[Tara's POV]
Anger feels like an old friend I've avoided calling for years. It's been a long time since I allowed myself to feel this kind of rage, the kind that turns your insides molten and makes your fingers tremble against the keyboard. But here I am, Sunday morning, staring at my laptop screen like it personally offended me, hunting for any trace of the woman who stole what was rightfully mine.
Sabrina Hart. Even thinking her name makes my jaw clench.
I've been searching for nearly three hours, combing through every digital corner I can access. Her Facebook profile picture shows her with an arm draped possessively around Leo's shoulders, but the privacy settings are locked down tight. Her Instagram is similarly fortress-like, revealing only a profile photo of her in hiking gear, that boyish pixie cut catching sunlight. Her LinkedIn is practically skeletal, "Senior Project Manager at TechVance Solutions, Boston." for ten years.
"Fucking amateur hour," I mutter, taking another aggressive sip of my now-cold coffee.
The search is getting nowhere. Every social media rabbit hole leads to a dead end, and I'm starting to think Sabrina is more tech-savvy than I gave her credit for. I switch tactics, typing "Leo Hart Lynnfield" into the search bar, but all I get are real estate listings and a local plumber with the same name.
I can't fucking believe it. After seven years of searching, of hiring useless private investigators and following dead-end leads, Leo somehow ends up in Lynnfield, the same town where I fucking grew up. The cosmic joke isn't lost on me. While I scoured the country looking for him, he was probably grocery shopping at the same Whole Foods I frequent.
What are my options here? I could set up surveillance cameras around their house, maybe even break in when they're both at work to get a better sense of their life together. Does Leo even work? The thought of walking through their home, touching Leo's things, smelling his scent on their sheets sends a thrill through me that's almost sexual in its intensity.
My phone chimes with a notification, interrupting my increasingly invasive thoughts. I glance down, expecting another useless email from work, but instead see,
Sabrina Hart has requested to follow you on Instagram
"What the fuck?" I breathe, staring at the notification like it might bite me.
Did she somehow catch me watching their house last night? Impossible. I was careful, kept my distance. There's no way she could have spotted me from that vantage point in the dark.
Before I can process what's happening, another notification pops up. A direct message from Sabrina.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I open it, half-expecting some kind of threat or warning to stay away from her husband.
Instead, I read,
Hi Tara,
It was certainly unexpected but intriguing to run into you again after all these years. Hope you're doing well.
I'm reaching out because Leo and I have been exploring some unconventional dynamics in our marriage, and after seeing you two reconnect, I think you could be exactly the right person to help us pursue this further.
Specifically, I'd like to invite you into an arrangement where you engage intimately with Leo while I observe. I believe this could be mutually enjoyable for all parties involved. If you're interested, let's discuss further details and expectations.
Looking forward to your thoughts.
Best,
Sabrina
"WHAT THE FUCK?" I yell at my empty house, the words echoing off the pristine walls. My coffee mug slips from my fingers, splashing the remains across my desk. I barely notice.
I read the message again, certain I must have misunderstood. But no, the words remain unchanged. Little Miss Perfect wants me to fuck her husband while she watches.
Sabrina Hart is a cuck. A goddamn cuck.
I stare at the message, reading it a third time, a fourth. Why does it read like a corporate email? Like she's proposing some kind of business arrangement instead of inviting me into their marriage bed? The clinical tone makes my skin crawl, even as possibilities bloom in my mind.
This is too perfect. Too easy. There has to be a catch, a trap I'm not seeing.
I pace my office, adrenaline coursing through my veins. What game is she playing? Is this some elaborate scheme to humiliate me? To get revenge for high school? Or does she genuinely get off on watching her husband with other women?
I stop suddenly, a smile spreading across my face as realization dawns. It doesn't matter what her motivation is. She's just handed me the key to Leo's life, gift-wrapped with a pretty bow.
Carefully, I craft my response, matching her professional tone while letting just enough eagerness seep through,
Sabrina,
What a pleasant surprise to hear from you. I'm doing quite well, thank you for asking.
Your proposal is certainly unexpected but intriguing. I'd be happy to discuss this arrangement further. Perhaps we could meet for coffee this week to go over the details in person?
Best regards,
Tara
I hit send before I can overthink it, then toss my phone onto the couch like it's suddenly too hot to hold. My mind races with possibilities, with scenarios and strategies. This is better than anything I could have planned myself.
My phone buzzes almost immediately, the sound making me flinch as it vibrates against the couch cushions. I lunge for it, nearly knocking over a side table in my haste. The notification banner shows Sabrina's name, and my pulse quickens as I swipe to open it.
Want to grab coffee now? Just the two of us to iron out the details?
I stare at the screen, momentarily stunned by her eagerness. It's barely past noon on a Sunday, and she's already pushing to meet. Part of me thinks I should play hard to get, make her wait a day or two. That's what the old Tara would do, establish dominance from the start, set the pace on my terms.
But then I catch my reflection in the darkened screen of my laptop. What the fuck am I doing? This isn't some random hookup or business negotiation. This is Leo. My Leo. The man I've been searching for across seven years and thousands of miles.
I type back quickly.
Sure. Where and when?
Her response comes within seconds.
Starbucks on Market Street. Is that convenient?
I smile, a predatory curl of my lips that feels like slipping into an old, comfortable skin. Market Street is less than five minutes from my house.
I'll be there in 5 minutes.
I reply, already grabbing my keys.
As I slide into my car, I check my appearance in the rearview mirror. My long black hair falls in perfect waves around my shoulders, framing features that have intimidated and enticed in equal measure since high school.
The drive to Starbucks is a blur, my mind racing with possibilities. What exactly does Sabrina want? How far is she willing to go? And most importantly, how can I use this bizarre arrangement to reclaim what's mine?
I pull into the parking lot, scanning for Sabrina's car. I spot her sedan parked near the entrance. So she's already here, waiting for me. Good.
Taking a deep breath, I step out of my car and straighten my shoulders.
The bell above the door chimes as I enter, and the familiar scent of coffee and pastries hits me. The Sunday crowd is thin, mostly students hunched over laptops or couples lingering over late-morning caffeine. I spot Sabrina immediately, sitting alone at a corner table, two cups already in front of her.
She looks up as I approach, those ice-blue eyes assessing me with a mixture of wariness and something else, curiosity, perhaps. Or hunger. She's wearing a crisp button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing toned forearms.
I slide into the seat across from her, noting the tension in her shoulders and the tight line of her mouth. She pushes one of the cups toward me.
"Tara. Good to see you again," she says, but her eyes tell a different story. The words sound rehearsed, like she's reading from a script she doesn't believe in.
I don't touch the coffee. "You don't have to fake it, Sabrina. We both know we hate each other. Let's not pretend."
She exhales slowly, her shoulders dropping as the polite facade crumbles. "Yes, well... it's a bit awkward to just ask someone you hate to fuck your husband."
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting back laughter that would draw unwanted attention in this quiet corner of Starbucks. The sheer insanity of this situation, sitting across from my high school nemesis while she propositions me to sleep with her husband.
"Did Leo tell you?" I ask, keeping my voice deliberately neutral. "About what happened between us?"
Sabrina nods, taking a sip of her coffee. "Yes. And I figured maybe you'd want to get back at him for doing something so upsetting. Running away like that must have been... difficult."
I maintain my composure, but inwardly I'm fascinated by her interpretation. She thinks I'm angry at Leo, that this is about revenge for me. She has no idea that what I felt when he disappeared wasn't rage but devastation. A heartbreak so bad I refused to let go.
Interesting. This misunderstanding could work in my favor.
"Let me get this straight," I say, finally reaching for the coffee she bought me. "You want me to sleep with your husband while you watch? As some kind of... what? Punishment for him? Thrill for you?"
Sabrina's face hardens instantly, her entire body going rigid. "No. I won't let you punish my husband," she says firmly, leaning forward. "I don't want you hurting Leo, period."
The accusation stings more than it should.
"I would never hurt Leo," I say softly, and to my surprise, I mean it. Despite everything, the abandonment, the years of searching, the rage that's fueled me, hurting him has never been my goal.
Something flickers across Sabrina's face, a flash of jealousy so pure it's almost beautiful. Her jaw clenches before she nods once. "Good."
She takes another sip of her coffee, gathering herself. When she speaks again, her voice has regained that professional edge.
"Look, there aren't a lot of ground rules, but the ones we have are non-negotiable," she explains. "No kissing. And condoms are a must."
I can't help the laugh that escapes me, sharp and incredulous. "Is it normal for a cuck to get to make demands? I thought the whole point was surrendering control."
Her eyes narrow dangerously.
"I don't need you, Tara," she says, voice low and steady. "I can find plenty of other women who would jump at the chance to fuck my husband."
The casual threat sends a spike of irritation through me. As if I'm interchangeable, as if anyone could provide what I can.
I remain calm. "But none of them would know his body like I do. None of them would understand what makes him tick, what makes him break. None of them shared what we shared."
Sabrina's fingers tighten around her cup, knuckles whitening. I've struck a nerve, and the petty part of me savors her discomfort.
"Isn't that why you reached out to me specifically?" I ask, leaning forward across the table. "You could have chosen anyone, Sabrina. But you picked your high school bully. The woman who tormented you. The one who knew Leo before you did." I tilt my head, studying her reaction. "Unless you're exactly the type of cuck who gets off on watching her bully steal her husband."
Something shifts in Sabrina's expression, a flash of heat that transforms her face. Her pupils dilate visibly, and her breath catches just enough for me to notice. That's when I see it, the hunger in her eyes, raw and undeniable.
Oh my god. She really is a cuck to her core.
The realization hits me like a physical force. This isn't just some kinky experiment for her. She genuinely gets aroused by the possibility of me taking Leo away. By the threat I represent. By the power dynamic between us that's lingered since high school.
I could destroy her marriage, and part of her probably wants me to.
I take a slow sip of my coffee, processing this information while maintaining eye contact. The leverage this gives me is intoxicating. I had walked in here thinking I'd need to be careful, strategic. Now I realize I can be much more direct.
"The condom rule is fine," I say with calculated casualness. "And I can work with the no kissing thing. For now."
Sabrina's shoulders relax slightly, though tension still radiates from her body. "Thank you," she says, sounding genuinely relieved. "I appreciate your... flexibility."
I wave away her gratitude. "When do you want to start this arrangement? I'm assuming Leo is on board?"
"He is," she confirms, a hint of pride coloring her voice. "He'll do anything for me."
Her tone makes my blood boil, but I keep my expression neutral. "How sweet. He was always so eager to please."
"Let's start tonight," Sabrina says, leaning forward with barely contained eagerness. "I know it's short notice."
I blink once, twice, staring at her with undisguised amusement. This woman is fucking desperate.
"What time?" I ask casually, as if we're discussing a business meeting rather than her husband's body.
"Maybe after dinner? Around seven?" Her voice lilts upward with uncertainty, like she's afraid I'll say no. Like she's afraid I'll walk away from this golden opportunity.
"Sure," I reply, enjoying how my easy agreement makes relief wash over her face.
She smiles and reaches into her pocket, pulling out a folded slip of paper. "Here's our address."
I take it, even though I already have it memorized from last night's surveillance. "Thanks."
Sabrina hesitates, then asks, "Do you want anything? Maybe ropes or something like that? Leo used to..."
"Let's just keep it casual tonight," I interrupt, watching her face fall slightly at being denied the specifics she's clearly hungry for. "Leave room for escalation, you know?"
The disappointment in her eyes is delicious. She wants the full show right away, wants to see Leo completely undone by my expertise. But I'm not giving her everything at once. This is a marathon, not a sprint.
"Of course," she agrees, recovering quickly. "Whatever makes you comfortable."
I take another sip of coffee, hiding my smile behind the cup. "I appreciate that, Sabrina. I want this to be enjoyable for everyone." The lie tastes sweet on my tongue.