Chapter 5 Oh God. Alex.
Sarah dropped the phone as if it had turned into a snake. She looked at her closed door. He was right downstairs. He was sitting next to her son, typing that while Mark was right there. The sheer audacity of it made her dizzy. He wasn't just attracted to her; he was playing a game, and he was winning at this game.
A soft knock on her door made her jump so violently she nearly fell off the bed.
"Mom? You okay in there?" It was Mark.
"Yes! Yes, honey," she called out, her voice cracking. "Just... just a long day at the office. I'm fine."
“Okay. Did you get something for yourself before heading home? Say, something to eat for dinner, or you'd have to make something for yourself?”
“I'm good, honey. I'll fix myself when I want. You guys enjoy yourselves.”
"Okay. Alex is heading out soon, but we’re gonna grab some more soda first. Do you want anything?"
"No, thank you, I'm just good."
She heard Mark’s footsteps move away. A moment later, a second set of footsteps followed.
“Dear lord,” she whispered.
She knew what was coming and she didn't have the power to do anything about it. The footsteps were heavy and deliberate.
They stopped right outside her door. Sarah held her breath, her eyes locked on the handle. She could feel him on the other side. She could almost feel his heat through the wood.
A soft whisper came through the door, so quiet she almost missed it.
"Don't hide from me, mama. It only makes me want to find you more."
Then, the footsteps continued down the stairs.
Sarah collapsed back onto the pillows, her mind filled with lust and shame. She wanted to scream at him to leave her alone, and she wanted to open the door and pull him inside.
"What am I doing?" she whispered into the silence of the room.
She knew she had to go back downstairs. If she stayed up here, Mark would get suspicious. She had to play the part of the mother. She had to look Alex in the eye and show him he didn't own her.
She stood up, straightened her clothes, and walked to the mirror. She rubbed her cheeks to bring some color to her pale face and took a deep, shaky breath.
"You are Sarah Hayes," she told her reflection. "You are in control."
But as she reached for the doorknob, her phone buzzed again.
It was Alex.
“I'm leaving now. But check your pillow. I left you a reminder of what's coming tonight if you play the good girl you've been to me.”
Sarah turned slowly toward her bed. She hadn't even seen him enter the room, but there, tucked just slightly under the corner of her pillow, was a single, dark velvet ribbon—the exact fabric he had described in his text.
He had been in her room while she was downstairs talking to Mark. He was moving through her house like a ghost.
She picked up the ribbon, the fabric soft and expensive against her skin. Her resolve crumbled. She wasn't in control. She wasn't the CEO or the mother right now. She was just a woman caught in a storm she had helped create.
Sarah walked to the window and watched Mark's car pull away. She knew she should throw the ribbon away. She should delete his number. She should tell Mark everything.
Instead, she pressed the velvet to her lips and closed her eyes, already wondering when the next text would come.
_______
Sarah woke up with the dark velvet ribbon still tangled in her sheets, a physical reminder of the night before. Her head throbbed. She reached for her phone, expecting a provocative message from Alex, but her stomach dropped when she saw the name on the screen instead.
Joseph. Four missed calls and one urgent text.
“Sarah, we need to talk. There’s something important I need to know.”
Panic flared in her chest. The feeling was cold and sharp at the same time. Joseph hadn't reached out like this since the divorce papers were finalized.
Did he know she was involved with their son's best friend? No, that was impossible. He lived across town; he barely saw Mark. But the "important" part made her uncomfortable.
Her thumbs shook as she typed back:
“What is it, Joseph? I’m busy today.”
The reply was instant.
“We can meet after you close. Or I can come to the house. I’d like to see Mark anyway.”
Sarah’s heart hammered against her ribs. The house? With Alex potentially dropping by? With the scent of her own secrets still hanging in the hallway?
“Mark is twenty-two, Joseph,” she typed, her jaw tight. “If he wants to see you, he has his own car and his own phone. You are not coming to my house. I’ll meet you at the bistro near my office at six.”
She threw the phone aside and stared at the ceiling. Her life was becoming a house of cards.
On one side, she had a son who looked at her with pure, innocent trust. On the other, she had an ex-husband who still knew exactly how to make her skin crawl with a single sentence. And in the middle, she had Alex—the fire that threatened to burn the whole house down.
Oh God. Alex.