I knew handsome men, I'd had handsome men before. Handsome alone didn't keep me interested.
But Paul was also charming as hell. Not like the men I'd been around before—charming to get you out of your panties kind of way. No, everyonelikedPaul. People called his name, asked after his family, and reminisced about stories that meant nothing to me. That intrigued me. You could fake a lot, you couldn't fake that.
He intrigued me at first, then we got paired up for a couple of projects and started spending more and more time together. He was nice, a little too nice, and I wasn't sure I liked that completely. It caught me off guard, and it made me question every word he ever said to me. Men who were nice to me in the past had an underlying meaning to their words.
The more time I spent with him, the more potential I saw in him.
Our boss, Joe, wouldn't shut up about Paul. The golden boy, hopefully gunning for his job one day, so he could pass themantle.
Then he said something that really intrigued me—
Potential future Mayor.
It all flashed in front of my eyes like a revelation—a second chance, a way out of this, an escape from sharing an apartment, from credit card bills, from struggling month to month just to try to claw my way out of this shithole.
From loneliness.
Paul could be Mayor—money, influence, power. Then maybe Governor. I could see it as clear as day in my mind, the future my mother wanted, the one she almost had. Before I ruined it.
But I could still have it.
A poetic little fuck you to that bitch.
I could picture her face if she saw me—married to a Mayor, living in a lovely house with a handsome husband, maybe popping out a couple of brats, living comfortably, and being the envy among the women in the community. Easy. I could have an easy future. Not the glitz I had thought I would have in the past, but still good. Still worthy.
Then Paul said the word fiancée, and I faltered, only for a moment. It was a caution sign, not a stoplight. I remained patient, working closely with Paul and putting a little more care into my appearance, noting when his gaze lingered too long on something I could tell he liked. He talked about her all the time, though.
Sophie.
Pictures of her were on his desk, of them through their years together. She was a beautiful girl, even I could admit that. Shiny dark hair, nice skin, pretty eyes, a bright smile. The kind of girl I used to chew up and spit out when I was a teenager. Paul looked at her in those photos like he couldn't believe she was real, and spoke of her as if she were a treasure.
I met her once when she stopped by City Hall during an event.I sized her up in person. She was kind, genuinely kind, and sweet in a way that made me roll my eyes. I could see that people were endeared to her like they were to Paul.
But she was competition, and I had never backed down before.
Patience I cautioned myself, this wouldn't be something that could be done overnight. I calculated. I planned. I took my time, slowly chipping away at him bit by bit.
We spent more time together—lunches that ran over, time spent at his desk, sitting in the chair, and crossing my legs to bring attention to them. He would look, gaze lingering on them for only a second before sliding away and looking at his and Sophie's engagement picture on his desk.
He was devoted. He loved her. He was faithful. And yet...
I could tell he genuinely enjoyed spending time with me. We developed some inside jokes, learned each other's usual meals and coffee orders, and he seemed enamored when I spoke of my life—the version I curated, the one that made me most attractive to him. I grew up in luxury, wrapped in it, but I knew how appealing it looked from the outside in. I saw the look in people's eyes when I walked by. I knew how to play the fucking game.
He was a tough one to crack, but eventually they all do.
Until Paul came in one day—pale, eyes red-rimmed, looking shell-shocked.
I played the part of the concerned friend and coworker, laying a hand on his shoulder and asking him gently, "Paul, what happened? Is everything okay?"
Sophie. Lump. Maybe cancer. Terrified.
Jackpot.
The game was easy after that, and honestly, Paul seemed so receptive to my kind words, my reassurances, my support, and my carefully chosen words.
"Paul, you have to take care ofyourself, too..."
You consume, or you're consumed.
