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VICTOR

T he purring engine of my jet-black Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith announced my arrival as I pulled up to Dorothy’s house. Her neighborhood was a picture of post-war suburbia with manicured lawns and white picket fences—a far cry from the gritty streets of downtown Los Angeles where I made my fortune.

As I stepped out of the car, I adjusted my black pinstriped suit, ensuring every crease was immaculate.

I nodded to my driver, Gino, before walking up the path to the front door and ringing the bell.

The chime reverberated through the house.

I reached into my coat pocket and fished out my wedding ring.

As I slid it onto my finger, I flexed my hand a few times to ease the foreign discomfort.

After a moment, the door opened, and my wife, Dorothy, emerged from the house, her dark hair perfectly coiffed and her red lips pursed in a tight smile.

She wore an emerald dress that hugged her waist and flared out over her hips, a string of pearls adorning her elegant neck.

“Victor,” she greeted me coolly as she pulled the front door closed.

She brushed past me on her way to the car.

I nodded in acknowledgment and followed, opening the car door for her.

Dorothy slid into the backseat, careful not to wrinkle her dress.

I joined her, the scent of her floral perfume mingling with the rich leather interior.

As Gino pulled away from the curb, I studied my wife’s profile, her face sporadically illuminated by the passing streetlights.

Without looking at me, Dorothy asked, “Who is it we’re meeting tonight?”

“Frank Evans,” I answered.

“And what does Frank do?” Dorothy’s monotone didn’t match her questions.

“Insurance,” I replied, watching the play of emotions on her face—or rather, the lack thereof.

“An insurance man?” Dorothy arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “I thought you preferred to associate with people with more…influence.”

I chuckled, the sound low and humorless.

“Frank may not be the most exciting dinner companion, but he has his uses. His firm insures some of my most valuable properties. It pays to keep him happy.” I adjusted my tie.

“Besides, Frank is…impressionable. With the right persuasion, he could be a valuable asset to our business.”

Dorothy let out a small, humorless laugh. “ Our business? Since when do I have any say in your affairs, Victor?”

I clenched my jaw, biting back a sharp retort. “This dinner is important, Dotty,” I said, my voice low and measured.

She finally turned to look at me, her dark eyes cold. “Play the sweet, charming wife. I know the drill.”

I ignored her jab, instead focusing on the glittering lights of the city as we drove through the heart of downtown. Staring out the window as our drive passed in icy silence, my mind drifted to the dinner ahead and the potential opportunities it presented.

As Gino pulled up to the restaurant, I noticed Frank Evans and his wife already waiting outside.

Frank looked every bit the unremarkable insurance salesman in his ill-fitting suit and nervous smile.

But his wife caught my eye. She was a vision in an elegant black dress, her blonde hair catching the light like a halo.

The neckline of her dress accentuated deliciously ample breasts.

She was tall, slender, and carried herself with stunning poise.

I exited the car and walked around to open Dorothy’s door, offering her my hand. She took it reluctantly, her skin cool against mine. We approached the other couple and plastered on fake smiles.

“Frank, good to see you,” I said, shaking his hand and clapping his arm. “Do introduce me to your vision of a wife.”

Frank cleared his throat nervously. “Mr. Cardello, this is my wife, Barbara.”

Barbara extended her hand gracefully. “A pleasure to meet you both.” Her voice was like honey—smooth and alluring—with a soft, airy quality, like a film star.

I took her hand, bowing my head to place a chaste kiss on her soft skin. “The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Evans. I must say, you look absolutely stunning this evening.”

Barbara’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink as she withdrew her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Cardello. You’re too kind.” Her blue eyes sparkled.

“Please, call me Victor.”

Dorothy cleared her throat. I stepped back and ushered her forward.

“This is my wife, Dorothy. Dorothy, this is Frank and Barbara Evans.”

Dorothy surveyed our dinner companions with a cool, appraising gaze. “Shall we head inside? I’m famished.” Her tone was clipped, impatient.

“Of course, darling,” I replied smoothly, offering her my arm. She took it, her grip a little too tight to be friendly.

As we entered the restaurant, I couldn’t help but steal another glance at Barbara. She moved with a graceful elegance, her black dress shimmering beneath the chandeliers. There was something captivating about her—a vivacious spark of life.

The ma?tre d’ led us to a private table in the back, away from the prying eyes of the other diners. I pulled out a chair for Dorothy, and she sat down without so much as a glance in my direction. Frank, however, did not do the same for Barbara.

As we settled in, a waiter appeared with a bottle of champagne. I nodded my approval, and he began to pour the bubbling liquid into our glasses.

“To new friendships and prosperous partnerships,” I toasted, raising my glass. The others followed suit, and a pure note rang out as the crystal flutes clinked together.

I took a sip of the chilled champagne, the effervescent bubbles dancing on my tongue.

As the conversation began to flow, I found my eyes repeatedly drawn to Barbara.

She listened attentively to Frank’s mundane anecdotes about the insurance business, nodding and smiling at all the right moments.

But there was a distant look in her eyes—a restlessness lurking beneath her polished exterior.

Dorothy, on the other hand, remained aloof and disengaged, her gaze flickering around the room. She sipped her champagne with a detached air, her red lips leaving a faint imprint on the glass.

An awkward hush settled over the table, so I seized the opportunity to steer the conversation in a more interesting direction. “Tell me, Barbara,” I began, leaning forward. “You look so familiar, but I can’t place it. Have we met before?”

“No, I don’t believe so.” Barbara smiled demurely, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Though I did some modeling and acting before I married Frank. Perhaps you saw one of my advertisements or films.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “An actress, you say? I can certainly picture that. You have a face made for the camera.”

Frank chuckled nervously. “Yes, well, Barbara’s put that life behind her now that we’ve settled down.” He reached over and patted her hand.

Barbara’s smile tightened. She gently pulled her hand away under the pretense of reaching for her champagne glass. “It does feel like another lifetime,” she agreed, taking a delicate sip. Her eyes met mine over the rim of her glass, and I swore I saw a flicker of wistfulness in their blue depths.