Reed
I had walked into the master suite fully expecting a trap.
When your wife uses your five-year-old son as a pawn to humiliate you over breakfast, you do not walk into her bedroom that night expecting a peaceful surrender. I knew Wendy was plotting something. I knew she was going to test my resolve the second the door clicked shut.
But knowing it was coming and actually surviving it were two entirely different things.
My brain completely flatlined the moment I saw her.
She was sitting in the exact center of the bed, propped up against the pillows with a magazine she clearly wasn’t reading.
The white silk camisole she was wearing was clinging to her curves. The delicate lace was dipping low enough to make my mouth go instantly dry. The matching shorts were practically non-existent
