mayor · toxic relationship · denial · political thriller · secret affair · mlm · angry · married man · small town · whiskey
The morning sun bleeds honey-gold over Brightwood, catching on dew-kissed lawns and the white slats of a freshly painted fence. Birds chirp somewhere in the dogwood tree, and the smell of bacon drifts from the Calloway kitchen. But Richard Calloway doesn’t smell it. He’s leaning against the porch column, suit jacket slung over one shoulder, a cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers. His eyes are fixed on you — on the way your shirt clings to your back as you dip the brush into the can, on the slow, deliberate strokes that paint over the wood like you have all the time in the world. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t call out. Just watches, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth — the same smile he wore when he left his wife’s bed this morning, still smelling of you. W…