The Night My Husband Was Away - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Three years into my marriage, and my husband might as well have been a ghost—always gone, barely a memory in our own home. Meanwhile, the trio downstairs turned every night into a raucous celebration, their laughter and clinking glasses drilling into my skull until I couldn't take it anymore.
I finally snapped.
Pulling on a robe, I stormed downstairs and hammered on their door.
"Could you please keep it down?"
The door swung open, revealing three sets of bleary, intoxicated eyes staring back at me.
"Hey, Sophia," Vincent—the tallest and most infuriatingly handsome of them—grinned. "Wanna join us?"
Let me introduce myself: Sophia Laurent, twenty-eight, the picture of a devoted wife—if "devoted" meant spending most nights alone, staring at the ceiling, wondering where my husband was and why I cared.
We'd bought this second-floor apartment three years ago, back when we still pretended our marriage had a future. Now, he was off chasing his career, visiting maybe twice a year if I was lucky. Life wasn't bad, just… hollow.
And lately? Sleep had become a distant fantasy.
Night after night, I'd lie awake, restless, until the familiar sound of male laughter drifted up from the terrace below.
I'd creep to the window like some kind of desperate voyeur.
There they were—Vincent Roscente, all broad shoulders and smoldering confidence; Daniel Evans, built like a linebacker with arms that could crush me; and Nathan Lowell, the quiet one with a sharp mind and an even sharper jawline.
Shirts unbuttoned, drinks in hand, they played mahjong like it was a sport, their deep voices rumbling through the night.
I knew them too well. Vincent had fixed my sink once, and ever since, our paths kept crossing—in the hallway, the elevator, my dreams.
Every glance from them sent heat crawling up my neck. Especially Vincent. That man had a way of looking at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking—like he could see straight through my carefully constructed composure.
Tonight was no different.
I hid behind the curtains, watching as they drank, as Vincent's fingers flexed around his glass, as Daniel's biceps strained against his tank top—
Then Vincent's head tilted up.
Our eyes locked.
He smirked.
I jerked back, heart slamming against my ribs like it wanted out.
God, what was wrong with me? A married woman, fantasizing about the men downstairs like some starved teenager.
But the thoughts came anyway—Vincent's hands sliding over my skin, Daniel's arms pinning me down, Nathan's voice whispering things that made my stomach tighten.
I was pathetic.
And yet, every time they gathered on that terrace, I was there, pressed against the glass, aching for something I couldn't name.
Then, just past midnight, another burst of laughter jolted me from my trance.
I barely had time to react before a knock echoed at my door.
"Sophia?" Vincent's voice, rough with alcohol. "You awake?"
My breath caught. I tightened my robe and opened the door.
All three of them stood there, swaying slightly, their eyes dark and unfocused.
My pulse skyrocketed.
"Mind if we use your bathroom?" Vincent's grin was dangerous. "Ours is… out of commission."
Before I could answer, he stepped forward—like he already knew I wouldn't refuse.
I moved to shut the door.
His hand shot out, stopping it.
And in that moment, I forgot how to breathe.