**Playing with Fire**
*Diary Entry*
Bloody hell, Thomas threw his head back, choking on laughter. You actually said it to her face? In front of everyone?
What else was I supposed to do? James drummed his fingers against the desk, restless. Im married. And she wouldnt back offgot bolder by the day. The whole departments been whispering.
Christ, mate, youre too soft, Thomas teased. Most blokes wouldve jumped at the chance. But not youMr. Morality.
Weve got different ideas about loyalty, James shot back, though his eyes betrayed exhaustion. At first, it was just hints. I ignored them, didnt want to be rude. But staying quiet only made it worse.
Thats your mistake, right there, Thomas raised a brow knowingly. Silence? To her, thats encouragement.
What does she even want? Plenty of single men around!
For women like her, a wedding ring isnt a barrierits a challenge, Thomas mused. Proof youre worth having.
Emily swept into the office like a sudden summer storm. She wasnt classically beautifulsharp features, a low, raspy voicebut when she smiled, the room shifted. HR later admitted theyd nearly rejected her until that smile changed everything.
At first, James genuinely liked her. Her energy and quick wit were a breath of fresh air in the monotony of spreadsheets and meetings. He helped her settle in, shared advice. To him, it was simple kindness. A married man, devoted to his family, he saw her as nothing more than a bright young colleaguealmost a sister.
But lines blurred. Her jokes turned suggestive, her touches lingered. James, an introvert at heart, froze. His usual compass for decency spun wildly. He started avoiding her, skipping lunches. But retreat only fueled her pursuit.
—
James was in his mid-thirties, the sort of man who maintained order almost forcefully. Tall, but slightly stooped, as if trying to shrink. Dark hair, neatly trimmed, silver already threading at the templesheredity and stress. Calm eyes, but with a quiet exhaustion beneath. He wore thin-framed glasses, which hed remove and rub nervously when unsettled. His clothes were practical: muted shirts, tailored trousers. No flash, no fuss.
He hated crowds, office politics, flirtationall of it drained him. Silence, routine, focusthat was his language. Conflict terrified him. Hed swallow his words, retreat, just to avoid confrontation.
Yet beneath it, an unshakable core: his family. Charlotte and the kids werent just part of his lifethey *were* his life. His loyalty wasnt virtue; it was as natural as breathing.
Emily wanted him from day one. He was the only one immune to her charms. Seducing him wasnt just about attentionit was proof. If a man like *him* fell, shed finally believe she was worth something. And experience told her no «perfect husband» was ever truly faithful.
Two weeks in, she gushed to her friend Sophie about James. Sophie listened, uneasy.
Another married one? Emily, stop. Hes got *kids*.
Oh, dont be dull. Hes miserabletrapped in some picture-perfect cage. That wife of his Charlotte she doesnt *get* him. She just keeps him comfortable while his soul suffocates!
How would you even know? Have you met her?
I dont need to! I see *him*. So stiff, so *controlled*thats not normal. Theres pain underneath. Ill help him break free.
You sound like a bad rom-com, Sophie sighed. This isnt a game. Its his *life*.
No, Emilys eyes gleamed. Its *mine*.
—
The business trip to Manchester was torture. Guess who volunteered to join? In meetings, Emily was professionalism itself, and James nearly relaxeduntil the knock at his hotel door that night.
My rooms freezing, she stood there, wrapped in a robe, silk peeking beneath.
His stomach dropped. Panic, thick and sour, clawed at his throat. He pictured Charlottes facesteady, trusting.
WaitIll get you a blanket, he muttered, turning away.
She pouted but took it.
Youve locked yourself in a cage and thrown away the key, she tossed over her shoulder. Pity. Theres another man in thereone who *wants* to live.
He shut the door, forehead pressed against it, pulse roaring. Relief, yesbut also a strange, heavy pity. For her. For himself.
Back at the office, she seemed to forget him. He exhaleduntil she asked for a lift home. He refused.
Do I disgust you?
Youre remarkable, he said carefully. But I love my wife. My family
So thats the *only* reason? Her eyes sparked with dangerous delight.
No He fumbled for words, but she was already gone. He regretted his hesitation instantly.
That night, a sharp nudge woke him. Charlottes 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: Emily, barely covered in lace.
Char, its not what you think Voice cracking, he confessed everything.
She was silent a long moment. Then a sighanger and affection tangled.
You daft sod, she muttered. Fine. I believe you. But if she does it again, Ill march into that office and give them a show theyll never forget.
He nodded into the dark.
Next day, he called Emily into a meeting room. She strode in, smug.
Emily, youve crossed a line.
Oh, relax, she purred, reaching for his cheek.
He recoiled. Her hand hung mid-air.
What are you saying?
That your perfect lifes a lie, she hissed. From the outside? Adoring wife, little princess daughter, golden boy son
We *are* happy.
Wake up, James! She slammed a paper on the desk. *Paternity probability: 0%.* Handy, having friends in labs. Believe me now?
His gaze lifted slowly. Cold, clear rage.
I tolerated your advances. But my *children*? Oliver isnt mine by blood. Thats between me and Charlotte. His parentsher sister and husbanddied. Hes *ours* now. Happy?
Her smirk faltered.
Resign. By tonight. Or I go to the police. And if you *ever* come near my kids… His quiet voice chilled her. Youll wish it was just the police.
She left that day.
At home, James found Oliver building Lego, Lily doing homework. He hugged them tight, breathing in their scentsafe, familiar.
Later, he sat with Charlotte.
We tell him, he said softly. The truth. Before someone else does.
She nodded, eyes wetnot with grief, but relief.
A week later, over cake, James knelt beside Oliver.
Remember how we say familys what matters? Well sometimes its bigger than blood. Your first mummy and daddy were Aunt Lucy and Uncle Mark. Theyre not here anymore. But Mummy and I? We *chose* you. Thats the strongest kind of love.
Oliver thought, then hugged them. Can I have more cake?
The weight lifted. In the quietcrumbs on the table, soft laughterthere was no room for Emily. No room for lies. Just home.
