"I just don't understand—why does he keep doing this?" Sarah whispered. "He's the one who cheated. Why does he act like I'm the problem?"
"Because abusers know how to flip the story," Rachel said flatly. "He wants you to believe you're at fault. But you're not. Like I've said before, Keep every message. Every screenshot. It will serve as evidence that you can use to file a restraining order. Don't respond, no matter what. Starve him of the reaction he's fishing for."
Sarah sank onto her couch, exhaustion pressing down. "But… what if he finds another way to reach me? He always does."
"Then you keep documenting," Racheal said. "Every call, every text, every voicemail. Build a record. If he violates boundaries, we'll take it to court and if he comes to the office then you call security. You let Ethan Carter himself know. Don't protect David's ego at the expense of your safety, you've got to learn to put yourself first"
Her friend's words steadied her. For the first time all day, she felt the smallest sliver of relief.
"Thank you, Racheal," Sarah whispered.
"Don't thank me. Just promise me you'll protect yourself. You've fought too hard to let him drag you back down."
Sarah nodded, even though her friend couldn't see. "I promise."
But as she ended the call, she stared at her phone, heart heavy. Because promises were easy to make. The hard part was keeping them, when the man tormenting you was the same one you used to love.
......
David Caldwell stood in the middle of his master bedroom, jaw tight, phone gripped so hard the screen threatened to crack, it was now evening and yet no response or reaction from Sarah.
Again, he called but the call went straight to voicemail.
Blocked.
His nostrils flared.
"She blocked me," he muttered under his breath, disbelief warping into anger. "Sarah actually blocked me."
From the edge of the bed, Lisa Hargrove watched him—watched the way his eyes kept darting to the dead phone screen, the way his breath came sharp and uneven. She had been there the whole evening, sprawled across his expensive sheets in a red lingerie set she'd chosen specifically because David always reacted to red.
And yet…
He hadn't spared her more than a glance.
Lisa shifted, the soft rustle of lace cutting through the silence.
She looked exquisite—deliberately so. The red lace bra cupped her breasts perfectly, each curve sculpted and lifted by delicate sheer fabric and thin, teasing straps. A matching pair of lace panties hugged her hips, the criss-cross ribbons wrapping around her waist like seductive vines, accentuating her soft curves and glowing skin. The provocative cut displayed the long, smooth lines of her thighs—feminine, tempting, impossible to ignore.
But David wasn't looking.
His mind was somewhere else—on someone else.
Lisa's jaw tightened, jealousy simmering beneath her soft smile.
He paced the floor, muttering to himself, "She must have seen the texts. Why the hell wouldn't she answer? Who the hell does she think she is?"
Silence.
Then his thumb hovered over another contact.
Another number he could call her with.
Lisa saw it instantly and stood, the crimson lingerie hugging her body like molten temptation. She approached him slowly, her voice soft enough to soothe but sharp enough to wound.
"David…" she began, tilting her head sweetly. "Maybe she didn't reply because she has… more important things to do."
He froze.
She continued, her tone laced with manufactured sympathy, "Even if your messages were a little… provoking… the courteous thing would've been to reply and tell you to stop."
David's jaw tensed.
"Instead," Lisa said, circling him gently, "she's ignoring you as if you don't matter. As if you're beneath her."
A pause.
"After all those years you gave her."
David's eyes darkened.
Lisa suppressed a smile. He was listening.
She stepped closer, reaching out. Her right hand slid up gently and cupped his cheek, guiding his face to hers.
"Sweetheart," she whispered, "maybe she's laughing right now. Snubbing you, feeling important. Proud."
Her thumb brushed his jawline.
"She probably wants you to chase her."
She let the implication hang.
"You shouldn't give her that satisfaction."
The vein in David's temple throbbed.
Lisa's eyes gleamed—she knew she'd hit the right nerve.
"If you keep calling her," she said softly, "she might think you can't live without her. And then…" She sighed dramatically.
"She'll get conceited."
That was it.
David's ego snapped like a twig underfoot.
"How," he hissed, "would I—David Caldwell—chase any woman?" His voice rose. "Women chase me. They always have."
He finally turned fully toward Lisa, and for the first time that night, he truly saw her.
She stood there, stunning in red lace, curves framed by ribbon and silk, her body practically glowing under the soft bedroom lighting—sensual, inviting, devoted to him.
David inhaled sharply.
"That's right," he muttered, anger melting into desire. "Why am I fussing over that… nonentity?"
Lisa's lips curled slightly. Victory.
David grabbed her by the waist, pulling her flush against him.
"You're right," he breathed against her mouth. "Let's not talk about that ungrateful bitch."
Lisa smiled sweetly. "Whatever you say, baby."
Their mouths crashed together, the kiss desperate, heated, needy.
The red lace clung to her curves like it was crafted just for her, a deliberate temptation that glowed under the warm bedroom lights. Something in him snapped—something wild, frustrated, territorial.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
With a sudden, urgent motion, David's hands gripped the delicate fabric at her waist. The soft lace tore under the force, slipping apart in his grasp. Lisa let out a small gasp—half surprise, half satisfaction—as his fingers moved again, stripping away the rest with the same reckless hunger. Within seconds, she stood bare before him, skin flushed, breath trembling.
David's gaze swept over her, dark and consuming, as though seeing her stripped away the last barrier between him and the storm that had been raging in his chest all night.
"David…" she whispered, her voice a trembling thread of desire.
He stepped toward her, closing the distance and leading her to move backwards until her back met the edge of the mattress. His palms lifted to her chest, fingers spreading over soft curves, kneading with a fervor that made her head tilt back. She felt the heat of his mouth a moment later—hot, insistent, brushing and tasting her skin with slow, possessive hunger. Every deliberate movement of his lips sent tiny shivers racing through her.
Lisa's hands wandered on instinct. They traced the lines of his shoulders, the ridge of his spine, the familiar contours of a man who lived on intensity alone.
David felt the tension within him—sharp, coiled, dangerous—yet he decided to forget everything else and be in the moment and enjoy this gorgeous body that laid before him.
He kissed lower, his breath warm against her skin, his hands roaming with a confidence that made her knees weaken. Lisa's fingers tangled in his hair for balance, her body arching toward him. The world narrowed to the heat between them, the muffled sound of his name breaking from her lips, the steady rhythm of his breathing against her.
David's hand drifted lower, he started to play with Lisa's feminine core with two of his fingers, her thighs tightening around him on instinct and when he felt she was lubricated enough he began to make love to Lisa.
Moments later, Lisa's soft moans echoed down the long marble hallway of the Caldwell mansion—moans loud enough to be heard by every house staff still awake, as if marking her territory.
And David let himself drown.
In her.
In distraction.
In anything that kept him from feeling the sting of being ignored.
---(the next morning)---
The following evening, just before closing hours at Carter Tech, Ethan Carter stopped by Sarah's desk.
His expression was calm as always—composed, collected, unreadable.
"Prepare to travel," he told her, handing her a folder. "State D. We're going for a Three-day business conference and a business gala. You'll need to arrange the itinerary, book flights and pack appropriately. We leave in two days."
Sarah blinked, then nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll get everything ready."
As he walked away, she exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Relief washed over her body.
The past week had suffocated her. David's messages, the silence afterwards, the fear he might appear at her workplace at any moment to cause a scene, the constant tension gripping her shoulders.
But this trip…
It was an escape, a way to Distance herself from her problems.
A breather her heart desperately needed.
For the first time in days, a small flutter of peace found its way into her chest.
She would go to State D.
She would do her job.
She would clear her mind.
And maybe—just maybe—she would remember what life felt like when it wasn't shadowed by David Caldwell's madness.