Love in lies

I stepped out of the elevator, my heart fluttering with anticipation.

It had been weeks since I last saw Jake, my fiancé, and the ache of missing him had grown into a sharp, constant pull.

I clutched the bottle of his favorite whiskey tighter, a peace offering and a promise for the wild night I'd planned.

The lacy black underwear he gave me on my birthday hugged every inch of my skin, a silent reminder of the way it made him look at me, hungry, possessive, and completely undone.

I smiled as I imagined the surprise on his face when he saw me. Tonight was going to be perfect.

The apartment was quiet as I unlocked the door. Jake's cologne lingered in the air, rich and familiar.

Everything was just as he liked it, neat, precise, sterile. The throw pillows were arranged perfectly, the coffee table spotless.

I paused in the parlor, absorbing the stillness before heading upstairs.

I wanted to surprise him, to slip into the bedroom and wrap myself around him. My heels clicked softly against the hardwood floors, each step echoing in the silence.

But as I neared the bedroom, my steps slowed. I heard a soft moan. Then a voice that wasn't mine. My heart stopped mid-beat.

"Fuck, Jake," a woman panted. "Go harder. Fuck me. Ah, yes. Hit it more, baby. I'm coming."

The words hit me like a fist to the chest. I froze, my hand hovering just above the doorknob, shaking.

No. No. That couldn't be right. Not Jake. Not my Jake.

With trembling fingers, I pushed the door open. The room was dim, shadows spilling across the floor. And there they were.

My stepmother. Bent over. Jake driving into her from behind.

Her long hair spilled down her back, her body rocking with every thrust.

Jake's hands clutched her hips like she belonged to him, his face twisted in ecstasy. And it felt like my entire world collapsed at that moment.

The whiskey bottle slipped from my grip, smashing to pieces on the floor.

The sound startled them, Jake's head whipped toward me, his eyes locking on mine.

Shock registered on his face, then guilt. It flashed, just for a second, before he schooled his expression.

My stepmother turned, her lips parting, but I couldn't speak.

I couldn't even breathe, my chest was tight, like someone had cinched a rope around my ribs. I just stared at both of them.

Jake pulled out of her, scrambling to cover himself. "Emily," he said, voice cracking. "It's not what it looks like-"

"Not what it looks like?" I cut in, my voice shaking. "You're fucking her? My stepmother? How could you?"

She slid off the bed, yanking the sheet around herself, eyes wide with something that looked like shame. "Emily, please, let me explain-"