Page 17 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Maria — Present

After my shower, I sit on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in my robe. My eyes sting, puffy from crying, and my hair drips down my back, damp strands curling wild. I should dry it before it frizzes, before I crawl into bed, but I don’t have the energy. I don’t have the energy for anything.

The door slams open.

I don’t even flinch. I just stay where I am, staring at my hands as Lyle storms in, boots heavy against the hardwood. He paces once, twice, like a caged animal before snapping his head toward me.

“You said you weren’t pissed about it—really pissed—until you found out it was Bethany and not Anna.”

I lift my shoulders in a shrug, too tired for more. “I guess you can interpret it that way.”

He stops mid-step, rubs a hand over his mouth. His chest rises, falls, hard, like he’s swallowing words before they break him. Then his eyes slice back to me.

“Then why?” His voice cracks. “Why did you—” He looks away, dragging the words out like they taste like ash. “Sascha.”

I straighten, breath catching. “I thought you didn’t care.”

“Of course I care!” His voice rips through the room before he reins it back, softer but no less sharp. “Of course I care that my wife wanted to screw another man.”

I push to my feet, anger sparking where exhaustion sat heavy. “Is that what this is about? Jealousy?” My laugh is bitter. “You’re jealous I wanted another man? We’ve had an open marriage for three years, Lyle. Plenty of men have seen me naked. Touched me. Fucked me—”

His hand snaps up.

Warm, rough fingers close around my throat—not squeezing, not hurting, but holding. Holding like he’s reminding me who I belong to. His grip is firm, his knuckles trembling, his eyes burning with possession and pain.

The air between us goes electric. My chest rises, the robe loosening at my collarbone, and his thumb twitches against the thrum of my pulse.

“You think I don’t care?” His voice is low now, dangerous in its restraint. “You think I could ever watch another man touch you and not feel like it was tearing me apart?”

“Then why did you say yes?” My voice cracks, raw in my throat.

His hand stays on my neck for a heartbeat longer, then I shove it off. It falls easily. For a second, I think he’ll let me go.

But when I step back, his hands clamp around my waist. Firm. Pulling me back toward him.

“Why did you ask?” His voice breaks with it—less anger now, more pleading.

I shove his hands away, twisting out of his grip. “Don’t.”

I cross the room, planting myself by the window. My palms brace against the sill, cold wood steady under my fingers as I stare into the backyard.

“I didn’t think that would be the option you picked,” I whisper, my breath fogging the glass.

Silence holds, heavy, until my own memory pulls me under.

Maria — Three Years Ago – Austin, Texas. 2022

Snow clings to my coat as I shake it off, stomping the slush from my boots before heading inside. The bar is warm, dim, and packed—the holiday week pulling in everyone desperate for a break from family. I suppose that’s why I’m here, too.

The bartender gives me a nod of recognition as I slip past the crowd.

My booth is in the back, shadowed enough to feel private, familiar enough to feel like mine.

Just one year ago, I was running myself ragged—working three jobs, dragging myself through hospitals, trying to control everything. And now?

Now Lyle is home with the kids, and I have this. A stolen hour to myself.

I’m not going to lie: there was a time I thought we wouldn’t survive. Rain’s leukaemia. The bills. The debt. The hollow loneliness. But Rain is in remission now. The debt is still there, not as crushing, but heavy enough to stagger us if we stop moving. And me? I still need somewhere to breathe.

It started months ago. One night, after a temp job cancelled at the last second, I couldn’t bring myself to go home early, to relieve the sitter. Instead, I ducked into this place. One moment became two. Then it became a routine.

And then came Sascha.

I stand as he approaches, tall, easy smile on his face.

“I thought I wouldn’t get to see you today,” I say, as he leans in to kiss my cheek. His lips brush closer to my mouth than they should, and for a moment, heat flares in my face. I shake it off.

He grins. “Like I’d let a holiday rush keep me away from you.”

Now, I know what you’re thinking. I’m a married woman. But the truth is—Sascha is the only person in my life who doesn’t need anything from me. Doesn’t expect me to hold it together, doesn’t measure me by my failures, doesn’t remind me of what I owe. He just sees me.

And God, it’s intoxicating to be seen.

I smile, forcing lightness. “So, how was the date?”

He makes a face, giving me a half-shrug. “Fine.”

“Fine?” I roll my eyes. “Did you ditch her?”

“Let’s just say she wasn’t my type.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You don’t even have a type.”

His smile changes, sharper. He reaches across the table, fingers brushing mine. “I do.”

The air between us shifts. My breath catches as I stare at his hand covering mine, then I pull back, clutching my phone instead. “I’m married. You know that.”

“Come on,” he presses, leaning forward. “All you do is complain about your husband and how absent he is. I could be there for you.”

I look away, grabbing my purse, trying to keep my voice steady. “Sascha—”

“Maria.” His voice softens, too soft. “We could be good together. You feel this. Don’t tell me you don’t. Leave him.”

I freeze.

For a moment, I can’t move. I just stare at the man I thought was my friend and realize I’ve been wrong. That what I thought was safe—a friendship, a reprieve, a place to breathe—was just another trap waiting to close.

“I thought you were my friend,” I whisper, clutching my purse.

“I am,” Sascha insists, eyes burning in a way that makes me want to look anywhere but at him. “I just… I can’t help it.”

“Don’t,” I warn, the word trembling as it leaves me.

“Maria,” he says, softer now, almost pleading. “I love you.”

The air punches out of me. I stare at him, shocked, frozen. My chest hammers. For a second, I can’t even process the words. And before I can get them out—before I can move—he leans in and presses his mouth to mine.

It’s not rough. It’s not forceful. It’s worse. It’s gentle. Wanting. His lips linger, coaxing instead of taking, and for one terrifying moment… I let it happen.

Too long. Far too long.

Reality slams back in. I shove him hard, breath breaking in my throat. “I can’t.” My voice cracks as I scramble for my coat, clutching it to my chest. “I love my husband. I’m sorry—”

“Maria—” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.

I bolt. Out of the booth, through the crowded bar, out into the freezing night. My breath clouds white in the air as I stumble to my car, fumbling for my keys like my hands don’t belong to me.

By the time the engine roars to life, my chest is shaking, my mouth still burning with a kiss I never should’ve allowed. I grip the wheel so tight my knuckles ache.

And then I drive. Fast. Straight home. Before I can make a mistake I’ll never come back from.

By the time I walk in, the house is quiet. The kind of quiet you only get when every kid has been bribed, cajoled, or flat-out begged into bed before their time. The dining table glows under candlelight, two wine glasses gleaming like they’ve been waiting all night. Plates set. Silverware polished.

Lyle steps out from the kitchen, a dish towel slung over his shoulder, grinning like he’s twenty again. “Hey. I thought you’d be longer. But you came just in time.”

Before I can answer, he crosses the room, his hand warm as it closes around mine. He leads me to the table like we’re in some old movie, pulling out my chair, guiding me down.

“I had to bribe the kids with promises of pizza tomorrow,” he admits with a smirk, “but worth it. Anything to have you to myself tonight.”

His smile doesn’t falter—until he really looks at me. “What’s wrong?”

The words tear out of me before I can cage them. “A man kissed me tonight.”

Everything freezes. His face changes in a heartbeat—smile wiped clean, jaw tightening, eyes darkening like a storm breaking open.

“What?” His voice drops low, dangerous. “Who.”

“Sascha,” I say, my own voice unsteady.

He blinks. “I thought Sascha was a woman.”

I shrug helplessly, shame burning hot across my cheeks.

His chair scrapes back. He’s on his feet, pacing, hands fisting. “I’ll kill him,” he spits, already halfway past me like he’s ready to walk out the door.

I grab his arm, desperate. “Stop.”

He wrenches around, eyes blazing. “This man—”

“—loves me.” The words leave me hollow, cracked.

It’s like I’ve struck him. Shock ripples across his face, confusion chasing it, his anger bending under the weight of something heavier. He stares at me like he doesn’t recognize me.

Slowly, he sinks back into his chair. His voice is rough, tentative. “Do you… do you love him?”

“No.” I shake my head hard, no hesitation, no doubt. “I don’t.”

Relief flickers across his face, but it’s fleeting, fragile. Because then I breathe out the truth that’s been killing me.

“But I can’t do this anymore either.”

The relief drains away. His head jerks up, eyes wide, almost boyish in their disbelief. “What?”

“I just can’t…” My voice cracks, spilling raw. “I can’t do this alone anymore. Life. Raising the kids, the house, the practice—holding it all together while you’re gone. I’m so tired, Lyle. So tired.”

He draws in a slow, heavy breath, chest rising like he’s carrying the weight of the world. His eyes lock on me. “What do you want from me?”

The question slices me open. “I need you home,” I whisper, the words trembling. “I need you to stay, instead of jetting off to—”

“To work,” he cuts in, sharp, bitter.

My throat tightens. I swipe at my eyes and blurt, “Either do that—or be okay with me going out with other men.”

It’s supposed to be a jab. Something reckless. Something I don’t mean.

But his answer comes quiet, steady. “Okay.”

I blink, frozen. My heart stutters, drops. “What?”

His jaw works, the muscle flexing as he looks away. “If what you need to be happy is… an open marriage, then fine.”

My chest caves in, splintering under the words. “So, you’re okay with me seeing other men?”

He nods once. “I guess I understand. It can’t be easy being alone for a year at a time. Lord knows it’s not for me.”

The air thickens, heavy and choking. My voice comes out small, broken. “So, you’d also…?”

“That’s how an open marriage works,” he says evenly. Then his eyes meet mine. “Do you want that?”

I stare at the man I love, searching his face for a crack, for anger, for anything human that matches the shattering inside me. But all I see is that soldier-calm, that mask he’s worn for years. My shoulders sag. “I guess.” The word feels like ash.

He nods, like this is logistics now. Orders. “Then we need rules. Always use protection. No one we know. It can’t be a relationship—no feelings. And never when we’re together.”

A bitter laugh tears out of me, jagged, humourless. “You sound like you’ve thought about this.”

His gaze drops, shame flickering across his features. “Remember Conner? From high school?”

“Yeah.” My voice is tight.

He swallows. “We still talk sometimes. He and Bellamy… they just opened their relationship.”

The floor seems to tilt under me.

The last time I spoke to Bellamy she said she was going to leave Conner because of his philandering. Guess he changed her mind and Lyle’s.

“Right.”