**Playing with Fire**
Blimey, youre joking! Oliver tilted his head back, nearly choking on laughter. You actually said it to her face? In front of everyone?
What else was I supposed to do? Edward drummed his fingers nervously on the table. Im married. She wouldnt take no for an answergot bolder by the day. The whole departments been whispering.
Ah, modest Ed, not used to the attention, are you? Oliver teased. Most blokesd jump at the chance, but youproper saint, you.
Weve got different ideas about loyalty, Edward 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, is where you went wrong, Oliver said, raising a knowing brow. Your silence just egged her on. Gave her false hope.
What does she even see in me? Plenty of single blokes about!
For women like her, a wedding rings not a barrierits a challenge, Oliver mused. Proof youre quality goods.
Poppy stormed into their department like an unexpected April gust. She wasnt classically beautifultoo sharp-featured, with a low, slightly raspy voice. But when she smiled, the world around her seemed to shift. The HR manager later admitted shed been ready to reject Poppyuntil that smile changed her mind in an instant.
At first, Edward genuinely liked her. Her energy and quick wit were a breath of fresh air in the dreary office routine. Hed helped her settle in, shared advicepurely friendly, no hidden agenda. A devoted family man, he saw her as a bright colleague, almost a little sister.
Then boundaries blurred. Poppys jokes turned suggestive, her touches lingering. Edward, an introvert allergic to confrontation, floundered. His moral compass spun wildly. He started avoiding her, skipping lunches together. But retreat only spurred her on.
***
Edward, mid-thirties, was a man who clung to order like a life raft. Tall but slightly stooped, as if trying to take up less space. Dark hair, neatly trimmed, already streaked with premature silverthanks to his genes and a perpetual sense of duty. Calm eyes, but with a quiet exhaustion beneathnot from work, but from holding himself so tightly. Thin-framed glasses hed nervously push up when flustered. His wardrobe? Unremarkableplain shirts, sensible trousers. No flair.
He hated crowds. Flirting, office politicsit all felt like a foreign language. Silence, routine, focusthat was his comfort zone. Conflict terrified him; hed sooner retreat than fight.
Yet beneath it all was an unshakable loyaltyhis wife, Emily, and the kids werent just his life; they *were* his life. His fidelity wasnt virtue signalingit was as natural as breathing.
Poppy had fixated on him from day one. He was the only one immune to her charms. Seducing him wasnt just about attentionit was validation. If a man like *him*faithful, qualityfell for her, then *she* mattered. And her experience whispered that no perfect family man was ever what he seemed.
Two weeks in, Poppy gushed to her friend Gemma about her feelings for Edward. Gemma listened, uneasy.
*Another* married one? Poppy, stop. Hes got *two* kids.
Oh, details! Hes *miserable*, I can tell. Trapped in some gilded cage. That wife of his*Emily*she doesnt *get* him. Just keeps him comfortable while his soul *suffocates*.
How dyou even know that? Ever met her?
I dont *need* to! Look at himso buttoned-up, so *proper* Thats not normal. Theres pain there. Hes scared to admit it. Ill *free* him.
Christ, you sound like a bad rom-com. You dont want to free him. You want him *because* hes off-limits. This isnt a gameits *real life*.
You dont *understand*, Gem. This is *destiny*. His perfect family? Bet its a sham. Nothings perfect. And Ill *prove* it.
***
The business trip to Manchester was Edwards nightmare. Guess who volunteered to join? In front of clients, Poppy was the picture of professionalism, and Edward nearly relaxeduntil the knock at his hotel door late that night.
My rooms *freezing*, Poppy announced, wrapped in a flimsy robe that left little to the imagination.
Edwards stomach dropped. Panic, thick and clammy, clawed at his throat. He pictured Emilys trusting eyes.
Wait hereIll grab you a blanket, he muttered, turning away.
Poppy pouted but took it.
Honestly, Ed, youve locked *yourself* away, she sighed. Pity. Theres a different man under thereI *know* it.
He shut the door, resting his forehead against it, pulse roaring in his ears. Relief? Yes. But also a strange, heavy sorrowfor her, for himself, for the whole absurd mess.
Back at the office, Poppy seemed to lose interest. Edward exhaleduntil she asked for a lift home. He refused.
Do I *repulse* you?
Youre brilliant, he said carefully. But I *love* my wife. Ive got a family
So thats the *only* reason? Her eyes glittered dangerously.
No He faltered, fumbling for gentle words, but she vanished. He immediately regretted his fumbling. And rightly so.
That night, a sharp jab woke him. Emilys furious whisper cut through the dark:
Edward, have you *lost it*? What kind of woman sends *these* at midnight?
He sat bolt upright, heart hammering. On his phone: Poppy, in lingerie, posing provocatively.
Em, its not*listen* He spilled everything, shame and all.
Emily was silent a long moment. Then a sighequal parts anger and affection.
You daft sod. Fine. I believe youbecause I *know* youre not stupid enough for that. But *tell* her: if this happens again, Ill march into that office and put on a show thatll put *Eastenders* to shame.
Edward nodded into the dark. Next day, he called Poppy into a meeting room. She strode in, radiant, expecting surrender.
Poppy, youve crossed a line, he said, steadying his voice.
Oh, *relax*, she purred, reaching for his face.
He recoiled. Her hand hovered mid-air.
Whatre you saying?
That your perfect lifes a *lie*, she hissed. From the outside: doting wife, little princess Lily, golden boy James
Were *happy*.
*Wake up*! She loomed over the desk. James looks *nothing* like you! Lilys your double, but James*wheres* *you* in him?
Ice flooded Edwards veins. That triumphant smirk erased his last shred of pity.
And I can *prove* it. She slapped a dossier on the desk. Paternity probability: 0%. Handy having connections, eh? *Now* will you believe me?
Edward met her gaze. The anger hed buried for months surgedcold, clear.
I tolerated your advances. But my *children*? James isnt mine by blood. Thats mine and Emilys business. Since you *love* prying: his parentsEmilys sister and her husband*died*. Hes *ours* now. *Satisfied*?
Poppy paled. II didnt know.
Nor do I know *how* you got thisif its even real. I thought you were just lonely. But youre *dangerous*. Resign. If its not on the directors desk by tonight, I go to the police. And if you *ever* come near my kids His quiet voice turned lethal. Youll wish it *was* the police.
Poppy quit that day. Edward came home early, finding six-year-old James piecing together a puzzle while eight-year-old Lily scribbled homework. He hugged them both extra tight, breathing in the familiar scent of their hair.
That night, once they slept, he faced Emily.
We have to tell him, he murmured. James deserves the truth from *us*not some stranger. Sooner the better.
Emilys eyes glistenednot with grief, but relief. Im scared.
Me too. But well do it together.
A week later, they celebrated with cake. Then Edward knelt before James.
Weve something important to say. About how much we love you. He took a breath. Remember how we say familys what matters? And it comes in all shapes. James Im not your birth dad. Your first mum and dad were Auntie Claire and Uncle Markthey were wonderful, but theyre not here anymore. Mummy and I we chose you. With all our hearts.
James pondered this, then hugged them and asked for more cake. The shadow lifted, leaving only crumbs and quiet conversationno room for Poppy or her fantasies. Everything settled, just as it should.
