Desire is no longer whispered. It's spoken in moans, in glances, in broken rules.
Nina woke with Gloria's breath against her collarbone, warm and steady, as if her body had been waiting years for this kind of stillness. The morning light spilled in through the window, catching on the edge of Gloria's graying curls and bare shoulder. Nina's robe was open, barely draped across her hip.
She didn't move.
Because if she moved, she'd feel the emptiness where Claire once belonged. But if she stayed still — this moment belonged only to her.
Gloria stirred. "You're awake," she whispered.
"I didn't want to be," Nina replied, voice cracked with sleep and emotion.
Gloria leaned in, brushed her lips against Nina's ear. "Then let's make being awake... worth it."
She kissed her again — deeper now — and Nina felt herself being pulled under. Her thigh slid between Gloria's legs, their bodies instinctively aligning, skin on skin. Every moan was low, aching. Gloria's hands trembled as they explored her. Not because of age — but because of reverence.
It wasn't youth.It was knowing how to touch a woman who has been left behind.
Across Maple Lane, Claire stood in Veronica's kitchen, wearing nothing but one of Veronica's button-down shirts. It hung too long on her, making her feel smaller — like she was shrinking into someone else's life.
Veronica slid behind her and pressed her hips in, hard. "You're still thinking about her."
Claire didn't deny it.
"Let her go," Veronica whispered, biting Claire's shoulder. "Let her cry into Gloria's robe while you become something better."
Claire turned. "Better doesn't mean cruel."
Veronica's laugh was low and warm. "Cruelty is clarity, Claire. Look around you. Do you see anyone here surviving by being soft?"
She handed Claire a file folder.
"What's this?"
Veronica licked her bottom lip. "An invitation. You and I are attending a fundraiser tonight. Evelyn's hosting. Wealthy donors. Local politicians. Old women pretending to be saints. You'll be on my arm. I want them to see what desire looks like."
Claire hesitated. "That's public."
Veronica stepped closer, slid her hand between Claire's legs — gently cupping, holding. "And this is personal. But sometimes, we have to mix the two to wake the dead."
Claire shivered.
Meanwhile, in Evelyn's house, the past was stirring in ways no one expected.
Marla was in the attic, searching for old photo albums to distract herself from her gnawing anxiety. Since Evelyn's subtle warnings about loyalty — and her firm grip on Marla's wrist during their last conversation — she hadn't slept soundly.
But then her fingers brushed something in the back of an old trunk.
A small, leather-bound journal.
Faded. Locked.But the clasp had long rusted open.
Inside were handwritten pages. Dozens. Dated back to the late '80s.
Each entry was addressed to a woman named Margot.
"I saw you in that red coat again today. I told myself not to watch you walk past my office window. But your hips carry war, and I have no defense left."
"If he ever found this, I'd be burned at the stake. But I swear to God, I would let you burn me if it meant one night with your lips on my throat."
Marla's heart thundered.
Margot wasn't Evelyn's sister. Or a friend.
She had been her lover. And someone Evelyn had erased — or buried.
Marla turned the page. A pressed red tulip fell out.
Back in Gloria's house, Nina pulled back from her second climax, chest heaving, sweat dripping between her breasts. Gloria lay beside her, kissing her shoulder like worship.
"I've never felt this… seen," Nina whispered.
Gloria smiled, soft. "You've always been visible. They just chose to look away."
A beat of silence.
Then Nina sat up. "I want to go tonight."
"Go where?"
"Evelyn's fundraiser. I want them to see me. Not Claire's version of me. Mine."
Gloria arched a brow. "You sure?"
Nina's eyes narrowed. "Let Veronica put her on display. I'll wear the truth on my skin."
Night fell.
Evelyn's estate was lit like a palace. Spotlights illuminated manicured hedges. Valets greeted black town cars. Inside, champagne shimmered in crystal glasses and pearls clinked over laughter.
Claire arrived on Veronica's arm, wearing a backless black dress, her hair curled to perfection. Gasps followed her like perfume. Whispers stirred.
Veronica smiled, triumphant.
But then — another stir.
Nina entered.
In a red silk gown, slit high up one thigh. Her lips painted like revenge. Gloria by her side, not hidden, not timid — but proud. They walked together like a promise.
Claire's breath caught.
Nina didn't look away.
She walked right up to them, glass of wine in hand.
"Nice to see you out in the open, Claire."
Claire opened her mouth.
Nina leaned in, voice a velvet knife. "I moaned louder for Gloria last night than I ever did for you."
And she kissed Gloria full on the lips — right there, in front of the chandelier and the donors and the holy matrons pretending not to stare.
Claire's knees almost buckled.
Veronica whispered in her ear, "You're mine now. Let her burn."
But Claire wasn't listening.
Her heart was still walking away in a red dress.