My heart was pounding so loud I was sure everyone could hear it. The sound of blood rushing through my ears drowned out everything else. I dropped to my knees, searching under chairs, behind towels—anywhere my pants could've disappeared to.
Nothing.
"Where are they?" I whispered, panic choking my voice.
She rushed toward me, calmer than I expected—too calm for someone whose whole world could collapse in seconds.
"Relax," she said under her breath. "He probably just forgot something."
Probably.
That word wasn't enough to save my life.
The sound of boots on concrete echoed from the front of the house—slow, heavy, familiar. Each step felt like a countdown.
She tossed me a towel. "Wrap this around you. Go behind the bar area—don't move."
I did exactly as told. No thinking. Just survival.
From where I stood, I could see part of the pool reflected in the glass. She slipped on a robe like she'd rehearsed this a hundred times. Her breathing slowed instantly, like flipping a switch.
The sliding door opened.
"Baby?" his voice called out.
"I'm back here," she replied, sweet and natural.
I pressed myself deeper into the shadows, muscles tight, every nerve on fire.
"I forgot my watch," he said. "Flight's delayed anyway. Thought I'd grab it."
"Oh," she laughed softly. "You scared me. I thought something happened."
He chuckled. "You're jumpy today."
They talked about nothing—traffic, the airport, a phone call he missed. Normal things. Everyday things.
Meanwhile, I stood there nearly naked, wrapped in a towel, realizing how thin the line was between winning and dying.
He walked closer to the pool.
Too close.
I held my breath so long my chest burned.
Then he said, "I'll be right back—just grabbing my watch."
Footsteps moved away.
The door closed.
Silence.
I waited. Five seconds. Ten. Thirty.
She finally exhaled. "He's gone."
My legs almost gave out.
Then I saw them—my pants, wrapped up in a towel by the pool like they'd been hiding in plain sight the whole time.
I got dressed in record time, hands shaking so badly I could barely button them. When I looked at her, she was smiling—but not the playful smile I knew. This one was different.
Dangerous.
"That," she said softly, "was close."
"Too close," I replied.
Reality finally hit me—not all at once, but like a slow poison. This wasn't excitement. This wasn't opportunity. This wasn't love.
This was a trap.
I thought about my friend's words:
You're dancing with the devil.
I thought about my parents, calling their chaos "space."
I thought about money, promotions, titles—how fast they came and how fast they could bury you.
She stepped closer. "You okay?"
I nodded, but my spirit wasn't.
"I should go," I said.
She studied my face, maybe realizing something had shifted. "We'll talk later," she said. "We have time."
I didn't answer.
As I walked out of that house, the sun felt different—brighter, harsher. Like it was exposing something I'd been trying not to see.
For the first time since all of this started, I wasn't excited.
I was afraid.
And deep down, I knew—
Nothing about this ends without consequences.