Lunch with the girls

The conversation flowed easily around the table—Victoria complaining about her latest interior designer fiasco, Meredith dissecting the new spin instructor’s abs with clinical precision, Lauren scrolling through her feed for the next “must-have” handbag. Julia nodded along, sipping her mimosa, letting the familiar rhythm of their chatter anchor her while her body still hummed with the morning’s violations. Chloe, seated right beside her, leaned in close, platinum hair brushing Julia’s shoulder, her perfume a light, expensive cloud of vanilla and jasmine. Since Julia had been the one to vouch for her when Derek first brought the young Instagram model into their circle—defending her against the group’s initial side-eye about the age gap and the “influencer” label—Chloe had latched onto Julia like an eager little sister. Now she was practically draped over her arm, laughing too loudly at Julia’s half-hearted quip about Riley’s latest school drama, her manicured fingers resting casually on Julia’s wrist.

“You’re literally the best mom ever,” Chloe gushed, eyes wide and sparkling under false lashes. “I mean, dealing with a teenager like that? I’d lose my mind. You’re so calm.” She squeezed Julia’s arm affectionately, pressing closer so their thighs touched under the table, the contact innocent on Chloe’s part but sending an unexpected spark through Julia’s already over-sensitized nerves. Julia smiled tightly, murmuring a thank-you, hyper-aware of every point of contact—the warmth of Chloe’s skin, the faint press of her small, perky breasts against Julia’s sleeve—while her mind flashed traitorously to the headmaster’s earlier commands, the taste still faint on her tongue.

Then her phone buzzed against her thigh, a sharp vibration that made her jolt slightly. She glanced down, heart kicking hard, and slipped it from her purse just enough to read the screen without drawing attention.

Unknown number: Mrs. Edwards. First mission. Today. Get onto Riley’s phone. Find her Snapchat username and send it to this number. No excuses. Do it discreetly. Master.

Julia’s breath caught. She stared at the message, pulse thundering in her ears, the words searing into her brain. Riley’s phone. Her eighteen-year-old daughter’s phone. The one she handed over for “screen time checks” when Riley was in trouble, the one full of secrets and late-night chats and god-knows-what-else. A flush crept up her neck—shame, fear, and something darker, hotter, twisting low in her belly.

Chloe tilted her head, noticing the sudden stillness. “Everything okay, Jules? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Julia **** a laugh, sliding the phone face-down on her lap. “Just William texting about some dinner thing tonight. Boring lawyer stuff.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, willing her hand not to shake. “Sorry, what were you saying about that new Pilates studio?”

Chloe beamed, launching back into her story, oblivious, while Julia’s mind raced ahead—how to get Riley’s phone without raising suspicion, how to scroll through apps without getting caught, how to send the username without her fingers betraying her. The mimosa suddenly tasted too sweet, too sharp, and beneath the table her thighs pressed together against the fresh, insistent ache that refused to fade.