NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: OK, I'M REALLY INSPIRED TODAY. JUST WROTE THIS IN ABOUT 45 MINS. I HOPE YOU ENJOY.

I have a name. James Fox. The wife fucker. I get my guy do a thorough background check. He's a lawyer with his own firm. He has an ex-wife in New York, no kids. His dad was a lawyer, too. Retired now. His mom was a teacher. They live in Florida. He has two sisters, one older, one younger. He's 35. What the fuck does she want with this kid? Along with this information is a new photo. He's a handsome motherfucker. I can see him more clearly in this picture, he's not obscured by my wife.

Although I saw all the photos, saw her driving away without him, my mind still creates the next scene, a continuation of the story. He will have followed her home – those kisses won't have been enough. I know Ana, it's hard to get your fill. She will have opened the door, allowed him access. She will be flattered, he will be forceful... I pick up the closest thing to hand, a half-full glass of water and hurl it at the wall. I cannot bear the thought of him being in my bed, being in my wife. I grab my sneakers and go for a run.

As I run, I formulate a plan. I can think more clearly when I'm outside than when I'm cooped up in my office, or in the hotel suite. By the time I've completed my 5k, my next moves are all mapped out and I'm back in control.

My cell buzzes and I reach for it, a little lazily, languidly.

"Grey? You got a pencil? Write this down."

15 minutes later, I'm giving my keys plus a hefty tip to the valet. He grins gratefully – funny what a little money can do. As I approach the restaurant, I see them. She's facing me, radiant, as if she's emanating light. Just the sight of her stops me in my tracks, floors me. I have to get her back again. I watch her face break into a smile and I feel pain like a punch in my gut. I want that smile. I want it back. It's not his.

The doorman hurries to open the door for me and I swoop inside, propelled by anger and my resolve. I push past the pretty greeter and head for their table. She sees me from the corner of her eye and her hand flies up to her mouth.

"Christian?" Her voice is a gasp.

Her companion turns in his chair, his face set in defiance.

"Ana. James. What a surprise."

"Christian, what are you doing here?" She sounds scared. She should.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" He has risen from his chair and is now eyeing me. We're practically the same height, the same build. What he doesn't know is what I'm capable of when I'm angry.

I tut, a quiet noise, laden with danger. "I know a lot about you, Mr Fox." He's still staring at me, unblinking. He's making this more of a challenge than I thought it would be.

"Ana, who the hell is he?" He turns to her, to consult her, like they're a team. I burn black anger from the inside out. It controls my hands, curls them into capable fists.

"He's my ex." Her whispered words stab me through and through. I swing my left fist and make contact with his jaw. The movement is swift and I am rewarded with a neat crack. He clatters onto the table as Ana jumps up.

"CHRISTIAN!" Her anguish halts my hand, stops me from following my left fist with my right. Before I can address her, Fox pushes himself up and swings at me. I feel a returned punch as his fist makes satisfying contact with my cheekbone. I am launched back, onto a table behind. It's so shocking, so unexpected, that I start to laugh. I see the diners faces loom over me, eyes wide with shock.

I use the table as leverage and throw myself back into the fight, feeling good, feeling alive, feeling vital. Fox and I meet in mid-air, clutching at the other's neck, trying to gain purchase. We crash back to the floor, a flailing mess of limbs. And then he's stopping, not returning my kicks, my punches. He's letting me win. Why?

It's then I hear her voice, sweet as a Siren's. All I'd heard was the raging sea of blood in my ears.

"Leave it James. Please. He's not worth it. Please." My fists slow to a stop. And then she's touching me, her hands on my arms, my shoulders. I lean back into her. I've won. And then I realise she's pulling me off him, to get to him, to check that he's alright. I can't believe it. I stagger back in shock.

She kneels beside him, smoothing his hair, wiping his face. I step forward.

"Ana..."

"GO HOME, CHRISTIAN. JUST GO. LEAVE ME ALONE!" She shouts this over her shoulder at me. I'm once again surprised by my wife's ferocity. She used to use it to fight my corner, against Elena and others she thought had wronged me. Now she was using it against me.

"I will fight for you, Ana. You have to understand. I will get you back." I watch her back stiffen at my words.

She stands, leaving her suitor on the floor, and looks up at me.

"It's over. Please. Why can't you just let me move on? Move away from you? Please don't do this to me." She starts to cry, softly. She seems so tired, like she's given up the fight.

"I just can't believe it." I'm being honest, as honest as I was in Flynn's office, as honest as I should be with my wife.

"You have to. You're free. You can do whatever you want. But you need to let me do the same."

"I love you."

She nods. "If you really love me, let me go. Let me be. Please." She leans up and deposits the sweetest of kisses on my swollen cheek. Her tears stain my face. The kiss feels like goodbye.