Reclaimed Obsession

Ace

The glass in my hand cracked before I realized how tightly I was holding it. A thin line of red slid down my palm, mixing with the whiskey as it dripped onto the floor.

“Can you not make this dramatic, Ace?” my wife said, her voice calm and almost bored as if she were asking me to pass the salt instead of tearing my life apart.

I lifted my eyes slowly.

Clara sat across from me on the black leather couch, legs crossed with an unreadable expression. I watched the slow rise and fall of her breasts, nipples that only a minute ago has sat in my mouth, begging for more. In that moment, it felt cruel that someone could look like that while saying what she just did.

“Say it again,” I said quietly.

She sighed, already irritated. “I said I want an open marriage.”

I let out a low laugh, “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.” She picked up her wine glass and took a slow sip. “I’ve thought about this for a while.”

“Thought about what exactly?” I asked curiously, though my chest felt tight. “About cheating on your husband with permission?”

“What are you even…” She tilted her head slightly, studying me like I was the one being unreasonable. “You’re making it sound ugly.”

“It is ugly.”

“No, Ace,” she said softly, placing her glass down, and walking over to where I sat.

I watched her swaying hips as her hands gently caressed my face, that manipulative smile now crystal clear.

“what’s ugly is pretending that this marriage is enough.”

That hit deeper than I expected. What was she talking about? I straightened slightly. “Enough for who?”

“For me,” she replied without hesitation.

I swallowed slowly, pushing my face out of her palms and scooting away from where she stood.

A frown formed on her face not luckily, she did not try to move closer to me.

“And I’m just supposed to accept that?”

“You should try to understand it,” she said. “We’re still young. We don’t have to limit ourselves.”

I stared at her, searching for something—guilt, realization, anything—but there was nothing. It could only mean one thing.

“Who is he?” I asked.

Instead of a reply, she averted her gaze to my hands. “You are hurt—”

“Clara.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake.” Clara gritted out, like I was forcing her to say something inconvenient. “You’ve met him.”

A cold feeling spread through my chest.

“Daniel Hayes?” I asked, unable to stop the tremor in my voice. “The one you introduced as your cousin…?”

Clara nodded.

My jaw dropped. She wasn't even denying it. That man had everything—money, power, connection—and apparently, now he wanted my wife too.

“And you agreed?” I asked slowly.

She huffed, hands crossing across her bountiful chest as she sighed.

“He didn’t ask like that,” she said. “He just… understands what I need.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “And I don’t?”

Her eyes softened slightly, but it wasn’t sympathy—it was something worse.

Pity.

“You’re a good man, Ace,” she said gently. “But that doesn’t mean you’re enough.”

I nodded slowly, absorbing every part of it. “So this is it? Y–You just bring this to me like a business proposal?”

“I’m giving you a choice,” she replied. “You can agree, and we move forward… or we can talk about separation.”

There it was.

I looked around the room—the house I had lived in for three years, the place I had called home and the life I thought I had built with my fucking wife.

And suddenly, none of it felt like mine.

“Do you love him?” I asked.

Clara paused.

“I didn’t think so,” I muttered. “You just want to have fun with or without me.”

“Jesus, Ace.” Clare stood up then, smoothing down her dress. “Think about it. I’m not asking for a divorce.”

“No,” I said, looking up at her, “you’re just asking me to watch.”

Her lips pressed together slightly. “Don’t be dramatic.”

She turned and walked toward the stairs. “Good talk, honey. I’ll be in my room,” she said. “Take your time.”

The door upstairs closed a few seconds later.

_____________________

I don’t remember how long I sat there.

The whiskey burned my throat as I poured another glass, then another, but it did nothing to dull the pain of what had just happened.

It wasn't the fact that she wanted an open marriage that upsetted me so much. I let out a slow breath and leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.

It was the fact she had been fucking him before telling me.

Three years.

Three years of loyalty, effort, compromise—and all it took was one conversation for it to mean nothing.

A bitter smile touched my lips.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe I had been too… safe.

I stood up abruptly, grabbing my jacket.

I needed air.

____________________

The city was alive when I stepped outside—lights flashing, people moving here and there, laughter echoing from bars and restaurants that felt like they belonged to a different world.

I clenched my jaw and kept walking until I found myself in front of a place I hadn’t visited in years.

The Climax.

How I've missed it's dim lights, loud music, and the scent of alcohol that made people do really bad things.

Perfect.

I stepped inside, scanning the main area where girls draped themselves over men’s laps, trading touches and laughter for dollars.

Clara—my self-righteous wife—would hate a place like this, but after what she suggested this afternoon… I barely made it to the counter before ordering a drink.

“Rough night?”

The voice came from beside me.

I froze.

Slowly, I turned my head and for a moment… I thought I was imagining things. My ex-girlfriend was actually here.

In the dimly lit club, I could see just how stunning she looked.

She wore one of those her sleazy gowns that exposed her breasts, just her nipples hidden from sight as the length of her dress fell too short for comfort.

My mouth ran dry and I licked my lips unconsciously.

" Hey big mister! Eyes up here. Or are you trying to naked me with your eyes? It will be quicker to use hands.

“Lena?” I whispered under my breath.

She smiled.

“Still recognize me,” she said, her eyes glinting with playfulness.

I stared at her. She still had the same dark hair, and the same sharp green eyes that had always made it hard to look away.

“You… what are you doing here?” I asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied, leaning slightly against the counter.

I let out a quiet breath. “Life.”

Lena studied me for a moment, then her gaze dropped to my hands. “You’re bleeding,” she said.

I glanced down. Jesus. I had almost forgotten.

“It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

Before I could respond, she reached for my hand, her fingers wrapping around my wrist gently but firmly.

The contact sent a strange feeling through me.