BAD WIFE

Chapter {12}

Clarissa was in a rebellious mood tonight. No husband. No rules. No apologies. She was going to a club with Baylee, and for the first time in years, she didn't care what anyone had to say about it.

She had tried calling a few old friends to join them, but either their numbers had changed, or they weren't answering. Too much time had passed since she'd reached out—so long that it stung. But she wasn't letting that stop her.

After running errands all day, feeding the kids, and getting them to bed, she slipped into the boldest dress she owned. Deep red. Spaghetti straps. Skin-hugging like a second layer. The hem skimmed just beneath her knees, but the high side slits climbed scandalously up her thighs. Modest in the front—cut just below the collarbone—but the back was almost nonexistent, dipping into a deep U that stopped at her lower spine.

She had bought the dress online months ago—waited three weeks for it to arrive—and had never once worn it. She hadn't thought she had the guts.

But tonight? She needed to feel like herself again. Or maybe someone entirely different.

She finished the last touch of mascara, added a shimmer to her cheeks, and picked up her phone. Her finger hovered a second before dialing her ex-husband.

"Hello," Jacob answered after two rings. He sounded distracted. The faint clinking of glasses and low murmurs of men talking in the background gave him away—he was clearly at a dinner meeting, probably one of those high-powered, cigar-filled ones that ran late.

"Hey," she said casually, though her tone carried purpose. "Just letting you know—I'm going out tonight. Kate's with the kids. If there's an emergency, I told her to call you first."

There was a pause. Then a low, clipped, "Why? Where are you going?"

"I'll be drinking," she added, unapologetically.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Jacob heard it over the line.

"I gotta go." She hung up before he could respond.

At 10 PM sharp, Baylee pulled into her driveway with a guest in tow—a flamboyant burst of energy named Mikey. Technically Michael, but he refused to go by it. He was charismatic, hilarious, and the perfect person to force Clarissa out of her usual shell. Though Baylee was still haunted by the mess with Lola and Niko, she kept her mood light so her sister could enjoy herself.

The club was loud, crowded, and pulsing with music. After grabbing drinks, Mikey immediately snatched Clarissa away, dragging her onto the dance floor like a man on a mission.

To her own surprise, she let him.

At first, she was stiff—awkward, wooden, unsure of her own limbs. But Mikey spun her around, dipped her dramatically, and twirled her like they were finalists on Dancing with the Stars. Laughter bubbled out of her like champagne. It had been so long since she felt this light. This free.

As the night wore on and she added a few more drinks to her system, she still didn't feel drunk. The nonstop dancing had her sweating it out as quickly as she was drinking it in.

"Let's take a break," she gasped, fanning herself.

"I'm just getting started, girl! You go rest your pretty little self." Mikey winked and danced on.

Clarissa smiled and made her way toward a private booth, drinks in hand. She sank into the seat beside Baylee and handed her a cocktail.

"Someone's having fun," Baylee said with a crooked grin.

"Why not?" Clarissa replied, taking a long, satisfying sip. The alcohol burned, but it was the good kind of burn—the kind that told you you were alive.