Coffee turned into dinners.
Dinners turned into weekends.
Weekends turned into lies.
And now…
First class. Paris. A clean escape.
“Elena never finds out anything,” I had told Vanessa two nights before.
I believed that.
Standing there at the aircraft door, I realized how wrong I was.
Vanessa tried to take control.
“Excuse me,” she said sharply to Elena, “can we get champagne once we’re seated?”
Elena met her eyes calmly.
“Of course, ma’am. After takeoff.”
Ma’am.
That word hit harder than any slap.
Passengers behind us were watching. Whispering.
Elena stepped aside slightly.
“Your seats are just ahead.”
I walked down that aisle like a man heading to his own sentencing.
We sat in first class, but it didn’t feel like luxury anymore.
It felt like exposure.
Vanessa sat rigid beside me, her earlier confidence cracking.
“Chicago?” she whispered.
I didn’t answer fast enough.
Mistake.
“You told your wife you were in Chicago?”
“Keep your voice down,” I muttered.
She let out a sharp laugh. “Now you want privacy?”
Across the aisle, someone glanced over.
I forced a smile that didn’t land.
“This is complicated,” I said.
