Chapter One – The Glance

The house had never felt this hollow.

When Daniel was home, it used to hum with noise: the shuffle of papers from his office, the clink of a whiskey glass against the counter, the muted rumble of his voice when he argued on late-night calls. Now the silence spread through the rooms like fog, heavy and watchful. Riley tried to fill it with music sometimes, or with the television running in the background, but most nights it pressed down on her until she could hardly breathe.

It had been six months since the trial. Six months since Daniel had been sentenced since the gavel had come down and her life had been split into before and after.

She’d promised him she would stand by his side. That she would hold the house together until he came back. And she meant it—at least, she wanted to. But loneliness had a way of wearing a person thin, of gnawing away at the edges until even the strongest vows began to fray.

The knock at the door startled her. Three sharp raps—measured, familiar.

Mason.

Riley hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. A dozen thoughts flashed through her head: the way Daniel’s voice softened when he used to talk about Mason, the way Mason’s visits had become more frequent since the sentencing, the way her pulse betrayed her every time he was near.

She opened the door.

“Evening,” Mason said, a bag of takeout dangling from one hand. His smile was easy, almost casual, but his eyes lingered on hers just a beat too long.

“You didn’t have to—” she began, already stepping aside.

“I know,” he interrupted gently, brushing past her into the entryway. “But you’d just say you weren’t hungry, and then you’d go another night without eating.”

His tone was warm, teasing, but not unkind. That was what made it so dangerous. Mason had always been like this—steady, protective, loyal. But lately, there was something beneath the surface, something unspoken that neither of them dared put into words.

The smell of stir-fry filled the air as he unpacked the containers, setting them neatly on the kitchen table. Riley busied herself with glasses and silverware, avoiding his gaze. The last time he’d been over, their hands had brushed when he’d passed her a plate, and she hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

Dinner began in silence, broken only by the scrape of utensils. Mason asked about her day, her errands, the small things that filled her hours now. She gave polite answers, careful not to reveal how empty her days really felt. Daniel called when he could, but prison phones weren’t the same as a real conversation. His words were rehearsed, clipped, sometimes impatient. Mason’s, on the other hand, were soft, searching—dangerously so.

Halfway through the meal, Riley caught him watching her. She dropped her gaze to her plate, heat rising in her chest.

“You’ve lost weight,” Mason said quietly.

She forced a small laugh. “That’s what happens when you live on coffee.”

“You can’t keep doing that.” His voice was firmer now, threaded with something like frustration. “Daniel would—”

“Daniel isn’t here,” she snapped before she could stop herself. The words hung in the air like shattered glass.

Mason’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “I know he’s not. That’s why I am.”

The silence between them deepened, thick enough to choke on. Riley set her fork down, suddenly too restless to sit still. She gathered plates and carried them into the kitchen, her hands trembling.

Mason followed. She felt him before she heard him, his presence filling the small room.

“You’re carrying all of this alone,” he said softly.

Her breath hitched. She wanted to argue, to insist she was fine, that she didn’t need rescuing. But the truth was lodged in her throat, raw and undeniable.

“Mason…” Her voice cracked on his name.

He stepped closer, close enough that the faint spice of his cologne reached her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. He didn’t touch her. Not yet. But the way his eyes held hers made it clear he wanted to.

“You deserve more than just surviving,” he murmured.

Her pulse hammered in her ears. She should step back. She should push him away, tell him this was wrong, that she was Daniel’s wife. But her body didn’t move.

The kitchen lights hummed overhead, the only sound in the room. The air between them was electric, charged with something neither of them could name but both could feel.

And then, as quickly as it had come, the moment shifted. Mason leaned back, breaking the spell, and moved past her. His arm brushed hers lightly, almost accidental, but it sent a shiver down her spine.

When the door closed behind him later, Riley stood in the quiet kitchen with her heart still racing. She pressed her palms to the counter, staring at the empty plates and half-eaten food.

She should have felt guilt. Loyalty. Anger.

But instead, all she felt was alive.

And she knew, with a sinking certainty, that Mason wasn’t the danger she had to fear.

She was.