Page 14 of Absolution (Infidelty #3)

Kyle

Pulling into the driveway, I kill the engine and take a breath.

Time to play the doting husband again.

The porch light is on, and the house glows warm from the inside. Picture perfect. Like something out of a commercial. Except I know better.

Before I can take out my keys, the door swings open.

“Hey, Dad,”

Levi says, standing there with one hand on the doorknob, like he’s been waiting but won’t admit it.

Jemma appears behind him. “Finally,”

she mutters, but she’s smiling.

Then Iris barrels out from the doorway and actually hugs me first.

“You said you’d be home by five.”

I chuckle and hold her in my arms as she presses her face briefly into my waist before pulling away. Jemma rolls her eyes but hugs me too, quick and firm. Even Levi leans in, giving me one of those half-hearted side-hugs boys his age think pass for cool.

“I missed you guys,”

I say, ruffling Levi’s hair, he immediately swats my hand away.

“You were gone for a week, not a year,”

he says, but there’s no bite in it.

“Did you bring us anything?”

Iris asks, jumping with glee.

“Business trip, remember?”

I say.

“Not Disneyland.”

“But you always bring something,”

Jemma says.

“Even if it’s just gum,”

Levi adds.

“Alright, alright,”

I grin.

“Check the side pocket.”

They all rush toward the bag, squabbling over who opens what first.

Behind them, Jackie appears from the kitchen. There’s something different about her. I can’t put my finger on it. Not her hair, not her clothes. Just… something in the way she holds herself. Straighter. Still.

“Hi, sweetie,”

she says, voice even, smile unreadable.

“Hey.”

I stand, my laptop bag slipping from my shoulder as the kids find their candy.

“I missed you guys so much.”

“You already said that,”

Levi says, raising an eyebrow.

“How was school?”

I ask, taking a seat on the couch.

“I got a ninety-seven on my science test,”

Iris says, grinning.

“And I finally landed a kickflip,”

Jemma adds.

“Well... kind of. I scraped my knee, but I didn’t cry. Ask Aunt Marianne.”

Levi shrugs, hands in his hoodie pocket.

“We had to write about someone from history. I picked Harriet Tubman.”

“Strong choice,”

I say, patting his back.

“Dinner’s in the oven. You can heat it up if you’re hungry.”

Jackie says over her shoulder, already on her way upstairs.

Just like that. No kiss. No softness. Just... instructions.

The girls flop onto the couch beside me. Levi lingers, eyes darting between me and his mother’s retreating back. He’s old enough now.

Usually, when I come home after a week, she’s all over me, wants to talk, catch up, reconnect, maybe sneak some under the sheets action before the kids need her.

But tonight?

Nothing.

She’s curled up on her side, facing away from me, breathing deep. Asleep.

Could she... no.

If she knew, really knew, she wouldn’t be lying next to me. Jackie’s an emotional creature. She throws things when she’s pissed, storms off mid-sentence, cries when her she’s angry. If she knew, there’d be no calm. She’d have set fire to the house or at least my closet.

Still, I don’t sleep well.

The next morning, she’s in the kitchen with the girls, brushing Jemma’s hair while Iris eats a toaster waffle over the sink. She looks like any tired mom, calm but occupied.

Then, out of nowhere, she says.

“I’ve decided to go back to school.”

I look up from pouring coffee. “What?”

“Now that the kids are in middle school, I’ve been thinking about it. It’s time. I want to look into childcare options this week.”

Usually, this is when she waits for my opinion, when I say it’s too soon, that we’ll figure it out later, that it’s not a good time.

But she didn’t ask this time. She told me.

“I can pay for it myself,”

she adds, not looking at me.

“The money from my parents... it’s more than enough for classes and childcare.”

I tighten my grip on the mug.

“I can pay for my wife’s education and my kids’ care. I don’t need your parents’ money for that.”

She just shrugs. “Okay.”

That’s it. No argument. No fight. No pushback.

When I leave for work, I pause at the door.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Jackie glances up from braiding Iris’s hair now.

“Of course. I’m just thinking about the future.”

“Well... okay then.”

But the whole ride to the office, her voice echoes in my head. Calm. Distant. Calculated.

That’s not Jackie. Jackie doesn’t hide how she feels. So why now?

I’m still mulling it over when my phone rings.

It’s Clara, my legal secretary.

“Mr. Greyson, you’re going to want to hear this. One of our clients, Mr. Knowles, had dinner last night with Simon Lynch.”

I grip the wheel tighter.

“From Norwell Partners?”

“Yeah. Apparently, Lynch dropped your name. Said he heard you might be looking to change firms.”

“Dammit,”

I mutter.

“Knowles wasn’t supposed to be shopping around.”

“I thought he was locked in?”

“He was. I thought I had him.”

I hang up, jaw tight.

I’ve been so focused on the merger that I neglected my clients. Corporate law doesn’t forgive mistakes.

The fallout with Knowles rattles me, but not for long. I shift focus, double down. In this field, there's always another client. Another angle.

The next few weeks pass by in a blur, nothing dramatic, just the slow, quiet grind of life continuing.

Jackie found a nanny. One of those post-COVID burnout cases, used to be a nurse, worked with her sister, quit after the pandemic. This is exactly why women shouldn’t be in high-stress fields. They break. Still, the woman’s overqualified and way too expensive, but since I agreed to pay, I’m stuck footing the bill. Her salary. Jackie’s tuition. Childcare. It’s going to cost a pretty penny.

But I said I’d cover it, and now I can’t really walk it back without looking like an ass. Not that I can’t afford it. The merger with my father’s firm has definitely padded my pockets.

I considered taking her out to celebrate when her acceptance came through. Maybe a dinner. Something small. But honestly, we’ve gotten into a rhythm that works, parallel lives under one roof. Why mess with it?

Most of my focus these days is on the firm. Helping my father’s team negotiate the buyout of the Austin partners. Long days, late nights, endless calls. It’s the kind of grind I live for.

And with everything going on, I haven’t had time for... relief. Not even the quick kind. I’ve been getting antsy. Restless. Irritated for no reason. One second, I'm happy as a cat, next I’m snapping at paralegals.

Which brings me to tonight. It’s late. The building’s nearly empty. I’m still in the office, wrapping up some last-minute filings, and Clara’s hovering like she always does. Every time she walks in, her blouse seems tighter. More undone. A button here. A glance there.

And normally, I’d ignore it.

But tonight... I feel pent up. Unsettled.

So, when Clara comes back in with her shirt practically open, I take the plunge.

“Clara, can you check this for me?”

I ask gesturing towards my screen. Rolling my chair backwards, I give her just enough room to wiggle in between me and the desk. There’s barely an inch between her ass and my face when she bends over to inspect the perfect document.

“Mr. Greyson, this is perfect.”

She says in a sultry voice.

Gently I put my hand on the inside of her leg, softly dragging it up.

“Are you sure?”

I ask. She and I both know, I'm not asking about the document.

Looking over her shoulder, she says.

“Maybe if I look more closely.”

Before dropping right on my lap.

My hand drops to her waist before making its up. I undo the few buttons that are left, pulling her shirt open completely. Roughly I pull the cups of her bra down before grabbing each tit in my hand and squeezing. Letting out a moan, Clara begins gyrating on my lap. I help her without releasing my grip on her tits.

She rubs her ass over my hard dick, causing me to twitch in my pants. Just when I think about bending her over the desk, I feel myself starting to go soft. Releasing one of her tits, I grab her waist, moving her faster. But it all for nothing, despite my efforts, I go completely soft.

What. The. Fuck.

After a few seconds of awkward fumbling, Clara says.

“Mr Greyson?”

Pissed I nearly shove her off my lap.

“You know what,”

I say, voice clipped.

“Never mind. Just finish up those drafts and email them before you leave.”

She pauses, probably trying to read me. But I don’t give her anything. Just pick up my pen and act busy.

She nods and walks out without a word while fixing her clothes.

When the door clicks shut, I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling.

What the hell is happening to me?