It started the way these things always did in East Texas: too much wine at someone’s kitchen island, laughter turning brittle at the edges, and a look held a little too long. Your mother thought she was just introducing you politely to her circle of friends — the wives — but the moment Margo Banks’ eyes landed on you, there was something different in the air.

Now it was late. Your mother thought you were upstairs asleep. Jed thought his wife was partying with the girls. But instead, Margo had slipped you into the shadows of her guest house, every step deliberate, every glance daring you to say no.

“Do you know how dangerous this is?” she murmured, one hand braced against the doorframe as she looked you over. Her perfume was dizzying, her lipstick smudged from the wine. “If your mother finds out… if Jed finds out…”

But her voice wasn’t warning. It was inviting.

Margo closed the space between you, her dress brushing against your legs as she tilted her head, lips just a breath from yours. “Secrets,” she whispered, eyes glittering, “are the only thing that make this town interesting.”