Chapter 6: The Aftermath and the Alibi

Chloe's hands trembled as she waited for the elevator, her body still humming with the memory of Liam's touch. The silk of her blouse felt foreign against skin that burned where his fingers had traced, and she could smell his cologne clinging to her like evidence of her betrayal.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing her fractured reflection in the polished steel. Her hair had escaped its careful bun despite her attempts to smooth it back into place, dark strands framing a face that looked thoroughly kissed. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes held a wild brightness that made her look like a stranger to herself.

What have I done?

The question echoed in her mind as the elevator descended, each floor marking her return to reality. By the time she reached the lobby, she'd managed to tuck her blouse properly into her skirt and finger-comb her hair into something resembling professional order. But she couldn't erase the scent of him from her skin or the taste of his kiss from her lips.

Mark's silver sedan waited in the pickup zone, engine running, just as he'd promised. Through the windshield, she could see him scrolling through his phone, probably reviewing client designs or checking his social media feeds. The normalcy of it—the predictable reliability that had once felt like security—now felt suffocating.

She slid into the passenger seat, forcing her expression into something resembling composure.

"Hey, babe." Mark looked up with that warm smile that had first attracted her three years ago. "How'd the presentation prep go?"

The innocent question hit her like a physical blow. If only he knew what kind of 'preparation' she'd been engaged in on the forty-fourth floor. If only he could see the guilt written across her face in letters she was certain were visible from space.

"Fine," she managed, fastening her seatbelt with hands that she willed to stop shaking. "Just... you know how it is with big projects. Lots of details to finalize."

"I bet. You look exhausted." His concern was genuine, loving, and it made the acid in her stomach churn harder. "I stopped by that Thai place you like and grabbed dinner for tomorrow. Figured you might not want to cook after pulling such long hours."

The thoughtfulness of the gesture—the way he anticipated her needs, took care of the mundane details of their shared life—should have filled her with warmth. Instead, it felt like another weight pressing down on her chest, another reminder of everything she'd just jeopardized.

"That's sweet of you," she said, the words feeling hollow in her mouth. "Thank you."

Mark pulled into traffic, chattering easily about his day, about a new client project, about weekend plans she'd forgotten they'd made. His voice became background noise as Chloe stared out the passenger window, watching the city blur past in streaks of light and shadow.

Every few blocks, she caught herself touching her lips, remembering the way Liam had kissed her with such consuming hunger. The way he'd whispered her name like a prayer against her throat. The way he'd looked at her afterward, as if she were something precious and devastating and entirely his.

"...so I was thinking we could hit the farmers market on Saturday before dinner at Chez Laurent," Mark was saying. "Maybe pick up some of those flowers you love for the apartment."

"Mmm," she murmured, not trusting herself to form actual words. The mention of their dinner reservation sent fresh guilt spiraling through her chest. Tomorrow night, she would sit across from Mark at their favorite restaurant, make small talk about work and mutual friends and future plans, all while carrying the secret of what she'd done.

What she'd wanted to do. What part of her still wanted, even now.

"You're quiet tonight," Mark observed, glancing at her as they stopped at a red light. "Everything okay?"

No, everything is not okay. I just came apart on my desk under the hands of another man, and I can still feel him on my skin like a brand I'll never be able to wash away.

"Just tired," she lied. "It's been a long few weeks."

"Well, after tomorrow's presentation, you can finally relax. Maybe we can take that weekend trip to the coast you've been talking about."

The coast. She'd mentioned it months ago, a casual suggestion about renting a beach house for a long weekend. The kind of romantic getaway that couples in stable, loving relationships took to reconnect and recharge. The thought of being alone with Mark for three days, pretending nothing had changed, made her feel claustrophobic.

"Maybe," she said weakly. "Let's see how the presentation goes first."

They drove the rest of the way in comfortable silence—or what Mark probably perceived as comfortable silence. For Chloe, every quiet moment was filled with echoes of Liam's voice, with the memory of his hands on her skin, with the devastating realization that she'd crossed a line she could never uncross.

Their apartment building rose before them like a prison, its familiar brick facade and cheerful lobby suddenly feeling foreign. Mark parked in their assigned spot and came around to open her door—such a small gesture of consideration that it made her throat tight with unshed tears.

In the elevator to their floor, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "I missed you today," he murmured against her hair. "Feels like we've barely seen each other with all these late nights you've been pulling."

His embrace should have felt like coming home. Instead, it felt like a cage closing around her. She could smell his familiar cologne—clean and woodsy and completely different from Liam's more complex scent—and it made her stomach clench with guilt and confusion.

"I missed you too," she whispered, and hated herself for how easily the lie slipped from her lips.

Inside their apartment, Mark moved with the easy familiarity of three years of shared domesticity. He hung up their coats, checked the mail, started a load of laundry—all the mundane tasks that kept their life running smoothly. Chloe watched him like he was a stranger, this kind man who loved her unconditionally, who trusted her completely, who had no idea that she'd just shattered their relationship beyond repair.

"I'm going to shower," she announced abruptly, needing to escape the suffocating normalcy of their evening routine.

"Want company?" Mark's eyes held the familiar warmth of desire, the comfortable intimacy of a long-term relationship.

The suggestion sent panic racing through her veins. She couldn't let him touch her. Not now. Not when she could still feel Liam's hands on her skin, still taste his kiss on her lips. Not when every nerve ending was still alive with the memory of another man's passion.

"I'm exhausted," she said quickly. "Rain check?"

If he was disappointed, he hid it well. "Of course. Go relax. I'll make us some tea."

The bathroom felt like a sanctuary as she closed the door behind her and turned the shower to its hottest setting. Steam began to fill the small space, fogging the mirrors and creating a private cocoon where she could finally let her carefully maintained composure crumble.

Under the scalding spray, she scrubbed her skin raw, trying to wash away every trace of Liam's touch. But no amount of soap could cleanse the memory of his fingers tracing patterns on her thighs, of his mouth against her throat, of the way he'd looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

She pressed her forehead against the cool tile wall and let the tears come—tears of guilt and confusion and a longing so sharp it felt like a physical wound. What had she done? What had she become? Three hours ago, she'd been Chloe Vance, respected analyst, loyal girlfriend, woman with her life carefully mapped out. Now she was a stranger to herself, someone capable of betraying everything she'd thought she valued.

The bathroom door opened with a soft click, and Mark's voice drifted through the steam. "Chloe? You've been in there for twenty minutes. Everything okay?"

She wiped her eyes quickly, grateful for the shower spray that masked any evidence of tears. "Fine! Just... the hot water feels good after such a long day."

"I brought your tea." She could hear him moving around in the bedroom, probably laying out his clothes for tomorrow, following the same routine they'd established over years of living together. "Left it on your nightstand."

The thoughtfulness of the gesture—the way he cared for her even when she didn't deserve it—made fresh tears spring to her eyes. "Thank you," she called back, her voice only slightly strained.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in her terry cloth robe with her hair twisted in a towel, Mark was already in bed with his laptop open, reviewing what looked like design mockups for a client presentation. The domesticity of the scene should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like evidence of everything she'd put at risk.

"Better?" he asked, looking up with concern. "You looked pretty stressed when you got in the car."

She nodded, not trusting her voice, and moved to her dresser to find pajamas. In the mirror above the furniture, she caught sight of her reflection and froze. Despite the hot shower and vigorous scrubbing, there was still something different about her face. Her lips were still slightly swollen, her eyes bright with secrets, her skin flushed with more than just heat from the shower.

She looked like a woman who had been thoroughly, completely claimed.

"The Henderson presentation is tomorrow," she said, grabbing the first nightgown her fingers found and keeping her back to Mark. "I'm just nervous about how it will go."

"You'll be brilliant," he said with the quiet confidence of someone who had never doubted her abilities. "You always are. And working with Blackwood has probably pushed you to make it even better, right? Competition brings out your best work."

Competition. If only he knew what kind of competition she'd been engaged in. If only he understood that every heated argument with Liam had been foreplay, every professional challenge a step toward the inevitable moment when they'd stopped pretending their animosity was purely business.

"Something like that," she managed, pulling the nightgown over her head.

When she turned around, Mark was watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read. For a terrifying moment, she wondered if he could see through her careful facade, if guilt was written across her features in letters too bold to ignore.

"Come here," he said softly, closing his laptop and setting it aside.

She approached the bed reluctantly, every step feeling like she was walking toward her own execution. When she sat on the edge of the mattress, Mark reached out to touch her cheek with gentle fingers.

"You feel warm," he said. "Are you feeling okay? You've seemed off since you got in the car."

The concern in his voice, the way he looked at her like she was precious to him, made her chest tight with emotion. This was Mark—steady, caring Mark who brought her tea without being asked, who worried when she seemed upset, who loved her with the kind of quiet devotion she'd always thought she wanted.

So why did she feel like she was suffocating?

"I'm fine," she whispered. "Just tired."

He studied her face for another moment, then leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's your big day."

As she slipped under the covers beside him, Mark turned off the lights and settled into his usual position on his side of the bed. Within minutes, his breathing had evened out into the deep rhythm of sleep, but Chloe lay awake staring at the ceiling, her body still humming with unwanted desire and her mind replaying every moment of her surrender.

In the darkness of their shared bedroom, surrounded by the evidence of their life together—framed photos on the nightstand, his and hers matching bathrobes hanging on the door, the careful choreography of three years of domestic partnership—she felt more alone than she ever had in her life.

Because no matter how much she scrubbed her skin or how many lies she told, she couldn't wash away the truth that burned in her chest like a brand:

What had happened with Liam hadn't felt like a mistake. It had felt like coming alive for the first time in years.

And that terrified her more than any consequence she might face.