His Mistress Was My Sister

As we settled in for dinner at a cozy bistro known for its stuffed pasta creations, Scarlet, as always, was quick to direct Adler regarding the sauces.

"Kenna's usual! Extra basil, and then two scoops of—"

"Two scoops of almond sauce, and a touch of olive oil," Adler casually finished her sentence. "I've done this a million times, no need to remind me."

"Spot on!" Scarlet gave him a thumbs up and teasingly elbowed me. "See? Men just need some training to get it right."

I mustered a smile, keeping silent. This scene was all too familiar.

In the past, moments like these might have made me happy to see my friend and husband getting along so well. But now, under closer inspection, their interactions, though innocent on the surface, felt oddly intimate.

It was like I was the center of their attention, yet more often than not, I felt like a spare part. There was an unspoken understanding between them that I had missed before.

One would order, the other would pay; one prepared the sauces, the other twirled the pasta.

Finding that misplaced piece of lingerie had shaken loose a storm of emotions that I had previously overlooked or buried. Anger and confusion surged through me, dividing me in half.

Part of me observed them with my usual smile, while another part yelled, "Wake up, you've been duped!"

...

"Kenna, Kenna?"

I blinked and found Adler looking at me with concern.

With no solid proof, I had to hold steady and be patient.

Suppressing my feelings, I managed a weak smile and said, "I didn’t sleep well last night."

He nodded sympathetically. "Then after dinner, I'll take you home so you can get some rest."

"I’ll stay with you this afternoon," he added, continuing to serve the sauces he had just made for me and Scarlet.

I looked down at the plate in front of me, my grip tightening around the fork.

In the sauce Adler had prepared was basil—the ingredient I despised most.