I packaged the file, every detail in black and white, and sent it to every college where he’d dared to apply. By the end of the week, they all had his undoing in their hands. Every affair, everybetrayal, every misuse of his position. From what I could see, not a single school wanted to touch him.
Mac told me later about their conversation—how he told Donovan I was happy, that I’d moved on. I know it put him in a terrible spot, forced to choose sides. But I also know this much: when it comes to me, there isn’t a thing Mac wouldn’t do.
Once I sent the file, I texted Elaine back.
Me:The file is sent.
Homewrecker:Meet me at Cedar Oak Lake.
Me:Okay
I hold the phone against my chest, my head resting against the back of my desk chair. For a long minute, I don’t move, the silence in the office pressing in around me. Then I push up, cross to the closet, and tug out a simple sundress. Something easy. Something that doesn’t look like plotting. I part my hair into two long braids, the kind I haven’t worn in years, and catch my reflection in the mirror. Softer. Not the wife or the strategist—just me.
By the time I pull up, Elaine’s already there, leaning against her car, arms folded like she’s been waiting. Her eyes sweep over me once, sharp and quick, but linger long enough that my pulse stutters.
“You don’t usually dress up for me,” she says. Light, but not dismissive.
“Maybe I wasn’t dressing up for you.”
Her mouth curves, slow and knowing. “Then who?”
The air hums between us, all static and implication. We walk together down toward the lake, not saying much, but the silenceisn’t empty—it’s charged. Every glance feels like it lasts too long, every brush of her shoulder too deliberate to be an accident.
When we reach the waterline, she bends to skip a flat stone. I watch her wrist flick, the smooth arc of the rock, and when she straightens, she catches me staring.
“You’re staring,” she says, softer this time.
I don’t deny it.
We walk the path along the lake, our footsteps crunching in the gravel. The air smells like pine and water mixed with her scent of jasmine and honey, and for once, I don’t feel like filling the silence.
Elaine breaks it first. “You know what I don’t get?”“What?”
She glances at me, then away again, almost too casual. “How can you carry all that steel in you and still show up here in braids and a sundress? Like you’re two people at once.”I huff out a laugh. “And which one do you prefer?”
Her eyes cut back to me, sharp and unflinching. “Both. Together. That’s what makes you impossible to look away from.”
The words sink into my chest, heavy and electric all at once. For a beat, I can’t breathe. “You’ve been watching me for a long time,” I say, my voice quieter than I mean it to be. “Longer than you think.”
The way she says it—like a confession but not an apology—makes my pulse stumble. I stop walking without realizing it, and she stops too, close enough that her presence feels like a spark against my skin.
Her gaze drifts, deliberate, down to my mouth. Then back to my eyes. “You’re staring again,” she murmurs.
“So are you.”
It’s enough. She leans in first, slow, deliberate, like she’s daring me to stop her. I don’t. My breath snags, my chest tightens—and then her mouth is on mine.
It isn’t soft. It’s desperate, heated, like we’ve been holding back too long. Her hand is on my jaw, pulling me closer, and I grip her waist without thinking, fingers digging into the thin fabric of her dress. The kiss deepens fast, her mouth opening against mine like she’s been starving for this. My back hits a tree before I realize she’s moved me, bark biting through the cotton of my dress, her body flush with mine.
I should stop. God, I should stop. But when her teeth catch my bottom lip, a broken sound escapes me, and I fist the braid hanging over my shoulder just to ground myself. Her palm drags down my arm, slow and claiming, until her fingers lace with mine and pin them against the tree.
The world narrows to heat and pressure, to the press of her thigh between mine, to the sharp edge of knowing exactly how far we’re crossing. I can feel myself trembling, not from fear but from how much I don’t want to pull away.
When she finally does, it’s like surfacing too fast. She rests her forehead against mine, breath ragged, lips still brushing as she whispers, low and unsteady, “We’re playing with fire.”My voice comes out just as rough. “Then let it burn.”
Elaine’s hand finds mine as we head back toward the cars, tentative at first, then steady. The night air off the lake bites at my skin, but her fingers are warm, grounding, and I don’t let go.
We reach the cars, her body is against her door, and I am standing inches from her. She tilts her head back and studies the sky. “I’ve always loved the night. The way the stars fall into perfect constellations. Dippers, animals… even an infinity symbol, if you look long enough. Beautiful, bright, endless.”
