When Scarlett came home, I was sitting on the couch, reading a book. She smelled of the light, fresh perfume I’d personally chosen for her—an accomplice now, masking her guilt. But as she approached me, I caught the faintest trace of something else—something that belonged to Carter.
No matter how thoroughly she washed, there were always lingering signs of another man. She straddled me, her hands sliding under my shirt, signaling her intentions.
“Honey, shall we make a baby?”, as Scarlett whispered, her warm breath tickling my skin, I could no longer keep up the facade.
Without a word, I gently pushed her away and rushed into the bathroom. Scrubbing every inch of skin she had touched until it was red, I finally slumped against the wall, my body trembling.
A child? Did she really think I didn’t know? Inside her, she was already carrying Carter' child. What made her think I’d ever be willing to raise another man’s child?
After what felt like an eternity, I stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a mask of calm. Feigning concern, I asked, “When’s your next mission?”