Just as I was about to check the phone again, it rang in my hand.
The ringtone pierced the air - "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac.
My heart skipped a beat.
That song.
It was Clyde and Anissa's jam.
Memories flooded my mind - Anissa and Clyde's wedding, their first dance, the laughter, the tears.
I tried to cut the call, but my fingers slipped.
"Mistakes happen," Anissa's tired voice whispered in my ear.
My heart sank.
I didn't want to respond, didn't want to make her feel worse.
As I sat frozen, Anissa's words poured out like a river, a mix of sorrow and regret. "I'm so sorry, Clyde. I never meant... You know you've been distant... Please forgive me." Her voice cracked, and my heart twisted with guilt.
But I couldn't hang up.
Not now.
Just as I was frozen in indecision, Clyde emerged from the shower, his hair a tangled mess, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes,water dripping from his hair.
"The shower ran out of steam," he said, smiling sheepishly.
His hair was mussed, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes.
I couldn't help but giggle at his goofy expression.
"Oh, Clyde, you look like a drowned rat!" I exclaimed, momentarily forgetting about the call.
But as my eyes met Clyde's, reality slapped me back into place. Anissa's voice still whispered in my ear, unaware that I was the one listening.
My laughter died, and I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.
Clyde's expression changed from amusement to concern.
"Anni's still on the line," I whispered, handing him the phone.
Clyde's frown deepened as he took the phone.
"Anni?" he said curtly.
Anissa's voice poured out, but Clyde didn't let her finish.
"I'll talk to you later," he said abruptly, hanging up.
The silence that followed was oppressive.
Clyde's eyes locked onto mine.
"Dahlia, I—"
I shook my head.
"Don't, Clyde. Not now."
The weight of what just happened settled between us like a boulder.
Clyde's expression softened.
"Dahlia, I need to explain—"
But I cut him off.
"There's nothing to explain, Clyde. You're married. And that was your wife on the phone."
Clyde's jaw clenched.
"I know. But—"
I raised my hand.
"No, Clyde. Just no."
The distance between us grew, a chasm filled with secrets and regret.
And I wondered if we could ever find our way back
Clyde's eyes never left mine, the tension between us palpable.
"I should go," I said, breaking the silence.
Clyde nodded, his expression a mix of understanding and disappointment.
"I'll walk you out," he said.
The elevator ride was awkward, the silence weighing heavily.
As we reached the lobby, Clyde placed a gentle hand on my arm.
"Dahlia, please reconsider," he said, his voice low.
I pulled away.
"Clyde, we can't keep doing this. It's not right."
His eyes searched mine.
"What's not right is us being apart," he whispered.
My heart skipped a beat.
"Clyde, stop. You're married."
The words hung between us like a challenge.
Clyde's jaw clenched.
"I know," he repeated.
We stood there, locked in a silent standoff.
Suddenly, the lobby doors swung open.
A paparazzo burst in.
"Dahlia! Clyde! What's going on between you two?"
Flashes erupted.
Clyde instinctively wrapped his arm around me.
"Let's get out of here," he whispered.
We pushed through the chaos.
Outside, the world seemed to spin faster.
As we emerged from the hotel, the paparazzo's question ignited a firestorm. Cameras flashed like lightning, casting an eerie glow over the chaotic scene. Reporters shouted, their voices blending into a cacophony of chaos.
Clyde's arm wrapped around me, a shield against the madness. His broad shoulders and firm grip protected me, guiding me through the swirling vortex.
"Let's go," he growled, his voice low and commanding.
We pushed through the crowd, Clyde's strength clearing a path. Outside, a sleek black SUV waited, its tinted windows a promise of sanctuary.
Clyde opened the door, ushering me inside.
"In," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.
I slid onto the plush leather seat, grateful for the sudden silence.
Clyde followed, his presence filling the vehicle.
The door slammed shut, sealing us off from the pandemonium.
As the SUV sped away, I turned to Clyde, my breath still ragged.
"Thank you," I whispered, my eyes meeting his.
His gaze softened, warmth spreading through his expression.
"Always," he replied, his voice low and husky.
The SUV glided through the city streets, Clyde's house its destination.
My mind whirled, anxiety gnawing at my thoughts.
How would Anissa react?
Would she see the photos?
The headlines?
"DAHLIA AND CLYDE: SECRET LOVERS?"
"CLYDE'S MARRIAGE ON THE ROCKS?"
The possibilities sent a shiver down my spine.
Clyde's hand found mine, his fingers intertwining.
"We'll face this together," he promised.
But could we?
The SUV stopped at Clyde's house, a tranquil oasis.
"Come in," he said.
I hesitated, uncertainty warring with necessity.
The hotel was no longer safe.
Paparazzi swarmed everywhere.
I followed Clyde inside, his house a refuge.
But my heart remained troubled.
What lay ahead?