James pulled up to the petrol pump and rolled down his window.
“Premium unleaded, fill her up,” he called to the attendant before stepping out and heading toward the service station.
In the doorway, he nearly collided with a man who glanced at his face before quickly looking back at his phone. “Oliver?” James almost blurted out but stopped himself just in time. Inside, he watched through the glass door as his old friend climbed into a Mercedes. His hands trembled slightly as he handed his card to the cashier.
By the time he got back outside, the Mercedes was merging onto the motorway. Without hesitation, James jumped into his Ford and gave chase.
“Would you look at that,” he muttered, keeping the Mercedes in sight. “Living the high life now, eh? Married well? Doesn’t matter—I’ll find out soon enough.”
The car eventually turned into a gated estate. As it stopped in front of a grand house, James drove past, watching in the rearview mirror. The gates swung open, and the Mercedes disappeared inside. He reversed slowly, careful to avoid the security camera overhead.
Through the wrought-iron fence, he saw Oliver park in front of the garage. A young woman stepped onto the porch, and even from a distance, James recognised her.
“No way,” he whispered.
She walked down to meet Oliver, and they embraced before disappearing inside.
“So they’re married, and this is their home. Bloody hell. How did that happen? Revenge? But quiet little Emily—look at her now. And Oliver—some mate. Could’ve been me in his place…”
***
The club was loud and thick with sweat. Bass-heavy music thumped as coloured lights cut through the dim haze, flickering over sweaty, dancing bodies.
James sat at the bar, sipping a cocktail and eyeing the crowd with disinterest. His attention snagged on a tall woman in a tight red dress. “Now she’s something,” he thought before turning back to his drink.
Before he could take another sip, a familiar voice made him turn.
“This is my mate James,” Oliver said, arm slung around the very woman in red. “James, meet Charlotte—my girlfriend.”
James gave her a slow once-over. Up close, she was even lovelier—big, lined eyes, dimpled cheeks, and glossy blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. A proper stunner.
“Like what you see?” Oliver smirked.
“What are you drinking?” James asked, still staring at Charlotte.
“I’m driving. Fancy heading back to mine? Can’t hear a thing in here, and I could use a proper drink,” she suggested.
“You in?” Oliver asked him.
James downed his cocktail and stood without a word.
Outside, the music faded.
“Nice ride, eh?” Oliver gestured to a sleek Audi. “Charlotte’s dad got it for her birthday.” He grinned, as if he’d had a hand in the gift himself.
James glanced from the car to his friend. Oliver winked, the silent message clear: just the beginning.
“How the hell did he land a girl like that?” James wondered. Oliver wasn’t half as good-looking. “Kept that quiet, didn’t you?”
“Where’s Emily? I invited both of you,” Oliver asked as they drove through the city.
“She’s not feeling great. Morning sickness.” James’s mood soured at the mention.
“You never said! Trying to keep the wedding a secret?” Oliver laughed.
James stayed silent. He didn’t want to talk about Emily.
The Audi stopped outside a high-rise. The lift to the penthouse was lined with mirrors.
“This yours?” James eyed the lavish space. “Where’d you find a girl like that?” he whispered.
“In the street.” Oliver chuckled. “Nearly ran me over.”
James kept pouring the wine until Oliver was properly sloshed. Charlotte steered him to bed, then rejoined James. He stood by a painting.
“That’s mine,” she said from behind him.
“Yours?” He turned. “Would you paint me?”
“Painters paint, they don’t draw. You’ve got good lines,” she said, stepping back to assess him. “Would you pose nude?”
“Here?” He faltered.
“Not here. My studio, proper lighting. Leave your number.”
When James got home, Emily was tearful on the sofa.
“Have you been drinking?”
“A bit. With Oliver.”
“Hungry?” She sniffed.
“No. Nearly breakfast anyway. I’m knackered.” He shut himself in the shower.
How had he landed in this mess? He hadn’t planned anything serious with Emily. Nice girl, just bad timing. Charlotte, though—that was different. He needed rid of Emily. Fast.
Under the spray, he pictured Charlotte. Oliver didn’t deserve her. But Emily was in the way. Good girl, but not what he wanted. Not like Charlotte. Or, more accurately, not like her loaded father.
Raised by a single mum, James had known poverty too well. He wanted wealth, fast. Marrying into money was the shortcut. Charlotte was perfect—gorgeous, rich. Just had to ditch Emily.
He climbed into bed, back to Emily.
Two days later, Charlotte called. He arrived at her studio, dressed to impress.
“You’ll need to undress,” she said.
“So soon?”
“Studio time’s limited. Two hours. Changed your mind?”
He stripped. She adjusted his pose, indifferent to his nakedness, then sketched. Twenty minutes in, he groaned.
“Need a break. Legs are killing me.”
She sighed. “Fine. Coffee?”
While she was gone, he peeked at the sketch—flattering, if unskilled. He crept up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist—
She turned, pulling him close…
James arrived home smug. Hadn’t expected it to be that easy. Emily sat crying on the sofa.
“You’ve fallen out of love with me, haven’t you?”
“Here we go.” He stood.
“You’re never home!”
“I’m working my arse off. Baby on the way, wedding to save for—”
“Wedding?” Her tears stopped.
“Course. Kid needs two parents.”
She flung herself at him. He hid his grimace.
“Why don’t you stay with your nan? Save on rent. I’ll crash with Oliver. Ring you every day. Three months, I’ll fetch you. Yeah?”
“Really?” She beamed.
He hadn’t expected her to agree. No fight, no drama. Emily missed her nan in York. Dad left when she was young; mum died when she was sixteen. Raised by her nan. She’d jump at the chance.
In the days before she left, James turned on the charm, lulling her suspicions. He even skipped “sessions” with Charlotte. At the station, he waved until the train vanished.
Then he went straight to Charlotte. He never called Emily. Changed his number, moved in with Charlotte. Oliver tried to confront him but was no match.
Three months later, James married Charlotte. But reality was less glamorous. Her father let them marry but refused him a job in the family business. Charlotte’s spending clashed with his modest income. One night, James hit her, jealous of an old friend.
The next evening, her father waited in their flat. “Pack your things. Solicitors will handle the rest. Cause trouble, and you’ll regret it.”
James had lost everything. But he wasn’t one to wallow. Plenty more rich women out there.
Young ones never interested him—Emily and Charlotte had been enough. Now he targeted wealthy, independent women, no parents or husbands in the way. He scoured society pages, tracked them down, engineered “accidental” meetings. A handsome young man “hit” by their car? They’d invite him home to tend his wounds…
Soon, he had a new car. One besotted older lover even gave him a flat—a one-bed in a dreary suburb.
***
Now, sitting in his car outside Oliver and Emily’s house, James stewed. How had those two ended up together? Maybe she’d tracked him down, called Oliver for answers. Or maybe Oliver took her to spite him. His child, raised under another man’s name. What a revenge.
Or was it love? He recalled their embrace, the kiss before disappearing inside. “I won’t let this slide. I’ll think of something…”
His phone rang. He fished it from his pocket.
“Where are you? I’m waiting, darling. Missed you,” a petulant voice chirped.
James forced a playful tone. “Missed you too, kitten. On my way.” He tossed the phone aside like a grenade.
“Kitten” was his wife—a woman old enough to be his mother, desperate to keep him happy. New car, endless cash. One condition: no cheating. Catch him with a younger woman, and he’d be out on the street.
“You’ve really done it now, mate,” James muttered, driving away. “Stuck in a gilded cage.”
But she wasn’t getting any younger. Accidents happened at that age. He just had to be clever about it.
He tightened his grip on the wheel, a slow smile forming as he pictured the life insurance payout—enough to finally get everything he wanted, if he played his cards right.
