Nicole cleans herself and heads Home

Nicole grabbed a stack of coarse tissues. She wiped the thick, pearlescent cream from her inner thighs, the friction stinging her sensitized skin. The scent of bleach and raw musk clung to her. Jefferson adjusted his tie, his expression returning to a mask of cold indifference.

"Clean the mahogany before you leave," he commanded.

"I will," she whispered.

"And Nicole? Don't let your husband touch you this weekend. I want you hungry for Monday."

She didn't answer. She scrubbed the wood until it shone, then fled the office. The drive home felt like an escape from a cage, though the bars were invisible.

She stepped through her front door, dropping her keys on the side table. A tall figure lounged against the kitchen archway.

"Welcome home, sis," Daniel said.

Nicole froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. The memory of the photographs—the heat, the taboo, the evidence—flashed through her mind.

"You're here," she said.

"Arrived twenty minutes ago. John let me in."Daniel grinned, a look that mirrored the one he wore in the photos. He stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug, his chest pressing against her breasts.

"I needed a win, Nic. Thanks for taking me in."

"It's fine," she replied, stepping back. "Just... don't make a mess."

"Where's John?"

"In the bedroom. He is likely sleeping."

Daniel glanced at her, his eyes scanning her flushed face and messy hair.

"You look tired," he noted. "What did you do at work today?"

"Nothing special," she lied. "Just a long Friday."

"You're shaking," Daniel said, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Everything okay?"

"I'm just exhausted, Daniel. Give me a minute to breathe."

"Fair enough. I'll be in the guest room if you need me."

"I'll get you some towels," she said.

"Appreciate it, sis."

He winked and strolled away, leaving her alone in the silence of the hallway.