The Seven-Year Itch: Three Days To Disappear
On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife, Blair, the daughter of the city's richest man, straddled my lap, her kiss deep and intoxicating as she toyed with my lower lip.
The same night, we just announced our pregnancy to the world.
Just then, Blair's best friend, Chloe, asked in French, her tone suggestive:
"Blair, you're absolutely glowing. But tell me honestly, how does it feel to get railed by another man while carrying a baby?"
Blair let out a soft laugh, a familiar sound that sent a chill down my spine.
She replied, also in French:
"It feels absolutely incredible, Chloe. He's like a wild wolf. Just yesterday, he had his head buried between my thighs, using his mouth to bring me to tears before taking me so deep I forgot my own name."
Her fingers were still toying with my collar, but her gaze was already distant.
"But remember, keep this from Kevin. If he finds out what I've been doing behind his back while pregnant, it will be a disaster."
The socialite sisters gathered around them shared knowing chuckles, raising their glasses and promising to keep the secret.
The warmth in my veins turned to ice. My fervent passion to welcome a new life was instantly reduced to a pathetic joke.
They had all forgotten that I spent my childhood in southern France. I understood every single syllable.
I forced myself to remain calm, my face fixed in the perfect smile expected of a blissful husband about to welcome his first child, but the hand holding my champagne glass was trembling.
I didn't fly into a rage. I didn't smash everything in sight.
Instead, I took out my phone, found the invitation I had received a few days prior for the Aegis Agency, a highly classified organization on the other side of the world, and clicked "Accept."
In three days, I would vanish from Blair's world.