted to the closed bedroom door. This house was mine. This marriage was mine. Contract or not, every breath she took under this roof belonged inside my circle. She could try to run, to hide, to cloak herself in half-truths, but the truth always bled through.
And when hers surfaced, I would tear it from her lips.
Sooner or later, Tessa would break. And when she did, I'd be the one holding the pieces.