OBSESSED WITH MY HUSBAND’s FRIEND

The red lipstick stain on Alexander's collar makes my hands tremble as I hold the divorce papers.It's not my shade. I wear nude tones…always have, ever since Alexander mentioned how "garish" red looked on me during our first year of marriage.But someone else clearly doesn't share his preferences."Good morning, Sophia." His voice carries that clipped, professional tone he uses with everyone…his assistant, the doorman, his wife.I quickly shove the unsigned divorce papers under a stack of charity board documents, forcing my expression into the mask I've perfected. "Morning. Coffee's fresh."He's already dressed for the day in a charcoal suit that probably costs more than most people make in six months. His dark hair is perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. At thirty-two, Alexander Kane looks like he stepped off the cover of Forbes magazine, which he has….Twice.And apparently, he's been stepping into someone else's bed."The Nakamura meeting moved to eight-thirty." He doesn

I'm staring at the latest text when the barista calls out "Medium oat milk latte, no foam" for the third time.That's my order. Every Tuesday at 11:15, just like the message said.The coffee shop on Fifth Street is my one sanctuary in this city of surveillance. Exposed brick walls, mismatched vintage furniture, and a handwritten chalkboard menu that changes daily.It's the kind of place Alexander would never set foot in…too casual, too unpredictable for his taste.Which is exactly why I love it."Sorry," I mumble, grabbing my latte from the counter. My hands are still shaking from the message I received this morning: "I still remember how you smelled that night behind the bleachers. Vanilla and rebellion.""You okay?" Maya, the barista with purple streaks in her hair, gives me a concerned look. "You seem off today."Even she notices. God, I really am falling apart."Just tired," I lie, then hate myself for how easily that comes now.I find my usual table in the corner, where I can w

Alexander is home early, and I can hear him in his study making phone calls in the clipped tone he uses for serious business.I search our bedroom frantically, looking for whatever Derek left behind. In my dresser drawer, underneath my silk nightgowns, I find it.A single red rose, still fresh, with a note tied to the stem in handwriting I recognize. "For the girl who used to wear red lipstick and ride motorcycles. She's still in there somewhere."My hands won't stop shaking. Derek was in our home. In our bedroom. He touched my things, violated the one space that was supposed to be safe."Sophia?" Alexander's voice comes from the living room. "Can you come here for a moment?"I quickly hide the rose and note, trying to compose myself before facing my husband.I find him standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, still in his suit but with his tie loosened. He's holding a glass of whiskey, which is never a good sign at three in the afternoon."Is everything okay?" I ask, keeping my voic

An hour later, I'm walking through Central Park beside Derek, trying to pretend this is normal. That having my high school obsession manipulate his way back into my life is somehow acceptable.The autumn air is crisp, and joggers weave around us on the winding paths. Everything looks peaceful, ordinary—the complete opposite of how I feel inside."You canceled three board meetings for this," I say, my voice tight with resentment."And how did that feel?" Derek asks, hands in his jacket pockets as he walks with easy confidence. "Saying no to obligations that don't really matter to you?""They do matter. The literacy foundation helps underprivileged—""Sophia." He stops walking, turning to face me. "When's the last time you did something because you wanted to, not because it looked good for Alexander's image?"I open my mouth to argue, then close it. The honest answer is too depressing to say out loud."That's what I thought." Derek's smile is gentle, almost sad. "Come on. There's someth

I wake to the sound of raised voices from the living room.Alexander and Derek are arguing about something, their words muffled but the tension unmistakable. The digital clock reads 6:43 AM—too early for a casual disagreement. I slip out of bed and pad quietly to the bedroom door, pressing my ear against the wood."...completely inappropriate," Alexander is saying, his voice tight with barely controlled anger."I disagree." Derek's tone is calm, almost amused. "She's clearly intelligent. Why not use that?""Because that's not what she's for."The words hit me like ice water. That's not what she's for."What exactly is she for, then?" Derek asks, and there's something dangerous in his voice now."She's my wife. She has a role to play, and last night she forgot what that role was.""Maybe the role is the problem."A long silence follows, heavy with unspoken threats."I think you're forgetting yourself, Derek," Alexander says finally. "This is my home, my wife, my life. You're a gues