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From the first moment I saw Yuna at her parents’ housewarming party, I fantasised about the two of us being together. She was twenty years old at the time, the daughter of Mr and Mrs Nakamura who had just moved in next door in our very exclusive neighbourhood. Yuna was pretty, friendly and fascinating.

And totally off-limits.

Rosie and I had been married for five years and together for seven. We had talked about starting a family, but she had persuaded me to wait. We had been together through difficult times, and we had seen each other flourish. Yuna was six years my junior. She was engaged to the son of a politician. She was the daughter of a potential client. She was the forbidden fruit you read about in lurid tales of men throwing away everything they’ve worked for.

It only made her more tempting.

Despite my best efforts, every time I let my guard down, I found my eyes drifting her way. By rights I should have been listening to her father droning on about shareholdings and business meetings, and how the small company he’d set up in his garage some thirty years earlier had turned into a multi-billion dollar corporation—all thanks to his own personal drive and ambition. As a business owner myself, that should have interested me. I should have been using the opportunity to network and attempt to pick up a lucrative new client for my own IT business.

But none of that seemed important. Yuna occupied my every thought.

She was nothing like my wife. Where Rosie was blonde, willowy and tall, Yuna was dark, petite and soft. Rosie’s breasts were prominent and round, Yuna’s barely made a dent in the yellow cotton shirt that draped over her torso. Rosie’s makeup routine was designed to look flawless, to make you wonder if she was wearing any at all. Yuna’s mascara made her eyelashes appear unreal like they existed inside some Japanese cartoon. Her dark eyeliner drew attention to those piercing, black pools.