Page 19 of His Son's Wife
I noticed how her gaze lingered on me now. How I’d trained her to seek me out without her realising she was being trained. How she waited every night for that kiss on her cheek—tilting toward it slightly, the way a flower tilts toward light without understanding why.
The divorce papers were drawn up.
Not implemented.
Not yet.
She was still Mrs Kersey.
She still carried my name.
Sayla Kersey.
I smiled and switched the monitor off.
Let him scream at the gate. Let him rant into the intercom. Let him exhaust himself against something immovable.
I was days away from being inside his wife.
His unprotected wife.
The knock on my door was perfectly timed.
Sayla poked her head in.
“Are you still busy?” she asked, with a pout that she had absolutely no idea was dangerous.
“I’m always free for my Princess,” I said, pushing my chair back as she stepped inside.
Five weeks of carefully constructed strategies. This was my reward.
She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question herself. Simply crossed the threshold and settled onto my lap as though she’d always belonged there. The only throne she’d ever sit on.
I began to harden beneath the soft weight of her curves. We both ignored it at first—a silent agreement, unspoken and fragile. But then she shifted, adjusting herself without thinking, and coaxed my natural reaction further without understanding what she was doing.
Shy at first.
Then bolder when I didn’t react.
Even now my heart rate climbed at the thought of her getting the all clear from the doctor. Her fertile young body. The thought of erasing the greatest error of my life—our life—with something permanent.
Something that couldn’t be undone.
“Did you have fun baking cupcakes?” I murmured into her hair.
She nodded and placed one hand over my chest.
“Lydia let me make mini Victoria sponge cakes with them.”
She beamed at such a simple achievement. Bright and unguarded and completely unaware of how much that smile cost me.
I stroked her hair, tucking some of the silky strands behind her ear. There was only one small mark left beneath her eye now. Fading. Almost gone.
“You’re such a good girl,” I said—knowing exactly what those words did to her.
A little praise went a long way.
A little distance had brought her closer.
