BAD WIFE

Chapter {13}

The whole ride home was a battlefield.

"You could have killed him," Clarissa snapped, her voice still sharp from adrenaline and outrage.

Jacob gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles whitening as he struggled to stay calm. His voice wasn't raised, but the tension in it was unmistakable. "Whose fault would that have been?"

"Excuse me?" She twisted in her seat, glaring at him.

"If you had just listened to me—left when I told you to—none of it would've happened," he said, eyes fixed on the road, jaw flexing with restraint.

"Oh, so now I'm to blame? Why do I have to listen to you? We're not together anymore, remember?"

His hand tightened around the wheel again, veins pulsing in his forearm. Her back-talk was grating on every last nerve. "Do you ever think about our kids? What happens when Alyssa's friends see those headlines? When they ask her why her mom is in the tabloids acting like—"

"All I was doing was dancing, Jacob," she snapped, voice shrill.

"Yeah? You forget how tabloids add details? Twist things? Turn fun into scandal?" His tone was cutting.

"You're being ridiculous."

"No," he shot back. "You're being a child."

The car screeched slightly as he maneuvered it up the driveway, stopping in front of the dark house. The tension between them was suffocating.

Without a word, he jumped out and stormed around to open her door.

"I don't need your help," she grumbled, hopping out—and promptly stumbling.

He rolled his eyes and instinctively caught her, his hands locking around her waist before her knees met the ground. "Oops..." she said with a silly giggle, grabbing his shoulders to steady herself.

Their faces were suddenly just inches apart. Breath mingling. Bodies too close.

Then—without warning—she leaned in and gave him a quick, soft kiss on the lips.

Just a tap.

She pulled away almost instantly, a playful smile tugging at her lips like it was some kind of joke. But Jacob didn't move. He stood there, frozen, thunderstruck by the sensation.

The kiss was nothing—but it was everything. The taste of her, the heat between them. It triggered something primal in him, something deep and dangerous.

She turned away, giggling, and headed toward the stairs. But he couldn't shake it. He cleared his throat, trying to collect himself, and quickly followed before she face-planted on the steps.

Inside, the familiar hum of the coffee machine filled the kitchen. Jacob moved with muscle memory, retrieving sugar, cream, rinsing mugs—like he still belonged there. Maybe he did. Maybe he never truly left.

Clarissa leaned on the kitchen island, swaying slightly as she tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to regain focus. Her legs were shaky, her vision slightly blurred.

He turned toward her, holding one of the mugs. "Clair," he said, voice softer now, but laced with stress.

She tightened her grip on the counter, grounding herself.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, stepping closer. "This isn't you. I know it's not. You don't behave like this." His voice cracked with something raw. "What's gotten into you?"