Chapter 4: Interlude - Cheating Was The Last Straw
The sharp, mechanical trill of the downstairs landline shattered the heavy silence predawn. Wanda jerked awake beneath the crushing weight of the desk leg. Pain screamed through her pinned hip, neck stiff and throbbing. Dust coated her tongue. The sickly-sweet tang of stale urine and her own arousal still hung thick in the study air, mixing with the faint, lingering scent of spilled bourbon. She blinked, disoriented, the muffled sounds from Ken’s room next door echoing dully in her memory. Silence there now. Dead silence.
Footsteps. Heavy, unhurried. Crossing the marble foyer below. Steven’s weary voice floated up the grand staircase, slightly muffled by distance. "Yeah? Hello?" A pause. "Margo? What time is it?"
Wanda froze. Every muscle locked. Margo. Steven’s assistant. Young. Ambitious. Blonde. Ice flooded Wanda’s veins, colder than the floor beneath her.
Steven’s footsteps started climbing the stairs. Slow. Tired. "No, no… it’s fine. Just… woke me up, that’s all." His voice carried a forced lightness. "Yeah, rough night. Wanda’s… holed up in her study again, probably passed out over spreadsheets. Haven’t laid eyes on her since dinner."
He reached the top landing. Wanda held her breath, pressing her cheek harder into the rough carpet, trying to make herself smaller, invisible. The study door was still ajar, the narrow wedge of light from the hallway slicing across scattered papers near the threshold. She heard him stop. Right outside.
Silence stretched. Then, a soft, frustrated sigh. He was looking at the door. At the crack. Could he see the mess? The overturned chair? The broken glass glittering near the bookshelf? Her own foot, barely visible?
But his attention shifted. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur, warm and intimate, utterly unlike the voice he used with her. "No, baby, shhh… don’t worry. She’s out cold. Or working. Same difference." A low chuckle. "Miss you too. Last night felt like a month."
Wanda’s nails dug into her palms. Baby. Miss you. Last night?
Steven took a step closer to the study door. His shadow fell across the slice of light. Wanda squeezed her eyes shut. Please, just walk away. Please don’t look in. But he wasn’t focused on the study. His head was turned towards Ken’s room. Listening.
From behind Ken’s closed door, a low thump sounded. Then Christie’s voice, husky with sleep or something else, barely audible: "...Ken...stop..." A muffled male grunt answered. Bedsprings creaked softly, rhythmically.
Steven stiffened. Wanda could almost see the frown creasing his brow through the door. His voice, still pitched low but sharper now, returned to the phone. "Hang on, Margo." He raised his voice slightly, aiming it at Ken’s door. "Christie? Ken? Everything okay in there?"
Silence from Ken’s room. The rhythmic creaking stopped abruptly. Then Christie’s voice, clearer now, dripping with teenage annoyance: "We're fine, Dad. Just… studying. All-nighter. Go away."
Steven sighed again, the sound heavy with weary acceptance, utterly devoid of suspicion. He’d never questioned Christie. His little girl. "Right. Studying. At 5 AM. Okay." He brought the phone back to his ear, his voice instantly softening back into that intimate murmur, dismissing the interruption entirely. "Sorry, sweetheart. Kids. What were you saying?"
He didn’t look towards the study again. Didn’t register the ragged, silent sob shaking Wanda’s trapped body. He paced a few steps down the hall, away from both doors, towards the master suite. "Tonight?" he whispered into the phone. A smile warmed his voice. "Yeah. Yeah, I can make that work. Usual place? Seven." A low laugh. "I know… me too. Feels like forever. Can’t wait to… really see you."
He paused outside the master bedroom door. Didn’t open it. Just stood there, talking to his mistress while his wife lay trapped in humiliation a few yards away, and his children… Wanda didn’t want to think about what they were doing. Steven’s shadow shifted as he leaned against the wall. "No, she won’t notice. She’s buried in work. Or asleep. Barely seen her." He chuckled softly. "Yeah, territorial about that damn study, isn’t she? Her little kingdom of mahogany. Fine by me. Gives us our space."
Wanda felt a hot tear trace a path through the dust on her cheek. Her kingdom. Her prison.
"Okay, baby," Steven murmured. "Gotta grab a shower, head back out. See you tonight. Wear the blue one." A pause. A soft, intimate sound – a kiss blown into the receiver. "Love you too."
The line clicked dead. Steven pushed off the wall. His footsteps moved down the hall, past Ken’s door, past the gaping maw of the study entrance. He paused for just a fraction of a second near the study threshold. Wanda saw the toe of his polished loafer in the slice of light. Her heart hammered against the floorboards. Did he see the discarded wine glass? The scuff mark on the baseboard?
But he just sighed, a sound of pure, uncomplicated fatigue. "Kids," he muttered to himself, the word heavy with the burden of his own obliviousness. Then he walked on, past the study, towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. The bathroom door opened and closed. A moment later, the pipes groaned as the shower turned on.
The relentless spray filled the hallway with white noise. Wanda was alone again. More alone than before. The hot water raged down uselessly on her husband, washing away nothing. Her prison remained. Her humiliation was complete. And Steven, the oblivious king of this gilded cage, had just walked right past her fallen kingdom without a second glance, already anticipating his escape to fresher territory. The grandfather clock in the hall below chimed a single, mournful note for six AM. The day had barely begun.