The office was empty by nine and the fluorescent lights humming over rows of dark monitors, Lena sat at her desk finishing the quarterly report, shoes kicked off under the chair, when Mark appeared with two coffees. “Figured you were still here,” he said. He set one cup beside her keyboard, his wedding ring caught the light as he pulled up the chair from the neighboring cubicle. They’d been trading late nights for three weeks, project deadlines, shared playlists, the easy way conversation slid from spreadsheets to childhood stories. Tonight the talk turned quieter. Mark reached over to fix a stray strand of her hair and didn’t pull his hand back, Lena’s breath caught. She turned toward him, and what followed was a kiss, it was soft at first, then deeper, coffee cooling untouched between them. They moved to the small conference room at the end of the hall, the door clicked shutz Mark’s hands slid under her blouse while hers worked at his belt. The city glowed through the blinds, and for a few minutes the only sounds were fabric and low, urgent breaths. Then suddenly the outer office door opened, “Lena? You said you’d be done by ten, I brought the Thai you like.” Her husband’s voice, Mark froze, shirt half-open Lena’s eyes went wide. A second voice, female, closer to the conference room “Mark? your phone was tracking here, itold you I was bringing the kids’ leftover cake.” The door handle turned, neither of them had locked it.