Chapter 3 On the Edge of Infidelity

# Chapter 3: On the Edge of Infidelity

I spent the next morning in a state of restless agitation, replaying the previous night in my mind. Derek's touch lingered like a phantom sensation on my skin. His words echoed in my thoughts: "Everything you want, Maya, I can give you." The worst part was how tempted I had been—how close I'd come to inviting him inside.

My phone buzzed with a text from Julian: "How's your vacation? The Henderson project is going well." No "I miss you." No "When are you coming home?" Just an update about work, as if I were a distant colleague.

I didn't reply immediately. Instead, I called Sophia, desperate for the voice of reason.

"He looks like Julian?" she asked, incredulous after I explained the situation. "That's... strange."

"Similar, but different," I clarified. "Same build, similar features, but there's something wilder about him. He's everything Julian used to be before he became... whoever he is now."

Sophia was quiet for a moment. "Maya, be careful. This sounds like you're attracted to him precisely because he reminds you of the man you fell in love with."

"I know," I admitted. "But he makes me feel alive again, Sophia. Do you know how long it's been since someone looked at me the way Derek does?"

"Just promise me you won't do anything rash," she said. "You're vulnerable right now. This Derek person might be taking advantage of that."

After hanging up, I wandered to the beach, hoping the ocean would clear my head. Instead, I found Derek sitting on the sand, camera in hand, capturing the morning light on the waves.

He spotted me and waved. "I was hoping you'd come by," he said, his smile making my resolve waver.

"About last night," I began awkwardly.

"No explanations needed," he interrupted gently. "We got caught up in the moment. I crossed a line."

His maturity surprised me. "It's not entirely your fault," I admitted. "I've been... lonely for a long time."

Derek nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Want to talk about it?"

And somehow, sitting on that beach with the waves crashing before us, I found myself telling him everything—how Julian and I had met in college, our passionate early years, the gradual cooling that had left me feeling like a ghost in my own marriage.

"The worst part is that I still love him," I confessed, tears stinging my eyes. "The man he was, at least. I keep waiting for that person to come back."

Derek listened without interrupting, his eyes never leaving my face. When I finished, he said quietly, "Sometimes people change so gradually that we don't notice until they're unrecognizable. And sometimes, they reveal who they truly are over time."

"Which do you think happened with Julian?" I asked.

"I don't know him," Derek replied. "But I know you deserve someone who sees you. Really sees you."

That evening, Derek invited me to dinner at his beach house—"as friends," he emphasized. I hesitated but agreed. I told myself it was innocent, just two people enjoying each other's company.

His home was a modern structure of glass and wood perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Inside, the walls were covered with his photographs—stunning landscapes and intimate portraits from around the world.

"These are incredible," I said, studying a particularly moving image of an elderly woman laughing, her face a map of wrinkles that somehow captured a lifetime of joy.

"That's Eleni," he explained, standing close behind me. "She ran a tiny restaurant on a Greek island. Eighty-two years old and still danced every night."

Dinner was a simple but delicious pasta dish he prepared himself, accompanied by wine and conversation that flowed effortlessly. Derek told stories of his travels that made me laugh until my sides hurt. I found myself sharing dreams I'd long abandoned—of traveling the world, of pursuing art more seriously.

"Why did you stop?" he asked, refilling my wine glass.

I shrugged. "Life happened. Career, marriage. Priorities shifted."

"Or someone shifted them for you," he suggested quietly.

The comment stung with its accuracy. Julian had always viewed my artistic aspirations as a hobby, not a serious pursuit. Over time, I'd internalized his perspective.

After dinner, Derek suggested showing me his studio. The small room at the back of the house was cluttered with equipment, prints, and books. A large cork board covered one wall, pinned with images in various stages of editing.

"This is where the magic happens," he said with a self-deprecating smile.

As he showed me his process, I was struck by his passion, his complete immersion in his art. Julian had once had that same fire for his work, but somewhere along the way, it had become just a job—a means to an end rather than a calling.

"You're staring," Derek noted, his voice teasing.

"I'm envious," I admitted. "You've held onto your passion."

Something shifted in his expression. "There are many things I'm passionate about, Maya."

The air between us suddenly felt charged. I took a step back, bumping into his desk. A framed photograph fell, and I caught it reflexively.

It was a landscape shot of the very beach where we'd met. But something about it caught my eye—a tiny figure walking along the shoreline, barely visible in the distance.

"Is that... me?" I asked, peering closer.

Derek took the photo gently from my hands. "From the day before we met at the café. You looked so solitary, so contemplative. I couldn't help capturing the moment."

"You photographed me before we met?" The implication sent a chill down my spine.

"I photograph beautiful things," he said simply. "It's what I do."

I wasn't sure if I should be flattered or alarmed. Before I could decide, Derek's phone buzzed. He glanced at it and his expression darkened momentarily before he composed himself.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Just work," he said dismissively, setting the phone face-down. "More wine?"

The next several days passed in a blur of increasingly intimate encounters. Derek and I spent nearly every evening together—watching the sunset, exploring hidden parts of the coastline, sharing meals that stretched into the early hours of the morning with conversation that never seemed to exhaust itself.

Julian called only once during this time, the conversation brief and perfunctory. "The house feels empty without you," he said, which was the closest thing to admitting he missed me. But it was too little, too late. In his absence, Derek had filled the emotional void that Julian had left gaping for years.

"Come to a party with me tonight," Derek said on what was supposed to be my final evening in Bayview. I had extended my stay by another week, telling Julian it was because I needed more time to "clear my head."

"What kind of party?" I asked, already knowing I would say yes.

"A friend's gallery opening. It'll be the local art crowd—eccentric but entertaining."

The gallery was in a converted warehouse, the walls hung with abstract paintings that seemed to pulse with color and emotion. Derek knew everyone, introducing me with his hand on the small of my back, a possessive gesture that should have bothered me but didn't.

"Derek's new muse," one woman said with a knowing smile, looking between us.

I blushed but didn't correct her. The wine flowed freely, and as the night progressed, I found myself relaxing into a version of myself I barely recognized—laughing loudly, dancing without self-consciousness, accepting Derek's increasingly overt touches with eager anticipation.

Later, we ended up at a smaller gathering at someone's beachfront home. The atmosphere was intimate, the music lower, the lights dimmed. I lost count of my drinks as Derek and I settled onto a plush sofa in a corner.

"You're different tonight," he murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare arm.

"Good different?" I asked, leaning into his touch.

His eyes darkened. "Dangerous different."

The room spun slightly as I looked at him, the alcohol making me bold. "Maybe I'm tired of being safe."

Derek's hand moved to my face, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. "Tell me what you want, Maya."

"I want to feel something again," I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them.

That was all the invitation he needed. Derek pulled me closer, his lips meeting mine with an intensity that took my breath away. Unlike the hesitant, polite kisses Julian and I had exchanged in recent years, this was raw and demanding. I responded with equal fervor, my fingers tangling in his hair, my body arching toward his.

He pressed me back against the sofa cushions, his weight a delicious pressure pinning me down. His kisses moved from my mouth to my neck, drawing a soft moan from me that would have embarrassed me in any other circumstance.

"I knew you'd taste like this," Derek murmured against my skin. "I've been dreaming about it since the moment I saw you."

Lost in sensation, I barely registered the sudden hush that fell over the room. It wasn't until Derek froze above me that I opened my eyes, following his stunned gaze to the doorway.

Standing there, his expression a mask of shock and something darker, was Julian.

Our eyes locked across the room, the three of us suspended in a tableau of betrayal. Julian's face, so similar to the man currently pressed against me, drained of color. For a moment, no one moved or spoke.

Then Julian turned and walked out, the sound of the door closing behind him like a gunshot in the silent room.

"Julian!" I called, pushing Derek away and stumbling to my feet. But by the time I reached the door, there was no sign of him on the darkened beach.

I turned back to Derek, confusion and horror sobering me instantly. "What just happened? How is Julian here?"

Derek's expression was unreadable. "Maya, there's something I need to tell you."