The chat exploded, guys hyping him up, asking for his “secrets” to handling a girlfriend like that. Then, Langston sent a photo. A woman. Just her shoulders, wrapped in a bath towel. [Sorry, kinda busy today. I’ll share my tips another time.]
I didn’t need to see her face. I had seen this body for years—seven, maybe eight. I knew every inch of it, every mark, every scar. And yet, tonight, I had to watch it in someone else’s hands.
At the same time, Yvonne’s message popped up on my screen. [Sorry, the company needed me for something urgent. Go to bed early, okay? I love you so much. I'll apologize later.]
I stared at the words, my chest hollow.
How far had she and Langston gone by now? Were they still wrapped up in each other, or had she already fixed her hair, reapplied her lipstick and driven home to me?
I leaned back in the taxi, scrolling through the suit photos my mom had sent earlier. [Sweetheart, take your time choosing. When the day comes, the wedding will be perfect. I'll make sure of it.]
***
As expected, by morning, Yvonne was beside me again, acting like nothing had changed. She watched me with that soft, affectionate look, as if I was the only person who existed.
I picked up my phone and pressed play. It was a video from Langston. No sound, but the images were enough. His hands tearing at her clothes. Her body arching into him like it was second nature.
The way she let him have her—without hesitation, without restraint. A beast in human form. That was how I had seen him at first, but maybe she was worse.
Yvonne stretched beside me, rubbing her eyes, smiling like she had just woken up from a perfect dream. “Jordan, you don’t have to work anymore. You went to jail for me, so of course, I have to take care of you. I’ll support you from now on.”
As if it was a gift and she was doing me a favor. I smiled, nodding like I believed her. It didn’t matter. I was leaving soon anyway. Resigning was just a formality.
I turned off my phone and got out of bed, watching as she moved around the kitchen, humming to herself while making breakfast like nothing had happened.
I walked over, stepping behind her. Slowly, I ran my fingers over the fresh scar on the back of her neck.
She froze for a fraction of a second. Then, without turning around, she reached up to touch it, forcing a laugh.