The dinner table looked perfect. The Wellington sat in the center. Its golden crust glowed in the light. The pink interior seemed delicious. Steam rose in gentle wisps.
Beside it, the red wine gleamed in a tall glass. The scent was rich and fruity. But Jenny could not eat. She picked up the silver knife and fork. She dragged them across the plate. They made soft, metallic scratches.
She felt nothing. Her stomach squeezed with emptiness. Her heart filled with cold betrayal.
Damon's lie played in her mind. His voice echoed. A soft woman's laughter followed. She remembered every tone. They stabbed her like live wires. Then the phone on the table buzzed. It cracked the silence. Jenny froze. The phone vibrated once more. The screen lit up.
She looked at the unknown number. Her finger shook. She opened the message. Images filled the screen. Her breath hitched.
The first photo showed a bar. Neon lights flickered. Damon stood behind the camera. He smiled wide. She had never seen that side of him. He looked free.
A young woman hugged him closely. Her arm wrapped around his neck. Her lips hovered near his ear. Her eyes were possessive.
Another photo followed. The woman turned her face. Damon gazed at her softly. His expression was warm. That look burned into Jenny's chest.
Jenny spotted a familiar object. A bracelet. She had thought it was unique. Damon claimed it was "only hers." But here it was. This woman wore it too. The woman hugged him like she owned him. The message sender wanted Jenny to feel it. She knew who sent the photos.
The woman in the photo.
She slipped into a small laugh. It sounded soft. But it rang clearly in the quiet room. It trembled on her lips. She laughed again—this one was colder. Sharper. It cleared the air.
She surveyed her villa. She had decorated it with care. Every piece of furniture spoke of her taste. Each corner was refined. It looked like "Mrs. Watson" had created it. But why should she stay? Why let Damon's betrayal hurt her here? Why suffer in silence?
Jenny stood abruptly. She dropped her napkin. It fell to the rug without a sound. She pushed away from the table. Her heels clicked on the floor. She walked straight to the bedroom.
She yanked open the wardrobe. She stared at the formal gowns. Dresses meant to impress. Dresses that suffocated. She tossed them aside. Then her hand found a black slip dress. It sparkled with tiny sequins. It barely covered her. It was bold. "Inappropriate." Exactly what she needed.
She slipped into it. She watched the reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back was unfamiliar. Yet she felt right. She moved to the vanity and reached for her makeup.
First, she drew thick eyeliner. She lifted the corners sharply. Then she chose red lipstick. It was bold and bright. It suited her mood.
She studied her reflection. She saw strength in those eyes. She saw defiance in her smile.
Tonight, she decided, she would not be a graceful, perfect wife. Tonight, she would be someone new. Someone free.
She would dance. She would drink. She would chase the night. She would find someone new. Maybe a handsome, wild youth for the dance floor. Maybe that was her answer.
She stepped outside. The night air rushed in. The quiet villa dimmed behind her. City lights waited.
The beat of the club hit her two blocks away. It felt like a heartbeat. Heavy. Alive.
She walked toward it. The neon sign read Labyrinth. Purple-red light lit the lines of people. They all glowed in the colors of sin.
She stepped out of the taxi. The wind teased her bare skin. It made her pulse quicken. The club door opened. A bouncer held it. He measured her in three seconds. Then he pulled the velvet curtain.
"Have fun." He said it casually. He said it once. Everything exploded inside the club.
Music. Heat. People. Light.
She faced the bar. The stool was cold. She sat and focused. She spoke to the bartender. "One tequila. Salt and lemon." Her voice cut through the noise.
The bartender slid the shot across. She squeezed lemon. Licked salt. She chugged it. Fire raced down her throat. Heat flooded her chest. It burned. She wanted more. It freed her.
She said, "Another, please."
A man sat beside her. He spoke softly. "Here solo?"
Jenny glanced. He had golden hair. His eyes were bright blue. His shirt hugged his chest. He looked fresh. Wild in a subtle way. Exactly who she wanted tonight.
She didn't respond with words. She lifted her glass in his direction. A playful invitation.
He smiled. He extended his hand. "Frank."
"Jenny." She named herself. She held his gaze. She asked nothing but gave curiosity.
"Dance?" he asked, leaning in close. His breath warmed her neck. It tickled.
She placed her hand in his. She let him lead her through the crowd. They reached the dance floor. Music drummed into her bones. The crowd pulsed in harmony.
Frank moved lightly. His steps precise. His style confident. His hand rested on her waist. It felt warm. Respectful. Not obscene.
They spun. They bumped. They turned. Each touch sparked electricity. It thrilled her.
Each song ended. They danced to the next. Sweat dampened her slides. Her hair teased her face. She smoothed it back.
After a while, Frank guided her to a private booth. His friends greeted them. They cheered. They lifted their glasses.
"This is Jenny," Frank said, introducing her.
They clinked glasses. They invited her to sit. Dice lay on the table. They were playing a drinking game.
Jenny joined easily. She lost a few rounds—maybe she lost on purpose. Each sip from the shot glass burned. It numbed her. It freed her.
She laughed with them. It felt real, even if it wasn't. She felt herself again.
Her throat dried. Her stomach churned.
She whispered to Frank, "I need to use the restroom."
He nodded. His eyes glowed with interest. "Hurry back."
She rose. Her legs trembled. She left the booth.
The restroom lights were harsh. They stung her eyes. She splashed cold water on her cheeks. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyeliner had blurred. Her cheeks glowed red. Her eyes were fiery.
That woman in the mirror was Jenny. Not Mrs. Watson. Not Damon's bride. Just Jenny.
She took a steady breath. She smoothed her dress. She left.
She returned to the booth. Her heartbeat slowed. Frank handed her the half-empty shot.
"You lost your turn," he explained. He smiled. Innocent.
She lifted the glass. She downed it. It burned.
She noticed a strange taste. Chemical bitterness. Between lemon and tequila. She paused, unsure. It was gone as quickly as it arrived. She shook her head. She blamed the alcohol.
She refocused. She tried to laugh again.
But then her body betrayed her. A wave of heat flooded her. It crawled through her limbs. It felt foreign. Wrong. Panicked.
She tried to steady herself. Her hand shook. She reached for the table.
She realized something was wrong. This wasn't just alcohol. She'd been drugged.
Panic clenched her chest. Her vision blurred. The club's noise dimmed to a muffled hum.
She stood quickly. Her chair scraped the floor. The sudden noise cut through the murmurs.
"I need to leave." Her voice cracked.
The booth quieted. All eyes turned.
Frank pushed himself to his feet. He tried to help. "Are you okay?"
She looked at his hand. His hand moved to touch her arm. She recoiled. She felt a hot sting. As if he burned her.
That gentle smile on his face twisted in her view. It felt predatory now. Fear flooded her. She could think only of the EXIT sign down the corridor.
Her pulse pounded. Eyes stung. Blood rushed in her ears.
Frank reached to hold her again. A few of his friends closed in.
She struggled. She tried to break free. The warmth inside her grew.
She was dizzy. Her sight tunneled. She was going under.
Someone strong yanked her from the booth. She stumbled forward. She fell against a broad chest. He caught her.
He held her tightly. She felt the swell of his chest. His body pressed warmth into her bones.
The rescue hit her mind like ice and fire at once. She clung to him, to stay upright. She closed her eyes. Her world shook.
The night was supposed to be her escape.But sometimes, the darkest places hide the sharpest betrayals.
She thought she was safe—until the shadows closed in,and someone she barely knew became the only one who could save her.
What happens when trust is broken and danger lurks where you least expect it?Can she fight back, or will the night swallow her whole?