Two

 Katherine’s POV

The next evening, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection like I was meeting a stranger. The woman looking back at me wasn’t the quiet, careful version I’d been for years.

I slipped into a red dress the first time I’d worn one since my wedding. For years, I’d stuck to gray, beige, soft blues. Safe colors. Colors that never drew attention. But tonight, I wanted to be seen.

The fabric clung to my body like confidence I hadn’t felt in years. I brushed my hair over one shoulder and applied lipstick the same shade as the dress. My reflection looked… different. Stronger. Colder. The kind of woman who didn’t wait for anyone’s approval.

For once, I wasn’t dressing for Lester. I was dressing for myself.

When I walked into the hotel bar, the air felt alive. Soft jazz played in the background, and the clinking of glasses blended with low conversation. The place smelled faintly of whiskey , elegant and a little dangerous and I felt Out of place. 

I took a seat at the bar, crossing my legs and pretending my pulse wasn’t racing. I wasn’t here for love. I wasn’t here to flirt, not really. I was here to take back something Lester had stolen from me.

If he could make me feel small, humiliated, unwanted… then I would remind myself that I was still capable of being wanted.

I ordered a drink I couldn’t pronounce and forced my hands to stop trembling. When I looked across the room, I saw him.

He sat alone near the corner, broad shoulders under a dark suit, the collar of his shirt slightly undone. His posture was relaxed but alert, like he owned the air around him. His eyes, dark, steady, almost unreadable, found mine.

We held the look longer than strangers should.

Something shifted inside me, a pull I didn’t understand but didn’t want to resist.

He stood, slow and deliberate, and crossed the room toward me. Every step felt intentional. When he stopped in front of me, his voice was low, smooth, and confident.

“Your first time here?”

“Was it so obvious?” I said, meeting his gaze. My voice didn’t shake.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Not obvious. Just… refreshing.”

There was something about him calm, assured, dangerous in the quiet way that made people listen when he spoke. Everything about him was what Lester used to pretend to be.

He gestured to the empty seat beside me. “May I?”

I nodded.

The bartender refilled my glass without asking. The man didn’t ask for my name, and I didn’t ask for his. It felt easier that way, like the rules didn’t apply here.

We talked. Not about love or work or responsibilities. Just about everything and nothing. His voice was smooth, his laughter low and genuine. For the first time in years, I felt like someone was looking at me not through me, not past me.

When I stood to leave, my heart was pounding, though I tried to hide it. He reached out and caught my wrist gently, his touch steady and warm.

“If you came here to clear your head,” he said softly, “you should do it properly. You’re still fidgeting.”

I looked down at where his hand held mine, then back up at him. “I’m not fidgeting,” I said, though my pulse told me. “Tonight isn’t about that. It’s for me.”

His eyes softened slightly, but his grip didn’t loosen right away. “Then stay. At least until you stop pretending you’re fine.”

Something inside me broke open at those words. I sat back down.

And for the next few hours, I forgot everything else: my name, my title, my marriage, even the weight of my ring that I’d stopped wearing. I laughed until my cheeks hurt. I let the warmth of the room, the music, the sound of his voice blur the edges of all the pain I’d carried.

For the first time in years, I was just Katherine.

When he leaned closer, the world seemed to still. I could smell the faint cologne on his collar, feel the heat of his breath near my skin. It wasn’t planned, nothing about it was but when our lips met, it felt like breathing after drowning.

Everything else faded.

The night unfolded in flashes — whispered words, tangled sheets, the hum of city lights spilling through the hotel window. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even comfortable. It was released. It was me remembering what it felt like to be wanted, to be alive.

When morning came, the bed beside me was empty. The pillow still held the faint scent of his cologne, but he was gone. No note. No goodbye.

And strangely, that was fine.

For the first time in a long while, I didn’t cry. I just sat there, the sheet pulled loosely around me, staring out the window as the sunlight crept across the room. My body felt both heavy and weightless.

Lester had cheated. Now I have too.

Was that revenge? Maybe. Or maybe it was freedom the first taste of it, sharp and bitter and addictive.

When I got home, the mansion was as cold as ever. The curtains were drawn, the air too quiet. Lester wasn’t there. His car wasn’t in the driveway.

He hadn’t noticed I was gone or if he had, he didn’t care.

Later that evening, he came in wearing the same clothes from the day before. I almost laughed when I realized what that meant.

He’d slept out, too.

Neither of us said a word about it. We just existed in the same space, strangers playing house.

—-------

Weeks passed.

I threw myself into work, social events, anything to fill the silence between us. Sometimes I caught myself smiling at memories of that night not because of him, but because of how I had felt. Strong. In control. Untouchable.

Then came the nausea.

At first, I thought it was stress or bad sleep. But when the dizziness started, when the smell of coffee made me sick, I knew something wasn’t right.

I sat in the clinic, my hands trembling against the paper sheet on the examination bed. The walls felt too white, too quiet.

The doctor’s voice was calm when she said it, but her words crashed through me like thunder.

“You’re pregnant.”

I blinked at her, not sure I’d heard right. “What?”

She repeated it gently. “You’re about six weeks along.”

Six weeks.

My mind raced counting days, rewinding time, tracing every decision I’d made. My heart was pounding so hard it drowned out everything else.

The room suddenly felt too small. I pressed a hand to my stomach, the weight of the moment hitting me all at once.

I didn’t know what to feel. Panic? Shame? Relief?

But then a strange calm washed over me.

Maybe this was fate’s way of evening the score. Maybe it was karma. Or maybe, for once, it was my turn to hold the cards.

When I got home that night, I sat on the edge of my bed, the pregnancy test still in my hand. The small pink line stared back at me undeniable.

I let out a shaky breath, my lips parting as the whisper slipped out before I could stop it.

“Lester,” I said softly, my voice steady, almost cold, “you just lost your game”