Sinful Obsessions

NOA

“Happy birthday to me.” I say the words to the empty kitchen, staring at the small chocolate cake I just finished baking.

The single candle flickers in the dim light, casting soft shadows across the marble counter.

I lean in, close my eyes for a second, and blow it out. Smoke curls upward.

Forcing a smile that never reaches my eyes.

I am twenty-eight years old. Married for one full year. And still celebrating alone.

Pathetic!

Nicholas Blackwood, my husband, is supposed to be here. He promised, the way he always promises.

“I’ll make it home early, Noa. It’s your birthday.” But work always wins. It won on our anniversary. It won on Christmas. It wins most weekends, when the only company I get is the glow of his phone screen and the sound of his fingers typing out emails.

I knew the truth before we even said our vows.

Nicholas loves his company more than anything. He built it from nothing, and he refuses to let it slip.

I told myself I could live with that. I told myself love would be enough. That he'd change but jokes on me.

Now, standing in our quiet apartment with a cake for one, I’m not so sure.

The doorbell rings sharply, cutting through my thoughts. I sigh, wipe my hands on a dish towel, and walk to the door, already bracing for another delivery or some neighbor needing a favor.

I opened it and my eyes filled with surprise seeing the men with trumpets. Women holding gift bags and bouquets.

A massive silver balloon floats right in front of my face, bold letters screaming HAPPY BIRTHDAY NOA.

I shut the door.

Close my eyes. Open them. Open the door again.

It’s real and I'm not hallucinating.

The trumpets blare. Voices rise in a loud, slightly off-key chorus of “Happy Birthday.” My cheeks burn.

A smile, real this time, breaks across my face as one of the women presses a thick bouquet of red roses into my arms. The others file past me, carrying bags and boxes into the living room while the men keep playing.

Then Nicholas steps through the doorway first, looking sharp in a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

Right behind him is his father, Dominic Blackwood. The two of them side by side still startle me. Same sharp jaw, same dark hair, same tall, broad-shouldered frame.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think they were brothers. The resemblance is almost cruel.

“Happy birthday, my love,” Nicholas says, voice soft in a way I haven’t heard in months. He pulled me into a hug and I buried my face against his chest and breathed him in.

“I thought you’d abandon me on my birthday too,” I mutter.

He kisses the top of my head. “Not today, wifey. I’m sorry.”

I pull back just enough to look at him. Tears prick at my eyes.

“I love you.”

“Don’t think too much,” he says, brushing a thumb under my eye. “It’s your day. Smile.”

Behind him, Dominic is already directing the gift bags onto the coffee table with quiet efficiency. Our eyes meet for a brief second. Something flickers there, something I can’t name, before he looks away and keeps arranging the presents.

“Are we throwing a party?” I ask, glancing between them.

Nicholas shakes his head. “You know I don’t like parties.”

I nod. He never liked parties. Most women would call him boring. I never did though, because that's one of his falls I have to handle and I still don’t understand what it is about him that made me fall so hard, so fast.

Me and Nicholas dated for two years before we finally got married, i don't know what attracted me to him, let me just say it just happened.

He leans in, voice dropping. “We can just go upstairs… do different styles, yunno…” He winked at me and I understood him without him saying the words in full.

Heat floods my body. My nipples tighten against the thin fabric of my dress. It’s been three months since he touched me like that. The last time didn’t even last an hour.

I kiss him before he can change his mind. He answers hungrily, mouth opening against mine, tongue sliding in.

My legs wrap around his waist. His hands grip my ass, sliding under the short hem of my dress, kneading impatiently.

We stumble toward the stairs, still kissing. I don’t care that his father is standing ten feet away. I only care about the hard press of Nicholas against me and the desperate need coiling low in my belly.

He kicks the bedroom door open and drops me onto the bed. I sit up immediately, fingers flying to the buttons of his shirt, before he yanks it off.

My lipstick is already smeared across both our mouths.

Then his phone rings interrupting our moments.

God, Fuck! Why now?

“Nich…” I reached for him. “I need you right now.”

He breaks the kiss, breathing hard. “Let me answer this first. Please.”

I shake my head, pulling him back down.

“We’ve barely had any time, Nicholas, I'm your wife.” I groan with frustration.

He gently but firmly disentangles himself, already pulling the shirt back on.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been working on this project for months. I can’t lose it. After this, I’m all yours. I promise.” The words I hate hearing.

“No, honey not again, I want you and I can't stop…we can't stop midway.”Tears rolled down my cheeks.

He doesn’t even notice. He’s already looking at the screen, already half-gone.

“Are you even human?” I snap. “Don’t you get horny? I’m right here. I’m your wife. Stop treating me like an afterthought!”

“I’m doing this for our future,” he says quietly. He kisses my forehead like that fixes anything. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Don’t wait up. We’ll do it tomorrow.”

Then he is gone.

The door clicks shut downstairs. I hear the low murmur of voices, Dominic’s deep tone, Nicholas’s hurried goodbye, then silence.

Tiredly, I sit on the edge of the bed in the half-dark, dress rucked up around my hips, lipstick ruined, body still aching and wet and empty.

The cake is still downstairs. The balloon still floats in the living room. The gifts sit unopened.

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes.

I've been tolerating this bullshit for a year. One year of waiting for scraps of attention, for nights that never come, for a husband who loves his empire more than the woman who wears his ring.

I lower my hands and stare at the ceiling.

How much longer am I supposed to keep pretending this is enough?

Something has to change.

I just don’t know yet what that something will be. But I need a solution, I can't keep doing this to myself.