The piercing sound of the hotel fire alarm echoed through the hallways, shaking everyone awake from their sleep. Panic spread like wildfire as guests scrambled to evacuate, confusion and chaos gripping the air.
I rushed out of our room, my heart pounding in my chest. As I ran down the corridor toward the exit, I caught sight of my husband, Mark, staggering out of our suite.
He was wearing nothing but his boxers, his hair mussed, clearly disoriented. And in his arms—a young woman.
She looked no older than twenty, her wide eyes filled with fear. She, too, was barely dressed, clinging to Mark as though her life depended on it.
I stopped in my tracks.
My heart froze.
I felt the air in my lungs disappear.
What in the world was going on?
“Mark?!” I called out, my voice shaking with confusion and disbelief.
He turned, startled, his face pale. His eyes darted around the crowded lobby before they landed on me. But instead of the guilt or panic I expected to see, there was only a blank expression, as if this was a routine event.
“Come on, we have to go!” Mark shouted, his voice strained as he pulled the girl along, completely ignoring me.
I stared at them, unable to move, but something inside me snapped.
What was he doing with her?
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