When I first started working for my boss, I thought he was one of the fairest people I'd ever worked for.
He was strict but respectful, and he always noticed good work.
Then one Friday afternoon, he called me into his office.
He showed me a financial report with several figures that didn't match the original records.
“I need you to correct this,” he said.
I asked, “But these numbers aren't correct. Why am I changing them?”
He looked at me and said, “I'm trying to prevent this from becoming a bigger problem.”
He promised that if I helped, I wouldn't be blamed and hinted that a promotion could follow.
I knew it didn't feel right.
But he had helped me get the job, and I trusted him.
That night, I went home knowing I should say no.
Instead, I convinced myself he wouldn't put me in danger.
The next morning, I made the changes.
I had no idea I was making a decision I'd regret.
...
As the wedding preparations became more serious, I started feeling like I was carrying a heavy stone inside my chest.
Everywhere I turned, there was something reminding me that I was about to marry Daniel.
Our families were already deeply involved.
We were discussing the wedding arrangements, choosing dates, making plans, and talking about the kind of home we wanted to build together.
Daniel was genuinely excited about our future.
And I knew he loved me.
But there was one person missing from the picture.
My daughter, Beauty.
The closer the wedding got, the worse my guilt became.
I knew I couldn't hiding Beauty forever.
She was my child.
There was nothing shameful about being her mother.
The worst part?
Only days earlier, I had asked Daniel one question.
“Daniel, could you marry a woman who already has a child?”
He had looked straight into my eyes and answered without hesitation.
“No.”
I remember forcing a smile.
“But why?”
He had been quiet for a moment before saying,
“I have my reasons.”
I should have told him the truth that day.
Instead, I went home and continued lying.
Because I was terrified of losing him.
---
As the wedding preparations became more serious, I started feeling like I was carrying a heavy stone inside my chest.
Everywhere I turned, there was something reminding me that I was about to marry Daniel.
Our families were already deeply involved.
Helena had been my literature tutor for one term when I was twenty-one. Sharp, a little severe, always in neat blouses and dark jeans that made her legs look endless.
I’d had a quiet crush on her the entire time and never said a word. She was twenty-nine then. Still is.
Two years later she came by the house to return a book Mum had lent her. Mum was out for the afternoon.
The house smelled faintly of the coffee I’d made earlier. Helena stepped inside, the soft click of the door loud behind her.
She wore a white blouse open at the throat and black trousers that sat low on her hips. Her hair was longer than I remembered, a few strands falling across her cheek.
“You’ve grown up,” she said, voice low.
We sat in the living room. The conversation started polite. old assignments, books she’d recommended, the way certain lines still stuck.
She asked if I still thought about her classes. I said more than I should.
She went quiet for a second, the air between us suddenly thicker.
Then she stood, walked over, and kissed me.
It wasn’t gentle for long. The taste of her mouth was mint and something warmer.
She pushed me back onto the sofa, climbed onto my lap, and pulled her blouse open. Small breasts, pale skin, the faint scent of the same perfume she wore during tutorials, something dry and floral that made my head spin.
I sucked her nipples while she ground against me, the soft sound of fabric shifting, her breath catching every time my teeth grazed her.
When I finally got inside her she was already soaked, heat and wetness coating me.
She rode me with her hands on my shoulders, eyes half-closed, whispering that she’d noticed the way I looked at her legs years ago and never forgot.
We moved to the guest room. Sheets still clean, the faint smell of detergent.
I fucked her from behind while she gripped the headboard, the wood creaking under her palms.
She came twice, once with my fingers on her clit, once with me deep inside her, her body tightening around me in sharp waves.
A major test for Avengers Doomsday will be balancing RDJ’s physical presence with the overwhelming legion of Doombots.
They need to feel like an extension of his ego and If Avengers Doomsday introduces Doombots early on, it allows the Russos to fake out character deaths and keep audiences guessing on whether they’re fighting the real Doctor Doom.
My husband and I had been married for fifteen years when I found a second phone in his glove box.
It was old.
Cracked screen.
Locked with a four-digit code.
I tried our anniversary.
Wrong.
I tried my birthday.
Wrong.
I tried our daughter's birthday.
It opened.
There was only one contact saved.
Under the name "Home."
And the last message was sent that morning.
It said, She still doesn't suspect anything.