**Playing with Fire**
I couldnt believe it when Oliver told me what happened. Leaning back in his chair, he was practically choking on laughter. “You actually said that to her face? In front of everyone?”
“What choice did I have?” James drummed his fingers on the table, restless. “Im married. She wouldnt take no for an answercompletely lost all sense of boundaries. The whole departments been whispering.”
“Bloody hell, youre too modest for your own good,” Oliver teased. “Most blokes wouldve jumped at the chance, but youre acting like some Victorian prude.”
“Call it what you want,” James shot back, though exhaustion flickered behind his eyes. “At first, I ignored the hintsdidnt want to be rude or make a scene.”
“Thats where you messed up,” Oliver said, raising a knowing eyebrow. “Your silence just encouraged her. Gave her false hope.”
“What does she even see in me? Plenty of single blokes around!”
“For women like her, a wedding ring isnt a barrierits a challenge,” Oliver mused. “Proof youre worth chasing.”
Sophie had stormed into their office like an unexpected gale. She wasnt classically beautifulher features were sharp, her voice low and slightly husky. But her smile? It could change the room. Even HR had admitted theyd nearly turned her down until that smile swayed them.
At first, James had genuinely liked her. Her energy and quick wit were a breath of fresh air in the dreary corporate grind. Hed helped her settle in, shared advicenothing more than friendly camaraderie. To him, a devoted family man, she was just a bright colleague, almost a younger sister.
But then the lines blurred. Her jokes turned suggestive, her touches lingering. James, an introvert by nature, recoiled. His instincts, usually so sure, faltered. He started dodging her, skipping lunches. His retreat only fueled her pursuit.
***
James was in his mid-thirties, the sort of man who kept his life meticulously ordered. Tall but slightly stooped, as if trying to shrink. Dark hair, neatly trimmed, with premature silver at the templesheredity and stress. Calm eyes, but beneath them lurked a quiet exhaustion, not from work but from the weight of restraint. He wore thin-framed glasses, which hed nervously remove and rub at the bridge of his nose when agitated. His wardrobe was understated: muted shirts, tailored trousers. No flash, no fuss.
He hated crowds, office gossip, flirtationall of it drained him. Silence, routine, focusthat was his rhythm. Conflict made him nauseous; hed sooner bite his tongue than confront.
Yet beneath that quiet exterior was an unshakable loyalty. His wife, Emily, and their children werent just his lifethey were his compass. His fidelity wasnt virtue signaling; it was as natural as breathing.
Sophie had fixated on him from day one. He was the only one immune to her charms. Seducing him wasnt about attentionit was about validation. Conquering a married man, someone “good,” proved her worth. Her experience told her no “perfect family man” was truly happy.
Two weeks in, she gushed to her friend Gemma about her “feelings” for James. Gemma listened, unease growing.
“Another married one? Sophie, stop. Hes got two kids.”
“Details!” Sophie scoffed. “Hes trapped in some gilded cage. His wifeEmilyshe doesnt *get* him. Shes just a glorified housekeeper. His souls screaming for more!”
“How would you even know? Have you met her?”
“I dont need to! Look at himso buttoned-up, so *controlled*. Thats not normal. Theres pain underneath. I want to help him *see* himself.”
“Soph, you sound like a bad romance novel. You dont want to help him. You want him because hes *unattainable*. This isnt a gameits his *life*.”
“You dont understand. This is *meant* to be. His perfect family? Please. Nothings perfect. And Ill prove it.”
***
The business trip to Manchester was torture. Guess who volunteered to join? In meetings, Sophie was flawlessso James almost relaxed. Until the knock came at his hotel door late that night.
“My rooms freezing,” she murmured, wrapped in a flimsy robe that left little to the imagination.
His stomach dropped. Panic, thick and sour, clawed at his throat. He pictured Emilys facesteady, trusting.
“Wait here,” he managed, turning away. “Ill get you a blanket.”
She pouted but took it.
“Youve locked yourself in a cage and thrown away the key,” she said, lingering. “Pity. Theres a different man underneathI know it.”
He shut the door, forehead pressed against it, pulse roaring. Relief, yesbut also a strange, heavy pity. For her. For himself. For this mess.
Back at the office, Sophie seemed to lose interest. James exhaled. Then, weeks later, she asked for a lift home. He refused.
“Do I disgust you?”
“Youre brilliant, Sophie,” he said carefully. “But I love my wife. I have a family”
“So thats the *only* reason?” Her eyes lit with dangerous fire.
“No” He stumbled, searching for words, but she was already gone. He regretted his hesitation instantly.
That night, a sharp shove woke him. Emilys furious whisper cut through the dark.
“James, have you *lost your mind*? Who sends photos like this at midnight?”
He sat bolt upright. On his phone: Sophie, clad in lace, posing.
“Em, its not what you think” Voice cracking, he confessed everything.
Emily was silent a long moment. Then a sighanger and affection tangled.
“You daft, naive man. Fine. I believe you. But tell her this: if it happens again, Ill come to that office and give them a show theyll never forget.”
The next day, he called Sophie into a meeting room. She strode in, triumphant.
“Sophie, youve crossed every line,” he began, steadying his voice.
“Oh, relax,” she purred, reaching for his cheek. “Shes not right for you. Trust me.”
He recoiled. Her hand hung mid-air.
“What are you implying?”
“That your perfect life is a lie.” Her voice dripped venom. “From the outside? Picture-perfect. Loving wife. Princess daughter. Heir son”
“We *are* happy.”
“Wake *up*, James!” She slammed her palms on the table. “Your son looks *nothing* like you! Your daughters your twin, but *Tom*? Not a trace!”
Ice flooded his veins. That smug, twisted faceany last shred of sympathy vanished.
“And I can prove it.” She slapped a printout on the table. “See? Paternity probability: 0%. Handy having connections, isnt it? Believe me now?”
He met her gaze. Cold, clear rage surged.
“I tolerated your advances. But my *children*? Tom isnt mine by blood. Thats between me and Emily. But since youre so obsessed: his parentsEmilys sister and her husbanddied. Hes *ours* now. Happy? Satisfied?”
Her bravado crumbled. “I didnt know”
“Nor do I know how you got this testif its even real. I thought you were just lonely. Now I see youre *dangerous*. Resign. By tonight. Or I go to the police. And if you *ever* come near my kids” His quiet tone turned lethal. “youll wish it *was* the police.”
She quit that day. James came home early, finding eight-year-old Lily bent over homework and six-year-old Tom piecing together a puzzle. He held them tighter than usual, breathing in their familiar scent.
That evening, after bedtime, he sat across from Emily.
“We have to tell him,” he murmured. “He deserves the truth from usnot some stranger.”
Emilys eyes glistenednot with grief, but relief. “Im scared.”
“Me too. But well do it together.”
A week later, they celebrated with cake. Then James crouched to Toms level.
“Buddy, Mummy and I need to talk to you about how much we love you. You know familys the most important thing, right? And it comes in all shapes. Tom… Im not your birth dad. Your first mum and dad were Mummys sister and her husbandthey were wonderful, but theyre not here anymore. We chose you. With all our hearts.”
Tom paused, absorbing it. Then he hugged them and asked for more cake.
The storm had passed. In the quiet hum of their ordinary lifecrumbs on the table, murmured conversationsSophies shadow faded. Everything settled, right where it belonged.
