Chapter 5

**Secrets Beneath the Surface**

The gentle hum of the air conditioning filled the spacious hospital office as Andrew adjusted his tie, glancing at the stack of patient files on his desk. The pressure of his workload weighed heavily on him, yet his dedication to saving lives overshadowed everything else. He barely noticed how much time he spent away from Isabelle or how their conversations had dwindled to mundane exchanges about bills, schedules, and superficial pleasantries.

Andrew sighed, leaning back in his chair. His phone buzzed with a notification—a quick reminder from Isabelle about picking up groceries. He typed a hasty reply, promising to take care of it, and returned to his work, oblivious to the emotional chasm widening between them.

Meanwhile, Isabelle stood before her bedroom mirror, smoothing the fabric of her dress. Her reflection revealed more than just her outward appearance; it reflected a woman caught between duty and desire. She knew what she was doing was wrong, but she couldn't ignore how alive Michael made her feel. The guilt gnawed at her, but the thrill of their secret meetings kept drawing her back.

Her phone chimed. A message from Michael.

Can’t wait to see you tonight. Usual spot?

Her heart raced as she typed back a simple reply: Yes.

The evening unfolded like a scene from a romantic movie. The dimly lit wine bar they often frequented provided the perfect cover for their clandestine meetings. Michael greeted her with a warm smile and a kiss on her cheek, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

“You look stunning,” he murmured, pulling out her chair.

“And you’re as charming as ever,” Isabelle replied, her voice soft but laced with nervous energy.

As they settled into their seats, Michael reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers. “How’s everything at home?” he asked, his tone careful.

Isabelle hesitated, swirling the wine in her glass. “The same,” she admitted. “Andrew is busy, as always. He barely notices I’m there.”

Michael frowned, his concern evident. “You deserve more than that, Isabelle. You deserve someone who sees you, who makes you feel loved.”

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, the world around them faded away. She knew he was right, yet hearing it aloud only deepened the ache in her chest. “I know,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Back at the hospital, Andrew was finishing his shift when his colleague, Dr. Claire Martinez, entered his office.

“Burning the midnight oil again?” she asked, placing a cup of coffee on his desk.

Andrew chuckled tiredly. “You know how it is. If I’m not here, who will keep this place running?”

Claire gave him a pointed look. “And if you burn yourself out, who’s going to keep you running?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll be fine. Isabelle understands.”

Claire hesitated before speaking again. “Does she? I mean, Andrew, when was the last time you took time off—really took time off—to be with her?”

Andrew froze. He hadn’t considered the possibility that his long hours might be taking a toll on Isabelle. “We’re fine,” he said quickly, brushing off her concern. But Claire’s words lingered in his mind long after she left.

As Isabelle and Michael left the wine bar, they strolled down a quiet street, their laughter echoing in the cool night air. Michael reached for her hand, and she let him, the warmth of his touch sending a wave of comfort through her.

“I don’t want to rush you,” Michael said as they stopped beneath a flickering streetlamp. “But I need to know… what do you want, Isabelle? From me, from this?”

Her breath hitched. She knew the answer but was afraid to voice it. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m torn, Michael. I never wanted to be this person.”

Michael stepped closer, his eyes searching hers. “You’re not ‘this person.’ You’re someone who’s been neglected, someone who deserves happiness.”

Isabelle felt tears welling up. Before she could respond, Michael cupped her face and kissed her—deeply, passionately. For a moment, she allowed herself to get lost in the kiss, forgetting the world, forgetting Andrew.

But as they pulled away, she caught sight of a figure in the distance. A man. His silhouette was partially obscured by shadows, but her stomach dropped as a wave of paranoia washed over her.

“Is everything okay?” Michael asked, noticing her sudden change in demeanor.

“I… I thought I saw someone,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Michael glanced around but saw nothing unusual. “You’re safe, Isabelle,” he assured her, but the uneasy feeling remained.

When Isabelle returned home that night, Andrew was already asleep. She stood in the doorway of their bedroom, watching him. The guilt she had suppressed all evening came rushing back. He looked so peaceful, so unaware of the storm brewing in their lives.

As she climbed into bed, Andrew stirred. “You’re home late,” he murmured sleepily.

“I had dinner with a friend,” she lied, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

Andrew nodded, already drifting back to sleep. Isabelle stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. She knew she couldn’t keep living like this, juggling two lives, two men. Something had to give.

The next day, Andrew couldn’t shake the conversation he’d had with Claire. Determined to make things right, he decided to surprise Isabelle with a weekend getaway. He left work early and stopped by a boutique to pick up a gift—a small gesture to show her he cared.

When he arrived home, he found the house empty. Isabelle’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and her phone went straight to voicemail. He dismissed it at first, assuming she was out running errands. But as the evening wore on, a nagging feeling settled in his chest.

Andrew wandered into the living room, where he spotted Isabelle’s laptop on the coffee table. It wasn’t like him to snoop, but something compelled him to open it. What he found made his heart stop.

An email thread. From Michael Russo.

The messages were casual at first—mentions of charity events and shared interests—but they grew increasingly personal. The latest message was what broke him: Can’t wait to see you again tonight. Last night was unforgettable.

Andrew closed the laptop, his hands trembling. His mind raced with questions. Who was Michael Russo? And what did Isabelle mean by "unforgettable"?

That night, Andrew said nothing, though his demeanor was noticeably colder. Isabelle sensed it but attributed it to his work stress. Little did she know, her husband was piecing together the truth, and the revelation would soon shatter the delicate balance of her double life.

As Isabelle lay beside him, her thoughts drifting to Michael, Andrew stared at the ceiling, his mind plotting his next move. He wasn’t ready to confront her—not yet. But he knew one thing for certain: everything was about to change.