**Playing with Fire**
“Blimey,” Tom threw his head back, choking on laughter. “You actually said that to her face? In front of everyone?”
“What else was I supposed to do?” James drummed his fingers nervously on the table. “Im married. Shes been relentlessproper out of order. The whole departments started whispering.”
“Right, right, saintly James, not used to the attention,” Tom teased. “Any other bloke wouldve taken the chance. But no, youve got to be the noble one.”
“Weve got different ideas about loyalty,” James shot back mildly, though exhaustion flickered in his eyes. “At first, it was just hintsI pretended not to notice. Didnt want to be rude or make a scene.”
“And *that*, mate, was your mistake,” Tom said, raising a knowing eyebrow. “Your silence gave her hope. She took it as encouragement.”
“What does she even want from me? Theres plenty of single blokes around!”
“For women like her, a wedding ring isnt a barrierits a challenge,” Tom said with a philosophers air. “Proof youre worth the effort.”
Sophie breezed into their department like an unexpected spring gale. She wasnt classically beautifulsharp features, a low, husky voice. But when she smiled, the room shifted. HR later admitted theyd nearly rejected her until that smile changed their minds.
At first, James genuinely liked her. Her energy and quick wit were a breath of fresh air in their dull office routine. He helped her settle in, shared adviceall perfectly innocent. A family man at heart, he saw her as a bright colleague, almost a younger sister.
Then the lines blurred. Her jokes turned suggestive, her touches lingered. James, an introvert allergic to confrontation, floundered. His usual moral compass spun wildly. He ducked lunches, avoided herbut retreat only spurred her on.
***
James was mid-thirties, the sort who clung to order like a life raft. Tall but slightly stooped, as if trying to shrink. Dark hair, neatly trimmed, already greying at the templesgenetics plus stress. Calm eyes, but with a constant tiredness beneath, not from work but from keeping himself in check. He wore thin-framed glasses, which hed nervously remove and rub when uneasy. Dressed plainly: muted shirts, sensible trousers. No flash, no fuss.
He hated crowds. Flirting, office politicsit all felt like a foreign language, exhausting to translate. Silence, order, focusthat was his currency. Conflict terrified him. Hed sooner swallow his words than risk a row.
Yet beneath it all was an unshakable fortress: his family. Emma and the kids werent just part of his lifethey *were* his life. His loyalty wasnt performative; it was as natural as breathing.
Sophie had fixated on him from day one. He was the only man immune to her usual tricks. Seducing him wasnt about attentionit was about proving her worth. If a “proper” married man fell for her, shed won. And experience taught her no “perfect family man” was truly faithful.
Two weeks in, Sophie gushed to her friend Lily about her “feelings” for James. Lily listened, unease growing.
“*Another* married one? Sophie, stop. Hes got two kids.”
“Oh, details! Hes miserabletrapped in his little golden cage. His wife, Emma… she doesnt *get* him. Just keeps his house tidy while his soul screams for freedom!”
“How dyou know? Have you even met her?”
“I dont *need* to! Look at himall buttoned-up, too perfect. Thats not normal. Theres pain underneath. I *know*. Ill help him find himself.”
“Christ, you sound like a bad romance novel,” Lily groaned. “You dont want to *help* him. You want him *because* hes off-limits. This isnt a gameits his *life*.”
“You wouldnt understand,” Sophie said airily. “Were meant to be. Hes lost. And his perfect family? Pfft. No ones that perfect. Ill prove it.”
***
The business trip to Edinburgh was Jamess nightmareespecially when Sophie volunteered to join. With clients, she was flawless, and he almost relaxed. Then, late that night, a knock.
“My radiators broken,” Sophie announced, wrapped in a robe that left little to the imagination.
Jamess stomach dropped. Panic, thick and sour, clogged his throat. He pictured Emmas trusting smile.
“Wait here,” he muttered, turning to fetch a spare blanket. “Take this.”
Sophie pouted but took it.
“Youve locked *yourself* in that cage,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Pity. Theres a different man under thereI know it.”
James leaned against the door, pulse thudding. Relief mixed with a strange, heavy pityfor her, for himself, for the whole absurd mess.
Back at work, Sophie seemed to forget him. James nearly relaxeduntil she asked for a lift home. He refused.
“Do I disgust you?”
“Youre brilliant,” James said carefully. “But I love my wife. Ive got a family”
“So thats the *only* reason?” Her eyes glittered dangerously.
“No” He faltered, but she was already gone. He instantly regretted his fumbling.
That night, a sharp jab woke him. Emmas furious whisper cut through the dark.
“James, have you lost your *mind*? Whos sending you *those* photos at midnight?”
He sat bolt upright. On his phone: Sophie, in lace, posing like a catalogue model.
“Em, its not” His voice cracked. He told her everything, even his own cowardice.
Emma was silent a long moment. Then a sigh.
“You daft, noble sod,” she said, equal parts fond and furious. “Fine. I believe youbecause I *know* youd never be that stupid. But tell her this: if she tries again, Ill march into that office and give everyone a show thatll put telly to shame.”
James nodded into the dark.
Next day, he called Sophie into a meeting room. She strode in, radiant, expecting surrender.
“Youve crossed a line,” he said, forcing steadiness.
“Oh, relax.” She reached for his cheek. “She doesnt deserve you.”
James recoiled. Her hand hung mid-air.
“Whatre you on about?”
“Your perfect lifes a lie,” she purred, venom beneath the sugar. “From the outsidedotting wife, little princess daughter, strapping son…”
“We *are* happy.”
“Wake *up*, James!” She slammed her hands on the table. “Your son looks *nothing* like you! Your daughters your double, but *Daniel*? Not a trace!”
Ice flooded Jamess veins. Her triumphant smirk twisted something loose in him.
“And I can *prove* it.” She slapped down a printout. “Paternity probability: 0%. Handy having friends in labs, eh? Convinced now?”
James met her gaze. The anger hed buried for months surged, cold and clear.
“I tolerated you harassing *me*. But my *kids*?” His quiet voice turned lethal. “Daniel isnt mine by blood. Thats mine and Emmas business. But since youre so keen on digginghis parents, Emmas sister and her husband, died. Hes *ours* now. Happy? Proud of yourself?”
Sophie paled. “II didnt know.”
“Nor do I know how you got that test*if* its real. I thought you were just lonely. Now I see youre *dangerous*. Resign. If your notice isnt on the directors desk by tonight, I go to the police. And if you *ever* go near my children…” He paused. “Youll wish it was just the police.”
Sophie quit that afternoon. James came home early. Found eight-year-old Millie doing homework and six-year-old Daniel building Lego. He hugged them both, breathing in the scent of their hair, holding on too long.
That night, once the kids were asleep, he sat opposite Emma.
“We tell him,” James said softly. “Daniel deserves the truth from *us*not some stranger.”
Emmas eyes shonenot with grief, but relief. “Im scared.”
“Me too. But well do it together.”
A week later, they had a small family celebration. After cake, James crouched to Daniels level.
“Dan, Mummy and I need to talk to you. About how much we love you.” He took a breath. “Remember how we say familys the most important thing? And families come in all sorts. Well… Im not your birth dad. Your first mummy and daddy were Mummys sister and her husbandthey were lovely, but theyre not here anymore. Mummy and I chose to be your parents. With our whole hearts.”
Daniel frowned, absorbing this. Then he hugged them and asked for more cake. The weight lifted. In the quiet aftermathcrumbs on the table, murmured conversationthere was no room for Sophie or her games. Everything settled, right where it belonged.
