Mrs. Norris returned, setting a glass of warm milk beside Samantha with maternal care, her eyes twinkling with affection for her potential nephew daughter-in-law. Settling into her chair, she smiled warmly. "I'll head back this evening. It gladdens me to see you two so happy, but you young ones should mind your health—staying up so late last night."
Samantha's cheeks flushed crimson, Joe's grin turned foolish, and William managed a dry laugh.
"Would you two please accompany this old lady for another day?" Mrs. Norris asked, her voice soft but expectant. "I'd love a walk today."
"Oh, sure, we're happy to," Samantha and Joe replied in unison, their eager assent leaving William out but pressing on him like a unseen weight.
Mrs. Norris turned to William, her gaze measured and graceful. "William, you shan't leave so soon either." She lifted her coffee cup, sipping deliberately, her voice smooth as aged bourbon. "Joe told me of your assistance to Norris Corporation. Your support during the Harper Group debacle was invaluable—a legal mind like yours is a rare gem."
William inclined his head, modesty masking his racing pulse.
"Joe shared your idea—fascinating, daring, the decree of a chief strategist. Ours earn two million a year for such vision. The future is yours, William. My husband and I are relics, polishing the glass for your ascent. So—go for it." Mrs Norris continued.
Joe leaned in, his grin glint as a bread blade, a wildfire in his eyes. "Damn right, Wil. Quit that paperwork dungeon. I'm liquidating every half-baked app, every middling project—we're funneling it into your vision. My cousin Robert's hooked; he's flying back to the West Coast with your proposal. Overseas investors are salivating—your lawyerly rigor's airtight. They're wiring extra just to watch you work. Let's do big things together." His voice carried the weight of ambition, the kind that carved fortunes from thin air.
William's mind churned. His legal consultation clients—import and export giants—had long whispered of the gasoline-auto industry's collapse under China government's EV policies. Factories struggled, unable to sell, yet with financial support and transformation, they could thrive. William had urged Joe to acquire mid-sized enterprises, snapping up faltering Chinese and Japanese auto factories at bargain prices. But Joe, ever the ruthless playboy of business, dreamed bigger, eyeing entire conglomerates—their land, machines, production systems, and sales channels. Overseas investors, sensing blood, aimed to crush competitors in their sleep, their aggressive intentions a mirror to Joe's own.
William agreed to join Mrs. Norris for a walk and to discuss the ambitious business venture. "Yeah, sure, no problem," he'd said respectfully, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions. "I'll stay for a walk with you, Mrs. Norris, and we'll talk business in detail on the way."
The engine of Joe's Porsche Cayenne roared to life, a deep, throaty growl that spoke of luxury and power. The leather seats cradled them in cool, supple comfort—Samantha in the front passenger seat, her fingers lightly drumming the armrest with quiet excitement, while William and Mrs. Norris settled in the back. The cabin's air was crisp, laced with the faint, expensive musk of Joe's cologne. As Joe pulled away, the city blurred past the tinted windows, a kaleidoscope of sunlight and urban glow.
Conversation flowed easily, laughter weaving through tales of old times and bold plans, Joe's hand resting loosely on the wheel, the other adjusting the climate control with casual precision. The hum of the road was a steady rhythm, a prelude to the day's allure.
South Coast Plaza rose like a jewel against the California sky, a cathedral of commerce with its sprawling marble and glass façade shimmering in the midday sun. Towering palm trees swayed in the gentle breeze, casting delicate shadows over the valet stand. Inside, the air was perfumed with the opulent blend of high-end boutiques and gourmet cafés—rich leather, fresh florals, and the buttery aroma of freshly baked pastries. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light across polished floors, reflecting off the artful displays of Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and Chanel, each storefront a sentinel of style.
Samantha was elegance incarnate, a vision in her Hermès white belted tunic dress, its structured silhouette clinging to her curves with effortless sophistication. The leather belt cinched her slender waist, accentuating the lush swell of her hips, the fabric cascading in soft folds to her round thighs. The plunging neckline teased her full breasts, a daring whisper of temptation beneath the refined austerity, the lace hem brushing her toned legs with every step. Her long, wavy blonde hair caught the light like liquid silk, her Cartier black sunglasses shielding secrets only the worthy might uncover. Beside her, Joe stood tall, his commanding presence a perfect counterpoint to her glamour, a pair plucked from a silver screen where beauty was a palpable force, lingering like expensive perfume.
But the sight that pierced William's heart was their clasped hands—Samantha's delicate fingers entwined with Joe's, a public display of intimacy that stung like a thorn. Joe's arm occasionally circled her slender waist, his hand daring to pat her full, rounded buttocks, each touch a bold claim. Samantha responded with a sweet, radiant smile, leaning into his advances, her playful cooperation a performance that ignored William's presence entirely. She was a lovebird, radiant and enamored, her gaze fixed on Joe as if he were her true suitor, not her husband trailing behind.
William's heart prickled, a sharp mix of jealousy and strange, thrilling excitement.
Mrs. Norris, ever the gracious matriarch, walked beside William, her warm chatter about family and business a grounding contrast to the charged air. "We'll discuss your buying proposal further. Listen William, acquiring those struggling auto factories, it was brilliant."
William nodded, his mind split between her words and the sight of Samantha and Joe ahead, their hands still clasped, her laughter a sultry melody. His cuckold fetish flared, the pain of their intimacy a delicious torment, yet his trust in Samantha's love held firm.
The shopping plaza's opulent corridors shimmered with wealth, the air perfumed with leather, florals, and buttery pastries. William walked beside Mrs. Norris, their business talk weaving through the ambitious plan to acquire faltering auto factories, her praise for his strategic mind. Yet his attention faltered, drawn to the sight of Samantha and Joe slipping into a La Perla boutique.
La Perla's name alone whispered lust desire, the air inside thick with jasmine and attractiveness. The shop was a symphony of lace and silk, daring chemises and delicate corsets draped over mannequins like whispered promises. Joe held the door, his fingers grazing the small of her back, a touch that sent a prickle through William's heart—part pain, part thrill.
A saleswoman glided forward, her smile polished, her gaze discreet yet knowing, accustomed to couples whose glances spoke of forbidden indulgence. "Can I assist you today?" she asked, her voice smooth as the French lingerie surrounding them.
Joe's smirk was all casual confidence, his hands in his pockets. "Just browsing," he said, but his eyes glinted, tracing the delicate straps of a black satin corset, betraying a hunger that matched Samantha's playful thrill.
Samantha reached out, her fingertips grazing a negligee so sheer it seemed spun from moonlight, the price tag making her breath catch.
Joe leaned close, his lips at her ear, his voice a low, seductive murmur. "Try it on." A challenge. A promise.
The saleswoman turned away, leaving them to their electric privacy. Joe plucked a daring thong—black lace, barely there—and motioned for Samantha to try it. She flashed a coy smile, then darted toward the fitting room, her laughter a teasing melody. Joe turned to the saleswoman, purchasing the thong with a swift nod, his confidence unshaken. Samantha, not to be outdone, selected a sleek pair of men's underwear for Joe, their whispers punctuated by her playful swats at his chest, her pretended annoyance. Her eyes flicked to William, a meaningful glance that set his pulse racing, a silent acknowledgment of their shared game.
William averted his gaze, focusing on Mrs. Norris, who had shifted from business to matters of the heart. Her kind, late-middle-aged warmth enveloped him as she spoke of marriage and family, her voice brimming with concern. "William, you need a nice girl like Samantha to settle down with," she said, oblivious to the potential irony. "I'll arrange a date with someone just as lovely."
William's mind reeled.
Damn, auntie, what do you know?! I'm a married man. And your nephew's holding my beloved wife right now!