The Agreement

Chapter One: The Conversation

Marcus couldn't look away as Elena dressed for her date with Daniel. He'd expected it to hurt—watching her prepare for another man—but instead, every careful motion of her fingers sent a jolt through him, his pulse thrumming in his throat.

"You're staring," Elena said, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she slipped on a pair of earrings—ones he'd given her for their anniversary three years ago.

"Can you blame me?" he murmured, his voice rougher than he intended.

The Cardinal Protocols—Advance Disclosure, Return to Center, Transparent Visibility, Unquestioned Veto—had been Elena's idea. Rules designed to keep their marriage intact while they explored outside it. Lately, Marcus couldn't stop turning them over in his mind, testing their strength, wondering if they'd truly hold.

Elena crossed the bedroom to where he sat on the edge of their bed. She stood between his legs, her hands resting on his shoulders. He felt the urge to grip her hips, to pull her close and undo all the careful preparations she'd just made. The scent of her perfume—jasmine and something deeper—enveloped him.

"I'll be back by midnight," she said, leaning down to kiss him. It was gentle at first, then deepened unexpectedly. When she pulled away, her eyes were darker. "Unless you'd like to join us?"

The invitation hung in the air between them. They'd discussed this possibility during their compass conversations at The Circle, but it had always been theoretical. Now it was real, tangible.

"Tonight?" Marcus asked, his throat suddenly dry.

Elena's fingers traced the line of his jaw. "Daniel mentioned it last week. He's... curious about us together."

Heat pooled low in Marcus's belly. The image of Elena with Daniel had tormented and aroused him for weeks now. But being there, watching, participating—that was different.

"You don't have to decide now," Elena whispered, pressing her lips to his forehead. "Text me if you change your mind."

After she left, Marcus poured himself two fingers of whiskey and stood at the window of their Meridian Heights apartment, watching the lights of Manhattan flicker on as dusk settled. Fifteen floors below, he imagined Elena stepping into a cab, headed to Daniel's place in Chelsea.

He took a long sip, welcoming the burn. Later, Elena would tell him everything—every touch, every sound, every forbidden detail. Those debriefs had become their most dangerous ritual, always ending in frantic, wordless need.

But tonight, he could do more than listen to the story afterward. He could be part of it.

Marcus set down his glass and picked up his phone. The jealousy that had gnawed at him these past months was still there, but alongside it now was something else—a hunger he barely recognized in himself.

He typed: Send me the address.