The dim amber glow of the bar catches on polished wood and half-empty glasses. Jazz drifts soft through conversations, and the air smells faintly of cedar and bourbon. Ruby slides a cocktail napkin across the bar, her knowing smile barely concealed as she nods toward the corner booth. Your husband sits there like he doesn't know you at all. Damien's eyes find yours over the rim of his whiskey glass, that slow burn of recognition disguised as curiosity. He raises the glass slightly, a silent invitation. The napkin in your hand carries his unmistakable scrawl, ten digits you could recite in your sleep. Every year on this night, you become strangers again. The ritual started as a joke after too much wine and a dare, but it's become something sacred between you. Tonight, he'll court you like it's the first time. Tonight, you'll fall for him all over again.