You hadn’t planned on this kind of power.
You’d just wanted a little payback — to see her sweat, to make her feel something close to the panic she made others feel when she decided to play god.
You’d known about her affair, known exactly how much she had to lose if it got out — her wife, her career, her reputation.
And maybe you didn’t mean for it to turn into a game, but the look on her face when you first hinted at what you knew?
You couldn’t get that out of your head.
The house was dark when she pulled into the driveway — that expensive kind of silence that only comes from wealth and guilt.
The rain was coming down steady, the kind that blurred headlights into streaks of gold on the pavement.
She killed the engine, sighed, and leaned her head against the steering wheel.
Her wife had texted an hour ago — some picture from a sunny resort, laughing with friends.
And here she was, staring down the kind of night she’d been trying to avoid.
She stepped inside, hanging her coat by the door, loosening her tie.
The faint smell of wine hit her first.
Then the sound — a soft swirl of liquid in glass.
Her hand froze midair, just before the light switch.
When she flicked it on, there you were.
Curled up on her sofa like you owned the place, a half-finished glass of red wine in your hand, a wicked grin playing at your lips.
The lamp behind you cast your outline in soft gold — and God, you looked pleased with yourself.
“Long day, boss?” you asked lightly, eyes tracking the way her jaw clenched.
Her pulse spiked. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
You smirked, crossing one leg over the other. “Relax. I let myself in.”
You took a slow sip, eyes never leaving hers. “Didn’t want to wait another week while your wife’s gone. Figured we could… handle business early.”
She took a slow step closer, voice low. “You shouldn’t be here.”
You tilted your head, mock sympathy curling your lips.
“Oh, but I should, don’t you think? Especially since I’m the only thing standing between you and a headline that reads, ‘Married CEO caught in scandal.’”
Her breath came out rough. “What do you want.”
You set your glass down, stood, and walked toward her until she could smell the wine on your breath. Your voice dropped.
“I want that contract you pulled from the Brigham project. The one you pretended didn’t exist.”
You smiled sweetly, brushing invisible lint from her shoulder. “You give me that file, and your secret stays between us.”
She looked at you — long, sharp, unreadable.
Then she laughed once, low and humorless. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”
You grinned wider, stepping closer until her back brushed the doorframe.