Mag-log inLaurel’s POVI stayed in the bedroom for several minutes after Amanda left.The cream dress hung loosely from my fingers, its delicate fabric slipping against my skin as though even it had forgotten what it was supposed to do.My mind kept circling the same thought.There’s nothing going on.The lie sat heavily inside me.Perhaps it wasn't the kind of lie that could destroy a marriage on its own.But it was still a lie.Something had happened with Julian.Something I had promised myself would never happen again.Something I was still trying desperately to understand.I placed the dress carefully on the bed.Then I looked at myself in the mirror.For a moment, I barely recognized the woman staring back.My hair was still perfectly arranged from Amanda's earlier fussing. My makeup was soft, understated, expensive enough to look effortless. The woman in the mirror looked composed.Elegant.Controlled.Exactly the woman everyone expected Professor Laurel Leonard to be.But beneath all of
Laurel’s POVBy two in the afternoon, the penthouse had been transformed into a temporary luxury showroom. Garment bags hung draped over the backs of dining chairs, the sofa, and the high bar stools. Italian leather heels lined the marble trim beneath the console table, designer handbags were arranged across the island, and velvet jewelry boxes sat stacked beside the crystal fruit bowl.I turned slowly toward Amanda. "Did you rob a department store?""I curated," she replied, not looking the least bit apologetic."You brought enough clothes to dress in a small country.""You're welcome." Amanda was thirty-eight and possessed the rare ability to enter any room and immediately behave as though she owned the floor beneath her feet. A high-end stylist by profession, fashion was less a career for her and more an uncompromising religion. Today, she wore wide-legged cream trousers, a fitted black bodysuit, chunky gold hoops, and enough effortless posture to make the entire ensemble look li
Laurel’s POVIt was a lecture-free day for me.I had no classes scheduled, and any administrative loose ends could easily be handled from my home office. Yet, despite having nowhere to be, I woke up unusually early. By six-thirty, I was already in the kitchen, driven by habit, motherhood, or perhaps just the quiet necessity of keeping my hands occupied so my mind wouldn't drift.I opened the refrigerator and began taking stock of its contents. vegetables that needed replacing, milk nearing its expiration, a container of strawberries that had seen better days. I made a mental grocery list, tossed the spoiled fruit into the trash, and crouched down to check the lower cabinets.There was a quiet, grounding comfort in these domestic routines. For a few stolen minutes, I wasn't Professor Laurel Leonard. I wasn't a woman trapped in a marriage she no longer recognized, nor the woman who still woke up breathless from nightmares about a baby lost months ago. I was simply a wife and a mother
Laurel’s POVThe knocking came again, three soft, rhythmic taps against the wood. I quickly turned my phone face down on the marble counter, as though hiding Leonard's cold text message could somehow dull its sting."Come in."The door swung open slowly, and Lilibeth peeked inside. She was draped in an oversized university sweatshirt and loose pajama pants, her dark hair tossed into a chaotic bun. A pair of headphones rested loosely around her neck, her phone clutched in one hand. Her dark eyes swept over the room, tracking from the cooling gel patch stuck to my forehead, to the sleek black package sitting beside the basin, and finally landing on my face."You look terrible," she said bluntly.I raised an eyebrow. "Thank you."A small grin tugged at her lips. "You know what I mean."Despite the heavy, suffocating weight in my chest, a faint smile broke through. "Come here."She stepped inside and let the door click shut behind her. Instead of sitting beside me."Why are you on the fl
Julian's POVI didn't open my notebook. I didn't click my pen.Around me, forty upper-level students were frantically scribbling down every word that left her mouth, treating her slides like holy scripture. In the rows behind me, I could hear the quiet, intimidated whispers of the regulars. “Did you see how Vance handled her the last time?” “He’s terrifyingly smart.” “I heard the upstate department tried to fast-track his thesis.”I ignored them entirely. I didn't care about their assessment of my intelligence. My intellect was a tool, a weapon engineered for a single, devastating purpose, and right now, the only validation I required was the frantic rhythm of the vein pulsing at the base of Laurel’s throat.While the rest of the room stared blindly at the projection screen, I just watched her eyes.I knew exactly what I was doing to her. Every time I shifted my weight in the tiered desk, every time I let my dark, gold-flecked gaze slow-burn across her mouth, I was intentionally pu
Laurel’s POVBy Friday afternoon, the relentless Manhattan rain had finally given way to a crisp, brilliant autumn sunshine that flooded the campus with long, amber shadows. I stood before the small mirror in my office vanity, smoothing down the lapels of my charcoal-gray blazer and ensuring not a single strand of hair had escaped my flawless, tightly pinned low bun.I looked exactly as the head of the Behavioral Psychology Department should, composed, untouchable, and firmly in control.But as I gathered my lecture notes for the 2:00 PM seminar, my fingers were laced with a fine, persistent tension. The memory of Wednesday’s encounter in the hallway, the effortless, flirty audacity Julian had displayed right in front of Amanda, had left a humming electricity beneath my skin that I hadn't been able to shake for forty-eight hours.I took a deep, steadying breath, picked up my briefcase, and walked down the corridor toward the Lecture Hall.When I pushed the double doors open, the roo







