That evening felt effortless.
Albert and I were in his living room, the lights dimmed low, a romantic movie playing softly on the television. I was curled beside him on the couch, my legs tucked under me, his arm resting comfortably around my shoulders. We laughed easily, teased each other, shared lazy kisses between conversations. It was the kind of night that made you forget the rest of the world existed.
I remember thinking how natural it all felt—how quickly he had become my safe place.
"You know," he said, brushing his thumb along my arm, "I've never felt this relaxed with anyone before."
I smiled, warmth blooming in my chest. "That makes two of us."
We were still talking when the knock came.
Three sharp taps against the door.
The sound sliced through the moment, abrupt and unwelcome.
Albert frowned slightly. "That's strange," he said. "I'm not expecting anyone."
"I'll get it," I replied, standing up.
As I walked toward the door, I felt no fear. No hesitation. It was his house, his space—and by extension, it felt like mine too. I reached for the handle and pulled the door open.
The woman standing there took my breath away.
She was stunning—undeniably so. Her beauty was bold, deliberate. Her body curved in all the right places, her figure wrapped in a short gown that barely skimmed her thighs. Her skin glowed under the porch light, smooth and flawless. Her lips were full and glossy, her eyes dark, seductive, and piercing.
She looked at me like she already knew me.
Like she had been expecting me.
Before I could speak, she tilted her head slightly and asked, "Who are you?"
The question was sharp, unfiltered.
"Me?" I replied, caught off guard. Then something hardened in my chest. "I should be asking what you are doing in my man's house."
Her brows lifted slowly, amusement flickering across her face.
"Your man?" she echoed. "You mean Albert?"
Before I could respond, she stepped forward and brushed past me—not aggressively, but confidently—her shoulder grazing mine as though I were an inconvenience rather than a barrier.
"Albert!" she called out loudly.
My heart dropped as I turned to follow her into the living room.
Albert stood up the moment he saw her. His expression shifted so fast it made my stomach twist—shock, confusion, something else I couldn't quite name.
"June?" he said.
For just a moment—a single, damning second—I saw it.
Desire.
It flashed across his eyes before he masked it, but I saw it. And it burned itself into my memory.
"What are you doing here?" Albert asked, his voice tight.
June laughed softly, her gaze never leaving his face. "Imagine my surprise when I come over and find this."
She turned slowly to look at me, her eyes dragging over my body from head to toe.
"This must be her," she added coolly.
I straightened my shoulders. "I'm Susan. Albert's girlfriend."
The word felt heavy, fragile—but I held onto it.
June's eyes widened slightly as she turned back to Albert. "Girlfriend?"
"Yes," he said firmly. "Susan is my girlfriend."
The room went still.
June's lips parted as if she wanted to say something, then closed again. She stepped closer to him, her voice softening. "Albert, you didn't tell me."
"I told you it was over," he replied. "I told you not to come here again."
"I just wanted to talk," she said quickly. "We owe each other that much."
"No," Albert said sharply. "We don't."
She reached for his arm.
He stepped back immediately.
The rejection was subtle—but devastating.
"June," he said calmly now, "you don't belong here anymore. Not in my house. Not in my life."
Her face crumpled slightly, but her eyes burned with something darker.
"I made mistakes," she whispered. "I know that. But I love you."
Albert shook his head. "Whatever we had is over. I'm with Susan now."
She turned to me then, her gaze cold and measuring. I felt exposed under it, as though she were stripping me down layer by layer, searching for weakness.
Then she smiled.
A slow, dangerous smile.
"Well," she said softly, "congratulations."
She looked back at Albert. "I hope you know what you're doing."
"I do," he replied without hesitation.
She walked toward the door, stopping just beside me. Her perfume lingered in the air—heavy, intoxicating. She leaned in slightly, her voice low enough that only I could hear.
"You can play the wife," she whispered, "but you'll never replace me."
Then, louder, she turned to Albert. "You will always be mine."
And with that, she walked out.
The door closed behind her.
The silence she left behind was deafening.
I stood frozen, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.
Albert exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "Susan, I—"
"I saw it," I said quietly.
He looked at me. "Saw what?"
"The way you looked at her."
His jaw tightened. "It meant nothing."
But even then, deep down, I knew that wasn't entirely true.
Because desire doesn't disappear just because someone tells it to leave.
And June—June wasn't done.