The Single Mom Who Toyed With Married Men Chapter 03

The Single Mom Who Toyed With Married Men Chapter 03

Dead silence.

Every pair of eyes went to my phone first, then straight down to Chloe’s feet.

Chloe went white. She tried to tuck her feet under the bench, but it was too late.

Same buckle, same design. A his-and-hers set. No question.

The men who’d been defending Chloe five minutes ago looked like they wanted the ground to swallow them whole.

Mitchell from 501 was the worst. He actually pulled his feet back under the bench.

Size ten.

His wife, Brenda Collins, never a woman known for her patience, slammed her purse on the ground and got right in his face.

“Mitchell! You moved a thousand dollars out of the account last month, told me it was for your mother’s vitamins, and you were buying shoes for HER?”

“Babe, babe, let me explain! I didn’t buy those shoes!” Mitchell’s face was drenched in sweat.

“Then why are you hiding your feet? Matching shoes, Mitchell? How long has this been going on?”

Brenda didn’t wait for an answer. She stormed off..

The whole shared garden erupted.

Chloe clearly hadn’t planned for this.

She grabbed at Brenda’s arm. “Mrs. Collins, please. You’ve got it wrong. It wasn’t Mitchell…”

“Get your hands off me, you shameless homewrecker!”

Brenda shoved her hard.

Chloe let the push carry her all the way down onto the grass, grabbing her ankle, eyes filling on cue. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks, one after another.

A week ago, that performance would’ve had every man in the building tripping over himself to help.

But with their wives watching them like hawks, not one of them moved.

I didn’t say another word. I got up and resumed my run.

The building went quiet after that.

Chloe didn’t post a word in the group chat, and the men who’d been so vocal before went completely silent.

Every night, something shattered inside Mitchell’s apartment. Martha packed up the kids and went to stay with her sister in the next state over. She didn’t plan on coming back anytime soon.

I knew Chloe wasn’t going to let this go.

A woman used to having men wrapped around her finger didn’t care about her reputation. What she couldn’t stand was losing control.

She was waiting for the right moment to turn this whole thing around and bury me.

Wednesday night, Nathaniel had a video call in the study. I was on the couch working on a PR proposal for a client.

Then someone started pounding on our door, frantic and nonstop, and over the noise came a child screaming. Chloe’s five-year-old son, Leo Bennett.

“Mr. Hayes! Open the door! My mommy fainted! Please help her, please!”

I went to the door and checked the peephole.

Leo stood in the hallway in his pajamas, small fists hammering the door.

A few steps behind him, Chloe lay crumpled by the elevator, face white, eyes shut.

Most people would’ve opened the door immediately the second they heard a five-year-old screaming like that.

I didn’t move.

Because Chloe, supposedly unconscious, still had her phone in a death grip. And the screen was on.

She’d also picked her spot carefully. She’d gone down right in view of the hallway security camera, with not a single blind spot.

And Leo, despite all those tears, kept sneaking glances back at his mother. Like he was checking whether he was doing it right.

It was a performance. And she’d cast her own kid in it.

Nathaniel came out of the study, frowning. “What’s going on out there?”

I held a finger to my lips and nodded toward the peephole.

He looked. His jaw tightened.

He pulled out his phone to call 911.

“Don’t.” I pushed his hand down.

“Think about it. The ambulance shows up, the whole building comes out, and the story becomes that a woman collapsed at our door and we didn’t help.”

Nathaniel kept his voice low. “So what do we do? Just leave her out there?”

The corner of my mouth curved. I glanced at the peephole.

“She wants to put on a show? Fine. Let’s give her a bigger stage.”