Yvonne used to feed me in public, always making sure I didn’t drink too much, too. Every birthday, she gave me handmade gifts with long, heartfelt letters that made it seem like I was the only man in her world.
I used to believe that, but not anymore. I tossed off the covers, got out of bed and pulled back the curtains.
Outside, Yvonne—thinking I was still asleep—slipped into her car, moving carefully, quietly. Then she drove off.
I watched the empty driveway for a long time. This relationship was done. Or at least, it should have been.
The next morning, I rolled over and felt Yvonne’s warm shoulder beneath my hand. She yawned, stretching like a cat. “Jordan, you’re awake? Are you hungry?”
I wanted to believe her, that she had been lying next to me all night. She never left.
But the perfume clinging to her skin wasn’t hers. The scent of shower gel, one that didn’t belong in this house, lingered on her.
I forced a smile. “I'm not hungry. You should go to work.”
She hesitated but got up anyway, heading downstairs. Soon, the sound of eggs sizzling filled the air, the scrape of a knife against the cutting board.
From the outside, everything seemed normal. But the fresh scratches on her neck and the dark red marks on her arms told another story.
By the time she came back upstairs, she was dressed, makeup light but perfect. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Don't go to work today. Just rest.”
Years ago, when her business was just starting out, the audit reports had errors. She barely slept, barely ate. The stress wore her down. That company was everything to her and I couldn’t just stand by and watch.
So I took the fall. Became the guy who "saved" everything—the big hero, the perfect fiancé. Now that the company was running smoothly, I had no reason to go back. But that wasn’t why she wanted me to stay home.
A text had popped up on her phone that morning. [I'm coming to see you today. Brought you a love lunch box, yours truly.]
Attached were a few pictures—flirty, suggestive and definitely not work-related. Of course, she definitely didn’t want me showing up.
I nodded. “Alright. I’ll stay home.”
She smiled, satisfied, grabbed her bag and walked out the door. And yet, for some reason, I still found myself getting into my car and driving after her.
It took me three minutes to pull into the underground garage. Three minutes too long.
By the time I got there, I saw them; Yvonne and some guy in a suit. She wasn’t pushing him away. If anything, she was leaning in.
His hands were on her, familiar, possessive. Her eyes never left him, not even for a second. Then he stopped, looking down at her with a smirk. “Do you swear to me? You really didn’t touch him?”
Yvonne laughed, fingers running through his hair. “Why would I? He’s disgusting after coming out of prison. Why would I want to? Besides…” She trailed a finger down his tie, eyes playful. “Don’t I have you?”
And just like that, she kissed him. Slow. Deep. Like she meant it, like there was nothing else matter in her world now.
When she finally pulled away, she sighed, glancing at her watch. “Ugh, I have to go to work.”
Then, as if it was an afterthought, she pushed him back against the hood of the car, tilting his chin up. “From now on, you’re my secretary. Your desk will be in my office.”
Then she hesitated. “But don’t tell anyone. On paper, Linda still has that position. No one can know.”
The guy smirked, tugging at the ribbon on her blouse. “I understand, Ma’am.”
I didn’t react. Didn’t move, just wiped my tears, deleted the car’s driving record and sat there, watching as they walked into the building like nothing had happened.
And as I drove away, I couldn’t stop wondering, when Yvonne came home tonight, would she pretend nothing happened? Or would she look at me like I was disgusting, as she said?
