In revenge, I became his brother's secret lover. Until his out-of-control kiss...-10
Hit the Brakes?
Emerging, rain eased. Damp chill hung heavy. Side by side under a narrow awning, adrift. Neon reflections fragmented in puddles, mirroring my confusion. Jason was silent for ages. Then, low, strained: "Sarah... have we gone too far?" His words pierced my core. Not pain—panic. Naked shame.
I lashed out instinctively, voice sharp: "Too far? This is barely the start!" A brittle laugh. "Think he’ll believe without realism? All those 'chance' meetings, planted 'evidence'—wasn't this the point?!" My voice rose, raging at him, at my own wavering self. "Stopping now? Waste it all? Let him win?!" Stop? Impossible! The thought terrified me. Admitting "too far" meant plunging into an abyss. I clung to revenge—my only raft—fighting the current, refusing to look back.
The Door Opens
Hallway light sliced the gloom, pinning David’s tired frame. His practiced smile for expected "surprises" froze—then cracked, crumbling instantly. Flickering candles cast a warm, deceptive glow. Roses, red wine... Jason and I, glasses raised, clinking—the sound razor-sharp in the silence. Time stretched. I saw exhaustion vanish, replaced by shock, then cold, betrayed despair. His lips moved soundlessly. Knuckles on the doorframe whitened. "You..." he rasped, voice shredded—a sound scraped from his soul. Not a question. An agonized cry.
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Emerging, rain eased. Damp chill hung heavy. Side by side under a narrow awning, adrift. Neon reflections fragmented in puddles, mirroring my confusion. Jason was silent for ages. Then, low, strained: "Sarah... have we gone too far?" His words pierced my core. Not pain—panic. Naked shame.
I lashed out instinctively, voice sharp: "Too far? This is barely the start!" A brittle laugh. "Think he’ll believe without realism? All those 'chance' meetings, planted 'evidence'—wasn't this the point?!" My voice rose, raging at him, at my own wavering self. "Stopping now? Waste it all? Let him win?!" Stop? Impossible! The thought terrified me. Admitting "too far" meant plunging into an abyss. I clung to revenge—my only raft—fighting the current, refusing to look back.
Birthday "Surprise"
David's birthday arrived—the payoff. A staged adultery scene designed to shatter his pride. Timing was precise: project meeting end + commute, ±15 minutes. That sliver was our stage. Ambiance crafted: lights low, dim lamp by the sofa. I wore silk pajamas David hadn't seen in ages; Jason undid shirt buttons, loosened tie. Traces of David’s cologne lingered. Half-eaten cake, drained wineglasses on the table—a scene interrupted. My heart pounded; palms slick. We waited silently for the key in the lock. Air solidified; each second stretched. Not fear—a volatile mix of tension, hatred, and dark anticipation. We’d deliver an unforgettable "gift" on his proudest day.
The Door Opens
Hallway light sliced the gloom, pinning David’s tired frame. His practiced smile for expected "surprises" froze—then cracked, crumbling instantly. Flickering candles cast a warm, deceptive glow. Roses, red wine... Jason and I, glasses raised, clinking—the sound razor-sharp in the silence. Time stretched. I saw exhaustion vanish, replaced by shock, then cold, betrayed despair. His lips moved soundlessly. Knuckles on the doorframe whitened. "You..." he rasped, voice shredded—a sound scraped from his soul. Not a question. An agonized cry.
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