Is It Revenge If He Doesnt Know

I stare at my reflection in the marble bathroom of my hotel room, barely recognising the woman looking back at me.

Three months in Qatar's relentless heat has given my normally pale skin a darker tan, and I've lightened my brown hair with highlights to combat the merciless sun. But it's my eyes that seem different... a wariness that wasn't there before I left London.

It's been four days since Nathan's confession. Four days since my world tilted on its axis. Four sleepless nights replaying his words, his tone, the look on his face as he admitted to betraying five years of trust.

"I need to tell you something, Em." His voice on the video call had been strained, unnaturally serious against the backdrop of our London flat. The same flat I'd left three months ago for this six-month secondment in Doha. "Something happened at Mark's stag do last weekend."

I'd known immediately. Some primal instinct had sent ice through my veins even before he started talking, his expression, his demeanour, everything pointing in one direction and it wasn't a good one.

"I got really drunk. More drunk than I've ever been." A pause, his eyes unable to meet mine through the screen. "There was this woman at the club. We were talking, and I... we..."

"You what, Nathan?" I'd demanded, needing to hear him say it.

"We went back to her hotel. I slept with her." He had looked up then, tears in his eyes. "It meant nothing, Em. I swear to god, it was just a stupid, drunken mistake. I don't even remember most of it. I woke up the next morning and felt sick about what I'd done."

The memory leaves a bitter taste in my mouth as I apply a touch of mascara. I hadn't screamed or hung up or immediately ended our relationship. I'd just gone numb, listening to his desperate apologies and promises that it would never happen again, that he loved me, that he would do anything to make it right.

"I need time," I'd told him finally. "Don't call me for a few days. I'll contact you when I'm ready to talk."

A small mercy that this business trip to Dubai had already been scheduled... three days of meetings with regional clients that require me to be actually there in person rather than through a screen. A necessary escape from my temporary Doha apartment where every corner reminds me of Nathan's calls, of his long weekend to come and visit me just a few weeks before.

I slip on the jeans and white strappy top that I've chosen for this evening... simple and casual while being smart enough to fit in. Over three months I've got the art of dressing up to go to hotel bars down to a tee.

The last two nights I just stayed in my room and ordered room service but I really don't fancy a third night in a row alone with my thoughts, crying myself to sleep at Nathan's betrayal. Even I can recognise the danger of too much of that.

The hotel's outdoor bar seems like a reasonable compromise... out in public but easily able to retreat back to my room quickly if I want or need to, upscale enough to feel classy without feeling underdressed. I slide my feet into my heels, grab my handbag, and head out before I can talk myself out of it.

I'm soon settled in on a high stool at the bar with a stunning view of the Burj Khalifa glittering in the near distance, and a view of the smart crowd out enjoying their evening. Thursday night... not quite the weekend, but close enough that it seems a lot of people want to party, certainly busier that it would be back in Doha anyway.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asks with a polished smile.

"Gin and tonic, please."

As he prepares my drink, I look around the bar automatically, a habit developed over three months of being a woman alone in the Middle East. Most of the clientele are in groups, business people unwinding and tourists on holiday. A few solitary figures are here or there, seemingly in the same boat as me... tired eyes from a busy day of work, in Dubai on business, but also in Dubai on expenses and damned if they're not going to at least enjoy the climate and a little of the nightlife.

One of them catches my gaze before I can look away. He's tall, broad shouldered, with dark blonde hair and the kind of tan that suggests he spends time outdoors rather than just under artificial light. Australian or perhaps South African, I guess from his appearance. He smiles, a quick acknowledgment before respectfully turning back to his drink.

The bartender sets my gin and tonic down and I take a grateful sip, letting the familiar bite of it wash over my tongue. Four days of emotional turmoil have left me exhausted in a way that sleep can't seem to touch. The alcohol, at least, takes the edge off.

I pull out my phone, scrolling through emails without really seeing them, a shield against unwanted conversation. Three new messages from Nathan, subject lines ranging from "Please talk to me" to "I love you" to "I'm so sorry", remain unopened. I can't bring myself to read them yet, but I can't delete them either.

"Excuse me."

I look up to find the man I noticed earlier standing a respectful distance from my seat at the bar.

"Sorry to interrupt," he says, his accent confirming my Australian guess, "but is this seat taken?" He gestures to the empty stool beside me.

My first instinct is to say yes, it is taken, or to gather my things and move elsewhere. I've become practiced at deflecting male attention during my time in Qatar, where being a woman alone can sometimes invite unwanted and unfortunately aggressive advances.

"It's not taken," I hear myself say instead, surprising myself. "Feel free."

"Thanks." He settles onto the stool, setting his whiskey on the bar. "Crowded tonight."

It's not, actually. There are several empty seats further down the bar, but I appreciate the pretence that his approach is about seating rather than interest.

"I'm Liam, by the way," he offers, extending a hand.

"Emma," I reply, accepting the handshake. His palm is warm and dry, his grip firm without being aggressive.

"Nice to meet you, Emma. Are you here for business or pleasure?"

The standard opening line should feel like a tired cliché, but something in his delivery, a genuine curiosity rather than a rehearsed pickup, makes it ok.

"Business," I say. "Just over from Doha for a few days. You?"

"Same," he says. "Engineering consultation for a project here. Based in Sydney usually, but I've been bouncing around the Gulf for the past few months."

The conversation flows more easily than I expected, moving from work to travel to cultural observations about the region. Liam is intelligent and articulate, with a dry humour that occasionally catches me off guard, eliciting genuine laughs that I didn't think I was capable of right now.

When my glass empties, he gestures to the bartender. "Another round? My treat this time."

I hesitate, the internal conflict immediate and sharp. I have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who cheated, yes, but still technically my boyfriend unless I decide otherwise. Accepting a drink from an attractive stranger in a hotel bar feels like crossing a line.

But Nathan crossed a line too, didn't he? A much more significant one.

"No, thank you," I say, the polite reflex winning out. Then, as Liam nods acceptance without pushing, something shifts inside me. "Actually, yes. I'd like that. Thank you." I'm not sure if I immediately regret saying that or not.

He smiles, and I feel a little flutter in my chest at the sight. "Gin and tonic for the lady," he tells the bartender, "and I'll have another whisky, neat."

As our fresh drinks arrive, I find myself leaning slightly closer, drawn into his orbit as he tells me about growing up in Melbourne, about his unconventional path to engineering through a stint in the Australian Navy. There's an ease to him, a confidence without arrogance that I find increasingly attractive.

"What about you?" he asks after finishing a story about a project gone wrong in Saudi Arabia. "What brings a London girl to Doha?"

"Six month secondment with my firm," I explain. "PR crisis management for energy companies. Not the most ethically spotless work, but it's a stepping stone to where I want to be."

"And where's that?" he asks, genuinely interested.

I hesitate, not used to being asked about my ambitions. Nathan always focuses on the practical aspects of my career... the salary, the benefits, the stability. I can't remember the last time that I was asked about my aspirations.

"Environmental communications," I admit. "Using the same skills but for companies and causes I actually believe in."

"That sounds brilliant," Liam says, his eyes crinkling with his smile. "When does your secondment end?"

"Three more months," I say. "Then back to London."

"Someone waiting for you there?" he asks casually, though the question feels anything but.

The moment of truth. I could lie, could say I'm single and see where this night leads. I could tell the complete truth... yes, someone is waiting, but he betrayed me four days ago and I don't know if I'm going back to him or not. But tonight, I don't want to even get close to the topic. I'm enjoying my evening too much.

"No," I say, too quickly, and I can see from the expression that crosses his face fleetingly that he knows I'm lying, but he also figures that I'm lying for a reason and it's not his place to probe.

There's a long moment where neither of us talk and I can feel myself starting to blush... I've never been any good at telling lies. But I'm grateful to Liam... grateful that he's happy for me to be whoever I want to be for the evening. Not Emma the cheated on girlfriend, just Emma the woman on a business trip.

"So," I say, desperate to change the subject, "tell me about this engineering project that's brought you to Dubai."

He follows my lead, launching into an explanation of sustainable cooling systems for skyscrapers that's surprisingly fascinating. I find myself genuinely engaged, asking questions that lead us into debates about architecture, climate change, and the future of cities.

Two drinks become three then four as the hours slip by unnoticed. I'm not drunk, not quite, just pleasantly warm, more relaxed than I've felt in days. Liam is excellent company... smart, funny, attentive without being overbearing. Under different circumstances...

But these are the circumstances I have. A boyfriend who cheated. A stranger who intrigues me. Three thousand miles from home and all its complications.

"It's getting late," Liam says eventually, glancing at his watch. "I should probably let you go."

"Yes," I agree, though I feel a pang of disappointment. "Early meetings tomorrow."

"Same," he says. "But this was...nice. Unexpected, but nice."

"It was," I admit. "Thank you for the drinks and the conversation."

He signs the check, adding it to his room bill. As we stand to leave, he hesitates, then offers, "My suite has a balcony with a view of the Burj. If you're not ready to call it a night, we could continue the conversation there. Just drinks," he adds quickly. "No expectations."

The invitation hangs between us, loaded with possibility. I should say no. I should thank him for a lovely evening and retreat to my room alone. I should call Nathan and either forgive him or end things definitively before I do something I can't take back.

But the thought of returning to my empty room, to the isolation and hurt that awaits me there, is suddenly unbearable. And beneath the guilt and confusion is something else... a flicker of defiance. Why should I spend another night crying over Nathan's betrayal when I could be enjoying intelligent conversation with a man who makes me laugh, who listens when I speak, who looks at me like I'm the most interesting person in the room?

"One more drink," I hear myself say. "But just that." I pause. "I mean it, just a drink."

Liam's smile widens, genuine pleasure lighting up his face. "Of course. One drink, great conversation, spectacular view. I promise nothing more."

As we walk toward the lifts I feel a complicated blend of emotions... guilt and anticipation, anxiety and excitement, a sense of stepping off a familiar path into unknown territory. I don't know what will happen next. I don't know if I'll keep my own promise of 'just one drink', I don't know if I'm doing this out of loneliness, desire for connection, or some subconscious need to balance the scales with Nathan.

All I know is that for the first time in four days, I'm not drowning in hurt. For this moment, at least, that feels like enough.

The lift climbs silently, its mirrored walls reflecting Liam and me standing at opposite corners. Twenty floors pass in seconds, carrying us toward his suite and whatever comes next. The lobby's bustle fades to memory, replaced by a tension so thick I can almost touch it.

I watch our reflections, me in my jeans, top and heels, him in his jeans, shirt and jacket, and wonder briefly what we must look like to anyone who might see us. A couple? Business associates? A man and woman making a decision they might regret by morning?

"Here we are," Liam says as the doors slide open to reveal a long, deeply carpeted corridor. He leads the way, key card in hand, to a door at the far end... the corner suite.

The lock clicks, the door swings open, and he steps aside to let me enter first. I hesitate for just a heartbeat before crossing the threshold, aware that this small step carries symbolic weight I'm not ready to examine too closely.

The suite is breath-taking, more luxurious than my own already impressive room. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase Dubai's glittering skyline, the Burj Khalifa illuminated like a beacon rising high above us into the night sky. The décor is understated elegance... neutral tones, clean lines, artwork that doesn't compete with the view.

"The balcony's through here," Liam says, moving toward glass doors on the far side of the living area. He slides one open and the warm night air rushes in, carrying with it the faint sounds of the city down below.

I follow him outside, my heels clicking against the tiled floor. The balcony is spacious, furnished with a comfortable-looking outdoor sofa and two chairs around a small table. Low level lighting illuminates the space without diminishing the view.

"What can I get you to drink?" Liam asks, gesturing toward the minibar visible through the open door. "They've stocked the suite pretty well."

"Whatever you're having is fine," I reply, moving to the railing to look out at the city. From this height, Dubai is a luminous circuit board, pulsing with electric life. Skyscrapers pierce the darkness, their windows forming constellations against the night. Below, off to the side, headlights flow like rivers of light along Sheikh Zayed Road.

I hear Liam moving about inside, the clink of glasses, the sound of drinks being poured. I close my eyes briefly, feeling the warm breeze against my skin, trying to quiet the battle raging inside me... guilt versus desire, loyalty versus retribution.

Nathan's face flashes in my mind, the way he looked during that video call, eyes red-rimmed and desperate as he confessed. 'It meant nothing, Em. I swear to god.' But it had meant something to me. It had meant the shattering of trust, the collapse of certainty, the sudden questioning of five years together. A few weeks since he last saw me, a few thousand miles apart, and he couldn't even keep his dick in his trousers. I'm so angry, deep down inside. So, so angry, but I push it down, not wanting it to spoil what has been a much needed enjoyable evening.

"One whiskey, with ice," Liam says, appearing at my side with two crystal tumblers. "Hope that's alright."

"Perfect," I say, accepting the glass, our fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. The small contact sends a current up my arm, and I take a quick sip to disguise my reaction, welcoming the smoky burn.

Liam leans against the railing beside me, a respectful distance between us as he gazes out at the view. "Quite something, isn't it? All of this built in the middle of the desert in just a few decades."

"It's like a mirage," I agree. "Beautiful but somehow unreal."

"That's a good way to put it," he says thoughtfully. "Sometimes I think that about this whole lifestyle... flying around the world, living out of luxury hotels, meeting interesting people who disappear from your life as quickly as they entered. None of it feels quite real."

There's a note of melancholy in his voice that catches me by surprise. "Do you get lonely?" I ask before I can stop myself.

He looks at me, his expression open. "Sometimes. Don't you? In Doha, I mean."

I nod, taking another sip of whiskey. "It's strange being somewhere so foreign, surrounded by people but still feeling separate. The expat community is close knit, but it's also... transient. Everyone knowing they'll leave eventually, and when people know you're leaving in three months you start to get marginalised."

"Transient connections," he says. "That's the phrase I use for it."

"Is that what this is?" I ask, gesturing between us with a smile. "A transient connection?"

The question hangs in the air, more direct than I intended. Liam considers it, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

"I think," he says carefully, "that connections between people are what they are. Some last hours, some last lifetimes. Their duration doesn't necessarily determine their significance."

It's a diplomatic answer but thoughtful enough to feel genuine. I turn back to the view, conscious of his presence beside me, the subtle scent of his cologne carried on the warm night air. We stand in companiable silence, easy, comfortable. I appreciate that he doesn't feel the need to fill the silence with words.

I take a long sip of my whiskey, welcoming the warm haze it creates. "I don't know what I'm doing here," I admit. "This isn't like me."

He smiled. "In what way?"

"Going to the hotel room of a man I just met for a drink... I don't do that."

"Maybe that's okay," he suggests. "Maybe sometimes we need to step outside ourselves to figure out who we really are."

His words echo something I've been feeling since Nathan's confession, that perhaps the person I thought I was, the boundaries I believed were fixed, the certainties I counted on... perhaps they were all more fragile than I realised.

"And you?" I ask, changing the subject. "Why invite a woman you've just met back to your room?" My heart is racing by now, realising that this is where something either happens or it doesn't. Either way, I'll know soon.

He considers this, his gaze direct. "Because from the moment I saw you at the bar, I felt something I haven't felt in a long time. A connection. And yes, you're beautiful, but it's more than that. It's the way you listen, the intelligence in your questions, the smile that transforms your whole face when something genuinely amuses you." He sets his empty glass on the table. "I invited you because I wanted more time with you, whatever that means. Whatever you want it to mean."

His honesty disarms me, strips away the pretence that this is just a friendly nightcap between two travellers. There's an invitation in his words, but also freedom... the space to define this encounter on my own terms.

I step closer to him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. "I'm not sure what I want it to mean yet," I say softly.

"That's okay," he replies, his voice equally quiet. "We don't have to decide everything right now."

The moment stretches between us, taut with possibility. I'm acutely aware of every detail... the slight movement of his broad chest as he breathes, the way the city lights reflect in his eyes, the slight parting of his lips. All I need to do is lean forward slightly, and everything changes.

I take that step before I can change my mind.