Rest of her day

Julia stepped out of the school office on legs that still felt unsteady, her cheeks burning beneath the hastily reapplied makeup Caprice had politely pretended not to notice. The rest of the morning blurred into routine: dropping off dry cleaning, picking up groceries for the week’s meals, a quick stop at the florist to refresh the arrangements in the foyer—every task mechanical, her mind elsewhere, replaying the taste of the headmaster’s cum, the sting of his grip in her hair, the humiliating thrill of calling him Master. Her phone stayed silent in her purse, but she checked it obsessively at every red light, half-dreading, half-craving the first text that would arrive with whatever depraved “mission” he had in store.

By early afternoon the errands were done. She drove the Urus through the gated entrance of the country club, the familiar crunch of gravel under the tires grounding her just enough to paste on her usual polished smile. The clubhouse loomed ahead, all white columns and manicured ivy, the same place she’d lunched with the same circle of women for years—trophy wives who traded gossip like currency, their lives as curated as their Instagram feeds.

She parked, smoothed her dress which was still faintly damp between her thighs, a secret reminder of the morning, and walked inside. The dining room smelled of citrus polish and expensive perfume. At their usual corner table by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the eighteenth green sat her friends: Meredith, the Pilates-obsessed brunette with the perpetual wine glass; Lauren, the redhead who never missed a Botox appointment; Victoria, whose husband owned half the commercial real estate in Beverly Hills; and, new to the group, sitting with perfect posture and an almost blinding smile, was Chloe—the twenty-four-year-old Instagram model who’d recently married William’s best friend and business partner, Derek.

Chloe was everything the older women pretended not to envy: lithe, sun-kissed, with long waves cascading over shoulders that looked sculpted for bikinis and sponsored posts. Her nails were fresh acrylics in pale pink, her lips glossy, and the tiny diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist caught the light every time she reached for her iced matcha. She looked up as Julia approached, flashing a megawatt smile that showed perfect veneers.

“Julia! There you are,” Meredith called, waving her over. “We were about to send out a search party.”

Julia slid into the empty chair between Victoria and Chloe, forcing a light laugh. “Sorry, darlings school drama with Riley, you know how it is.” She set her purse down, crossed her legs carefully they were still tender, still slick, and accepted the mimosa Lauren pushed toward her without asking.

Chloe leaned in slightly, eyes bright with curiosity. “Riley’s the senior, right? God, high school sounds brutal these days. I barely survived it and that was, like, six years ago.”

The table laughed politely; Julia smiled, sipping her drink, the champagne bubbles sharp against the lingering phantom taste on her tongue. She nodded, murmured something vague about teenage rebellion, and let the conversation wash over her—designer sales, upcoming galas, who was getting what filler—while her mind drifted elsewhere, waiting for the buzz of her phone and whatever command would come next.