BAD WIFE

Chaptet {17}

Jacob came home late that evening. The house was quiet, shrouded in darkness, the only sound the soft click of the door as he stepped inside. Everyone was already asleep. No one was there to greet him, no warm light or waiting hug—but somehow, just being here filled him with a sense of peace.

This house—where his wife and kids slept—felt like a balm to the ache he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying.

He didn't head straight to the kitchen or stop to change. Hunger and exhaustion could wait. His feet moved on their own, guiding him up the stairs with a quiet urgency. He needed to see her.

Clair.

He pushed open her bedroom door with care, just enough to slip in without disturbing her. He leaned against the frame, folding his arms across his chest as his eyes found her.

She was curled on her side, her hands tucked gently beneath her cheek, her features soft in sleep. The moonlight that spilled in from the window kissed her skin, casting a glow across her delicate face.

She was so beautiful it hurt.

He could stand there and watch her all night.

She still slept the same way—folded into herself like a child, unmoving and still. He used to tease her for being a "tight sleeper," but secretly, he loved it. He used to pull her into his chest, wrap himself around her, and fall asleep to the rhythm of her breath.

That memory hit him hard now.

Once upon a time, she would burrow into his arms without hesitation, like she belonged there. And she had. She still did.

God, he missed her.

So much love filled his chest it felt like it might shatter him. And yet, tangled in that love was regret—suffocating, bitter regret.

She had been everything. From the very beginning, even when he hadn't meant for it to be serious.

At first... it had been a game.

FLASHBACK

It was 10 p.m. on a Friday night, and the campus was electric with weekend energy. Every dorm, every apartment, every off-campus house was pulsing with music and laughter.

Jacob was at a frat party, one of many he'd been to, and like most of them, he was there for the girls—not the booze, not the bros.

He was young, wild, cocky. A player by reputation and proud of it.

But to his credit, he was never a liar. He made his intentions clear. No strings. No promises. Just fun.

He was in the middle of some ridiculous conversation with a group of friends when something—or rather someone—caught his eye.

Not Megan, his only real female friend, who stood chatting at the base of the stairs.

No. It was the girl next to her.

A complete oddball at this kind of party. While every other girl wore neon crop tops, thigh-skimming skirts, and enough body glitter to blind a man, this girl looked like she'd just walked out of a storybook.

A long floral dress covered her from collarbone to ankle, the only hint of skin offered by the delicate slits in the sleeves that bared her shoulders. Her hair wasn't ironed flat or teased high—it was loose and wavy, natural and unbothered.

She wasn't trying to impress anyone.

And that? That made her irresistible.

Jacob's interest sharpened. His ego stretched awake. A quiet challenge lit in his chest.