HIS FIRST LADY(SANDRO MARCOS)

Chapter 12: Stolen Lingerie

I blink in confusion, caught off guard.

Remember him? I could never forget the night we spent together, but that's not what he's referring to. That was recent. He's clearly talking about something else.

But... what?

"I'm not sure what you mean," I reply cautiously. "Have we met before somewhere?" I genuinely can't recall. Someone like Sandro would be impossible to forget.

Sandro studies my face for a long moment. "Could I be wrong? Wasn't it you?"

The pain in his eyes is unmistakable, and I wish I could give him the answer he's searching for. But he's remembering something I simply don't recall. I wish I could tell him if the person he's thinking of is truly me.

I remain uncertain about what he's referring to, unable to discern whether he remembers me or not.

"Tell me when," I suggest. "Maybe I can help."

My words seem to break him from his daze. We resume dancing, though I notice he's kept more distance between us now. I miss the closeness we once shared, but perhaps the space is for the best.

When the dance ends, Sandro lets go of me.

"Just give me a hint," I say, hesitant to walk away. This might be our last chance to talk like this. "If you tell me what you're referring to—"

"No," Sandro responds sharply. His face is expressionless, masking a cold anger I can't quite grasp. I don't understand why he's so upset.

Is it because I don't remember him?

I don't want to push further. The more I try to discuss it, the more agitated he becomes. So I nod and keep my distance.

"I should go," I say. A new dance is starting, and we look awkward just standing here, staring at each other in silence. I'm still working this event, and there are likely matters needing my attention.

Sandro doesn't seem inclined to say goodbye, so I interpret his silence as dismissal and start to turn away.

"Take me off your block list," Sandro says suddenly. His tone is both a command and a warning, leaving no room for debate.

I glance back at him, but he's no longer looking at me. Without waiting for a response, he walks away, disappearing into the crowd toward his father.

I watch him for a long moment.

So, not goodbye forever, then. If he wants me to remove him from my block list, it means he still wants to talk to me.

Despite all the reasons I shouldn't be pleased, I can't help but feel a flutter in my stomach.

On my way back to the employee tent, I take out my phone and unblock Sandro's number. I even save his contact as Rep. Sandro Marcos.

Strangely, I don't see Samuel around, even as the party continues and eventually winds down. He must have left with Kaylee since there's no sign of her either.

I keep myself busy with work, trying not to think too much about how their absence makes me feel.

When I finally get home, I'm exhausted from being on my feet all day. The party had a few more crises, and as the event planner, it was my responsibility to resolve them.

I can't complain. It felt good to be so relied upon, but I'm completely drained. I just want to put on my pajamas and collapse onto the couch to sleep, assuming Samuel doesn't take the bed.

Halfway up the staircase, I spot something—a bit of torn lace caught on the edge of the carpet. I reach down and pick it up. It's a bra cup, seemingly ripped straight off the band. The color looks familiar. Is this one of mine?

Did Samuel go on some kind of rampage and destroy my lingerie?

I bought this specific set a year ago when I still harbored hopes of making my marriage work. No matter how much effort I put in or how sexy I tried to look, Samuel always found reasons not to be intimate with me.

Eventually, I stopped buying new lingerie. His constant rejection made me question my own desirability, even in the most alluring outfits. Night after night, I felt defeated.

Eventually, I gave up altogether.

Two steps higher, I find the other cup. At the top of the stairs, the band is torn apart near the clasp, though the clasp itself remains intact.

That's strange. Why would someone tear the bra apart but leave the clasp untouched?

Just then, the bathroom door opens, and my sister Kaylee walks out, toweling her hair. She's wrapped in a second towel around her body.

Kaylee glances at me and then at the lace scraps in my hand before laughing.

"Thanks for cleaning up after us, Rafha. You know how much of an animal Samuel can be when he's horny. Or—no. I guess you wouldn't know, since you can never get him hard."

I immediately drop the lace back onto the ground.

"The panties are in the bedroom. They're a bit damp, though," she continues with a laugh. "After a wash, they'll be good as new. Can't say the same for the bra, though."

"What are you doing here, Kaylee? And why were you wearing my lingerie?"

Kaylee rolls her eyes. "Don't play dumb, Rafha. Do you need me to spell it out for you? S-E-X. I'm fucking your husband. Or..." She laughs again. "I guess he's the one fucking me."

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to scream or drag her down the stairs and toss her out onto the street.

"What about the girls? What about me?" I demand.

"The girls are still out," she says dismissively. "But even if they weren't, I doubt they'd notice. They're always tucked away in their rooms."

How does she know that? Unless she's been here before? Oh God, I might be sick. This isn't the first time they've slept together in my house. It's just the first time I've caught them.

They aren't even trying to hide it from me!

And to use my own lingerie?

"Your lingerie adds a bit of spice," Kaylee says casually, as if discussing something mundane. "Samuel likes the thrill of it all. Besides, he told me it would be a shame for such beautiful pieces to go to waste on an unsightly old cow like you."

"You...!" I want to call Kaylee every vile name I can think of, but despite everything, she's still my little sister. She's young and naïve, falling for Samuel's lies just like I did.

He's the one I hate. Kaylee isn't far behind him, but she's not my main enemy.

The towel around Kaylee's waist slips slightly, revealing the curve of her perky breast. She smirks, clearly doing it on purpose. Her body is flawless—youthful and untouched by motherhood. Flaunting it is just another way to insult me.

I look away. That seems to bother Kaylee more than anything I've said or done.

"How can you be so calm?" she snaps. "You get it now, right? Your husband loves me more than he ever loved you. Doesn't that make you angry? Why aren't you saying anything?"

She steps closer, forcing me to meet her gaze.

"Why not confront me, Rafha? Here. Now. Tell me how much you hate me."