Chapter 4

**Crossing the Line**

The soft murmur of the bustling restaurant wrapped around Isabelle as she stepped inside. The air was fragrant with the scent of freshly baked bread and simmering sauces, and the flickering candlelight cast an intimate glow across the room. Her heart raced as her eyes scanned the tables, searching for him.

Michael.

He was sitting at a corner table, his dark hair gleaming under the low light. When he saw her, his lips curved into that familiar, disarming smile, the one that had stirred feelings in her she hadn’t felt in years. For a moment, Isabelle hesitated. This wasn’t just a simple dinner. She knew that. She had crossed a line the moment she sent that text.

As she approached, Michael stood up, pulling out a chair for her. “You look beautiful,” he said softly, his voice low and warm.

“Thank you,” Isabelle replied, her breath catching in her throat. She felt his eyes lingering on her, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands or where to look.

They sat, and for the first few moments, the conversation was light—safe. They talked about their week, the food, anything to avoid the weight of the unspoken tension between them. But as the night wore on, it became harder to ignore. Michael’s gaze was intense, and Isabelle could feel the pull between them, a magnetic force she couldn’t deny.

At one point, Michael leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Isabelle. Since the moment we met again, you’ve been on my mind.”

Isabelle’s heart pounded in her chest. She could barely breathe. She had never intended for this to happen—had never imagined she would feel this way about another man. But as she looked into Michael’s eyes, she felt something break inside her—a barrier she had built to protect herself, to keep her marriage intact. And now, it was crumbling.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, though even as she said the words, she didn’t mean them. “I’m married.”

Michael’s hand reached across the table, gently covering hers. His touch was soft, yet electric, sending a shiver down her spine. “I know,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing against her skin. “But you’re not happy, Isabelle. I can see it.”

Isabelle bit her lip, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He was right. She wasn’t happy—not with Andrew, not with the way her life had become. She had spent so long pretending, holding everything together, that she had forgotten what it felt like to be truly seen, to be desired.

When she opened her eyes, Michael was still looking at her, his expression a mixture of longing and restraint. He leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to pressure you. But I need you to know that I want you, Isabelle. And if you feel the same…”

Her breath hitched in her throat as the space between them seemed to shrink. The air around them felt charged, crackling with the tension that had been building all night. Isabelle’s heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears. She knew this was a line she shouldn’t cross, but in that moment, she didn’t care. She didn’t want to be the perfect wife anymore. She didn’t want to be lonely.

“I do,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

That was all it took.

Michael stood up, moving around the table and pulling her gently to her feet. He didn’t say a word as he guided her toward the private exit at the back of the restaurant, his hand warm against the small of her back. Isabelle’s heart raced as they stepped outside into the cool evening air, the distant sounds of the city fading into the background.

And then, without another word, Michael cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

The world seemed to tilt, the ground falling away beneath her feet as his lips met hers. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if he were giving her a chance to pull away. But when she didn’t—when she leaned into him, her hands clutching his jacket—he deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer.

Isabelle’s mind spun, her senses overwhelmed by the feel of his lips, the warmth of his body against hers. She had never felt this way before, not even with Andrew. There was an urgency to the kiss, a need that bordered on desperation, and Isabelle found herself melting into it, her body responding in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

For a moment, all of her doubts, all of her guilt, vanished. There was only Michael, only the way he made her feel—alive, wanted, desired. The kiss seemed to go on forever, a whirlwind of passion and longing, until finally, they pulled apart, both breathless.

Michael’s forehead rested against hers, his breath warm against her lips. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Isabelle’s chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. Her mind was a blur, her body still tingling from the kiss. “I… I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Michael pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on her waist. “You’re living,” he said softly, his blue eyes locking onto hers. “For once, you’re letting yourself feel something.”

Isabelle swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over her. He was right. For so long, she had been numb—trapped in a marriage that felt more like a prison than a partnership. But with Michael, she felt alive again. And yet, the guilt still lingered at the edges of her mind, a dark cloud threatening to overshadow everything.

“I’m still married,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Michael nodded, his expression understanding. “I know. And I’m not asking you to make any decisions right now. I just want you to know that I’m here, Isabelle. Whatever you need, whatever you decide… I’ll be here.”

Isabelle closed her eyes, her heart heavy with the weight of what she had just done. She had crossed a line, and there was no going back. She didn’t know what this meant for her marriage, for her future, but in that moment, she didn’t care. All she knew was that she wasn’t ready to let go of the way Michael made her feel.

“I don’t know what happens next,” she admitted softly.

Michael smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “Together.”