Chapter 2
1968 Words
chapter 2
Living with Peterson had been a surprising kind of joy the kind that sneaks up on you and wraps itself around your heart slowly, quietly, until you can’t remember what life felt like without it. I fell for his softness and loyalty unconsciously, it wasn't about survival anymore but real and deep love as I never knew men like him still exist
Every day brought something new, something tender. He had a calm confidence, a quiet strength. He made me laugh. He loved Cindy and I… I kept loving him more each day.
But everything changed the evening he came home from the hospital.
The door creaked open and in came Peterson, looking tired but still wearing that half-smile that always made my heart flutter. He tossed his bag on the floor and peeled off his shirt like he usually did, heading for the fridge. That’s when I saw it.
A black tattoo, curling just above his stomach, unmistakable in its design. The jagged letters. The dagger piercing through a crown. My heart stopped.
KKG.
I froze, my hands still tangled in Cindy’s hair.
Peterson noticed my stare. He tried to act like he hadn’t seen the shock settle across my face. But it was too late.
I stood up so fast Cindy flinched.
“What is this, Peterson?” I demanded, pointing at the ink. “You’re a KKG? Isn’t that the membership tattoo? You guys are wanted by the cops!”
“Keep your voice down, Mary,” he hissed, eyes darting toward the door.
“Cindy, go to your room.”
Cindy slipped away silently.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Peterson,” I said, voice shaking. “I could recognize that tattoo in my sleep. You think I don’t know what it means?”
He stared at me coldly for a moment, his jaw tightening. Then, with a voice low and tired, he asked,
“What do you want?”
That question hit me harder than any confession. He wasn’t denying it anymore. The truth lay bare between us. And with that, I realized something terrifying and strange he wasn’t trying to threaten me. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even defensive.
He was scared.
Of losing me.
Of losing everything.
And that’s when I knew he really did love me. Because if he didn’t, I’d already be dead.
I took a breath, backing away.
“I thought you were different, Peterson,” I whispered, then turned and walked into the bedroom, shutting the door behind me with a quiet finality.
For hours, I sat on the edge of the bed, heart pounding, mind spinning. I couldn’t sleep. Outside, the apartment was still. No footsteps. No voices. Just silence and the sound of scotch being poured.
When dawn broke in faint grey streaks across the curtains, the door creaked open again.
Peterson stepped in, shirtless, his eyes shadowed with regret. He sat on the edge of the bed, close, too close and let out a sigh that sounded like it had been waiting all night to be released.
“My career… everything I’ve built... it’s all at stake now,” he said quietly. “Including Cindy.”
I turned toward him, eyes locked on his. “So why hide it from me?”
“I didn’t want you to look at me the way you just did,” he said, voice rough.
“I didn’t want to lose you.”
He looked broken. Vulnerable.
Then, with a softness I hadn’t expected, he asked again, “What do you want?”
Something in me shattered and melted all at once. Maybe it was the fear. The longing. The confusion. Or maybe it was just him—his body, warm and tense, so close to mine. I reached for him before I could stop myself.
I sat up, cupped his face in my hands, and kissed him.
It wasn’t the kind of kiss that solved things. It was the kind that said, I see you. I still want you. Even if I shouldn’t.
he undressed me slowly as he lay on top of me, I let out a soft moan when his tongue licked my n*****s, unconsciously, I touched his d**k and it was hard and ready, he shifted my pant and entered deeply, I held the bed sheet firmly and moan as he moves his waist slowly..
the night went on and on and it was morning.
Peterson lay beside me, one arm draped across my stomach, his chest rising and falling steadily. For a while, we said nothing. The silence was thick, not uncomfortable, just full—like both of us knew too much had changed.
Then he turned slightly toward me, voice husky and low.
"Mary," he said, eyes searching mine, "would you pretend to be Cindy’s mom at the kindergarten family event? I trust you and you've been a good mum to Cindy"
I blinked.
"I’ll pay you for your service," he added, too quickly, like money could make it less personal.
The warmth between us vanished in an instant. I sat up slowly, pulling the sheet over my chest, suddenly feeling exposed. Used, even. He’d made love to me all night, then woke up to hire me like a stranger.
I didn’t answer. I stood and walked toward the bathroom, the cold floor grounding me with each step. I didn’t want to look back, didn’t want him to see the way his question had cracked something open inside me.
That’s when his phone buzzed.
He picked it up immediately, the tone of his voice shifting—sharper, more alert.
“What is it?”
A man’s voice came through, flat and urgent. "Miguel has been apprehended by the cops. He’s agreed to give out names of his members, I wanted to give you a head start" he said and hung up
I froze at the door, the blood in my veins running ice cold.
Miguel.
My alleged husband. The man I owed. The one I ran from.
I turned slowly, meeting Peterson’s gaze. He was already looking at me, the name hanging in the air between us like a blade.
My throat tightened. He didn’t know. Not about Miguel. Not about the debt. Not about the fact that I’d once been part of his world too, just on the other side of it.
won't this hurt and betray his trust? I asked myself
"Miguel?" I asked
"Mary…" Peterson’s voice was low now, cautious. "You know him?"
“No,” I lied. My voice trembled as I spoke, but I hoped he didn’t catch it.
“Who is he?” I asked, trying to keep my tone steady.
Before he could respond, a knock echoed from the front door, crisp and urgent. His eyes widened slightly, then flicked to the bathroom where I stood half-hidden.
“It’s Abigail,” he said quickly, turning to me. “Don’t come out of the bathroom.”
I nodded silently, pressing my back against the cold tile wall.
I heard the door open.
“Hi Abigail, come on in,” Peterson said, his voice composed.
“Hi, Peterson. Good morning,” came her voice, smooth and sultry. I could practically hear her eyes sweeping over him as she stepped inside.
The couch creaked as she sat down.
“Why aren’t you at work?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“We’re both on night duty, remember?” she replied with a teasing tone.
“Oh yeah. You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“Yeah, I was just around the neighborhood, that’s all.” I imagined her shrugging, maybe brushing her hair back, making her way closer to him.
“You smell nice, Abigail,” Peterson said, his voice a little lower now.
“Thank you. Peterson... you know I’ve been meaning to say this for a while.” Her voice trembled, softer now, full of emotion. “I want you. You know it. I’ve tried to hold back, but I can’t anymore. I like you a lot. You’re the man of my dreams.”
There was a pause—a long, dangerous pause.
Then, movement. A shift of bodies. Skin brushing skin. She was trying to kiss him.
“Stop it, Abigail,” Peterson said, his voice strained,
"please Peterson" Abigail begged trying to kiss his lips.
he kissed her back but stopped immediately
"Please don't break my heart Peterson, I've never felt like this before, loving you is my curse" Abigail pleaded
"I cant do this Abigail" he said as he gently peeled her arms from around his neck.
The moment shattered.
“So you’ve been f*****g the doctor behind my back, huh?” my voice rang out like a whip crack in the room.
I stood in the living room doorway, hands on my hips, clad in nothing but a gray bum short and a black crop top. my expression was unreadable, but my stance screamed betrayal.
“What the hell, Peterson? Isn’t this the girl from the hospital?” Abigail snapped, whirling to face him.
Peterson opened his mouth, then closed it, guilt etched across his face.
“Really, Peterson?” Abigail’s voice broke. “You prefer her over me?” Her hand trembled as she grabbed her bag from the couch. Tears pooled in her eyes, then began to fall freely. “I can’t believe this. I thought what we had—what we shared—meant something.”
“Wait, Abigail—” Peterson stood, reaching for her.
“Don’t touch me!” she yelled, jerking away. “I’m such a fool to have fallen for you. And don’t forget the secret we share.”
She fled through the door, slamming it behind her. Moments later, the screech of tires echoed down the street.
Silence filled the room, oppressive and raw.
Peterson sank onto the couch, head in his hands, anguish etched into every muscle. His shoulders rose and fell with deep, shuddering breaths.
“Who the hell are you, Mary?” he said bitterly, without looking up. “I told you to stay inside.”
All I could do was stand and watch, I wanted to talk but no words escaped my mouth at the time before I knew it, my eyes were welled up with tears not knowing if loving him is a curse or not, if what I was doing was right or wrong.
I turned and walked back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
He remained seated, caught in the wreckage of two women—two hearts—and a secret buried beneath it all. Now, he had to choose: the woman who knew his truth, or the one who challenged his lies.
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