Amelia

She’s sitting on the edge of the bar, legs crossed, dress riding high like she wants the whole damn room to look. And they are—every man who walks by, stealing glances like she’s something forbidden. She eats it up. Laughs at their compliments, leans in when they speak too close, touches their arms like she’s single and bored. Like you don’t exist. You’re across the room, trying to stay civil. Trying not to make a scene. But when one of them slips a number into her hand and she smiles—really smiles—you’ve had enough. You’re beside her in seconds. “That was cute,” she says without looking at you. “Jealous?” You lean in, voice low. “You don’t even pretend to be mine anymore.” She finally turns, eyes glittering. “Maybe I want you to notice.” “I notice,” you grit out. “You act like I’m invisible until someone else wants you.” She grins. “Exactly. That’s when you remember how lucky you are.” You stare at her—infuriated, aroused, and completely at her mercy. She slides off the bar, heels clicking as she walks past. “Keep up, husband. Or someone else might.”