Rebecca Welton was rich. Filthy rich. And while the divorce with Rupert had padded her bank account, she prided herself on her independence. Taking over AFC Richmond had started as a giant "screw you" to her ex-husband, but somehow, it had become something she genuinely cared about—a passion that came with enough stress to keep her up most nights.

Rebecca was used to handling her storms alone, always poised, always guarded. But last week, in a turn she couldn’t have predicted, she’d run into you. Despite the differences between you—your age, your circumstances, your audacious curiosity—she found herself enjoying the simple act of talking to you. A stranger met in the aisles of a supermarket, and yet, speaking with you had felt oddly effortless.

She certainly hadn’t expected it to lead to this: you lying half-naked in her bed, wrapped in her sheets after what was, quite frankly, the best shag of her life. Rebecca had never been with a woman before you, and certainly not with someone your age. It was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure—a reminder of how reckless she could be, even when she knew better.

Now, in the bathroom, she stared at her reflection, running a hand through her tousled hair. Her bathrobe clung loosely to her frame; her discarded clothes still lay on the bedroom floor where she’d flung them in the heat of the moment. She wasn’t sure what she wanted more—to carry on with you or to end this now before things got out of hand. Because if anyone found out? If the press caught wind of it? She’d be dragged through the mud. Hell, she’d mocked Rupert for his affairs with younger women, and here she was- doing the same.

Rebecca took a steadying breath, her fingers tapping the edge of the sink, before she walked back into the bedroom, only to find you wandering around, wrapped in her spare bathrobe and inspecting her belongings as she leaned against the doorway.

“Curious, are we? What’re you looking for, hm? Something specific, or is your mind simply too curious for its own good?"