FLASH IN THE DARK
FLASH IN THE DARK
The corporate anniversary gala was still going strong, the grand ballroom loud with music and laughter, but by the time the night wore late, four-year-old Christian had finally run out of steam. Worn out from circling the dessert station one too many times, he sagged into Christine’s lap and was asleep within minutes.
Christine held him close, his head tucked against her shoulder. Feeling her own tiredness catch up with her, she found Jeffrey’s eyes across the VIP area and waved him over.
Jeff excused himself from a conversation with the marketing team and crossed the room. “Hey,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss Christine’s cheek. “Is the Mini Boss out for the night?”
“Completely,” Chris whispered. “It’s getting late, Jeff. I think it’s time for us to head home.”
“Agreed. Let me grab our coats—”
Before Jeff could finish, a group of senior executives—led by the VP of Operations and the Head of Finance—intercepted them, all smiles.
“Where is our CEO going?” the VP of Operations called out playfully. “Jeff, the midnight toast is in twenty minutes, and the partners from the Q4 merger just arrived at the lounge. You can’t slip away yet!”
“Guys, my family’s ready to head out,” Jeff said. “Christian’s fast asleep, and—”
“Jeffrey, come on! It’s the biggest night of the year,” the Head of Finance insisted, a firm hand landing on Jeff’s shoulder. “The board’s waiting in the private suite for the final sign-off toast. Ten more minutes!”
Jeff hesitated, glancing back at Christine. He opened his mouth to decline, but she laid a hand on his forearm.
“It’s okay, Jeff,” Chris said. “You stay.”
“Chris, no. I’m coming with you two.”
“Jeff, look at them—they really need you to wrap this up,” she reasoned, looking down at their sleeping son. “Christian’s already out. I’ll take the keys and drive us home. You finish your toasts, say goodnight to the partners, and grab a cab back in an hour.”
Jeff sighed and nodded. “You sure you’re okay driving alone with him this late?”
“I’m completely sure,” Chris smiled. “Just don’t stay out too late, Chief Executive Husband.”
Jeff adjusted the blanket over Christian and pressed a kiss to Christine’s forehead. “Call me the second you get through the door.”
“I will,” she promised.
The glass doors clicked shut behind her, leaving Jeffrey in the noise of the ballroom. He told himself he’d check his phone the second she texted, then turned back to the executives. “Alright, gentlemen. Lead the way.”
They walked him back to the elevated VIP section—a semi-private alcove behind plush velvet curtains, where top-shelf scotch and craft beer flowed freely and the board loosened their ties and toasted to record numbers.
“To the CEO who almost escaped!” the VP of Marketing declared, raising a tumbler as Jeff sat down near the head of the booth.
Jeff took a modest sip of his scotch, staying composed even as the table around him got louder.
A moment later, Mylene stepped into the booth, taking a cold beer off a passing tray in place of the wine she’d been holding. “Is there room for media relations at the main table?” she asked, already angling for the open seat beside him.
“Always! Have a seat, Mylene!” one of the directors called, waving her over.
She sat down and set the beer aside almost as soon as she had it. In the dim light of the alcove, close enough to catch his cologne, she felt something settle low in her chest that she’d spent a long time telling herself she didn’t still feel.
She was twenty-four again for half a second—back when she was a junior hire at the firm, years before Jeffrey’s took over the company, splitting bad vending-machine coffee at midnight during the busy season. He used to sketch terrible little diagrams on Post-its to help her keep her accounts straight. She never told him she’d kept a few.
There had been one night, at a much smaller company party than this one, when he’d walked her to her car and they’d stood there too long, saying nothing, and she’d let herself think, just for a second, that he might. He never did. A few months later he brought Christine to the office Christmas party, and Mylene had smiled and said congratulations and mostly meant it.
That was many years ago. She told herself, every time she felt this, that it was nothing but nostalgia. She told herself that now, too.
Jeff turned to her with a polite, tired smile, checking his watch under the table. “Enjoying the night, Mylene?”
“It’s quite a celebration,” she said, leaning in over the noise. “You’ve worked hard for this, Jeff. Everyone here respects you.”
“Takes a great team,” Jeff said, already glancing down at his phone, waiting for word that Christine and Christian were home.
Mylene noticed—how even here, with the board about to pound the table and chant his name, his attention kept sliding back to that phone.
Before Jeff could lock the screen, the host’s voice cracked over the sound system.
“Ladies and gentlemen, quiet down for just a moment! We cannot end this legendary night without one final, official toast from the man who made all of this possible! Jeffrey Reyes! Come on up to the stage!”
In the alcove, the board slammed their hands on the table in rhythm, chanting his name.
Jeffrey stood, a rush of heat flushing his face. The scotch and bourbon and craft beer he’d worked through all evening caught up with him at once. His vision swam for a second, his footing went unsteady, and he had to lean on the edge of the booth table to right himself.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Careful,” Mylene said, reaching out to touch his forearm. “You okay, Jeff?”
“I’m fine,” Jeff said, his voice thicker than normal. He adjusted his jacket, fingers clumsy on the button. “Just… tired.”
He made his way toward the stage steps, the room tilting faintly under the lights.
At the podium, the spotlight caught his eyes, and he gripped the edge to steady himself. “Good… good evening again, everyone,” he began, his usually smooth voice carrying a heavy cadence that gave him away.
A few knowing chuckles rippled through the front tables.
Jeff looked out at the blur of faces, trying to assemble the speech he’d prepared. It wasn’t there. What came instead was simpler.
“We signed a lot of contracts this year,” he said, a slurred, earnest smile spreading across his face as he leaned on the podium. “Huge numbers. Best quarter we’ve ever had. But honestly? None of it means a thing without family. My wife, Christine—she’s home right now putting our son to bed. And my boy, Christian, he told the whole board today that being the boss is easy if you just give people ice cream.”
The ballroom erupted into laughter.
“So here’s my toast,” Jeff went on, raising his glass, his hand wavering. “Work hard. Love your family. And always buy the chocolate ice cream. To the Reyes firm!”
“To the Reyes firm! Cheers!”
Jeff took a heavy gulp, the scotch burning down his throat. As the applause thundered, he stepped off the stage, his head spinning, needing badly to sit down.
He stumbled coming down the carpeted steps. The VP of Marketing caught him under the elbow.
“Jeff, hey man,” he said, low. “Great toast, but I think you should slow down. Let me get you a big glass of water, yeah?”
Jeff’s pride flared, alcohol doing most of the talking. He pulled his arm free hard enough to nearly throw off his own balance again. “I’m completely fine, Mark. I know my limits. Go enjoy the party.”
Mark held his hands up and stepped back, worry still on his face.
Jeff made it back to the booth and sank heavily onto the bench beside Mylene. His head felt leaden. In his pocket, his phone buzzed twice—Christine, letting him know she and Christian had made it home. The buzz went unheard; the phone sat forgotten as Jeff dropped his elbows to the table and pressed his palms against his face.
Mylene leaned in close. “Jeff?”
He didn’t answer. His stomach turned over hard, and there was no stopping what came next.
Before he could get up, Jeffrey leaned forward and was sick across the polished table, glasses and ice buckets scattering.
A gasp went up around the alcove. The executives froze as their usually immaculate CEO collapsed forward, forehead against the edge of the ruined table.
Mylene moved fast. She stood, grabbed a stack of cloth napkins, and got an arm under his shoulders to haul him upright.
“I think he’s had way too much, guys,” she said, looking around the stunned table. “I’ll take him up to one of the rooms so he can sleep it off.”
The executives nodded, relieved. “Yeah—good call, Mylene. Thanks. We’ll handle it down here.”
Taking most of his weight against her shoulder, she guided him out the side exit toward the elevators.
The hallway on the executive floor was quiet and dim. Mylene struggled to keep him upright as he stumbled along beside her, barely tracking where they were.
At the door, she fumbled the key card until the light went green, then steered him into the cool, dark room.
Before she could reach for a lamp, his knees buckled. His weight pulled them both forward onto the king-sized bed.
Breathing hard, Mylene tried to pull free. “Jeff—hey, sit up for a second,” she said, steadying his shoulders.
Jeff turned his head toward her. His vision was a blur of moonlight and shadow, and his mind filled the gap with the only woman who lived there.
“Chris…” he mumbled, his voice cracking with a tenderness that had nothing to do with her. “You came back.”
“Jeff, wait—”
He didn’t wait. His hand found her cheek, clumsy but gentle, and he pulled her in and kissed her, murmuring against her mouth, “I’m sorry, Chris. I love you so much.”
For a second Mylene didn’t move at all. Then her body caught up with what was happening, and she got both hands flat against his chest and pushed.
“Jeff, no.” She turned her face away, breaking the kiss, heart slamming. “It’s not Christine. It’s me. Look at me.”
He didn’t seem to hear her. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, and for a moment she thought it was over—that he’d heard her, or passed out, or both. She should have gotten up right then. She told herself later that she’d almost done it.
Instead his hand found the back of her neck again, and he said his wife’s name once more, quieter this time, and something in Mylene that had held for ten years gave out.
She hated herself even as she turned back toward him—hated the small, stubborn part of her that had waited a decade to be wanted like this, even by mistake, even secondhand. She told herself she was only trying to calm him down, that she’d stop it in another second. She almost believed it.
Her hands slid up from his chest instead of pushing him off, and when his mouth found hers again, she kissed him back.
The alcohol finally won. Within a minute or two, Jeff was out cold beside her, his breathing gone slow and even.
The room stayed silent until the door lock clicked in the dark entryway.
The door eased open, a narrow beam of light cutting across the carpet. A shadow slipped inside, moving quick and quiet toward the foot of the bed.
FLASH.
A camera flash lit the room white for a fraction of a second, catching Jeffrey and Mylene asleep together on the bed.
Before either of them stirred, the shadow backed out. The heavy oak door clicked shut, and the room went dark and silent again.
The sharp buzz of a phone on the nightstand cut through the quiet.
Jeffrey stirred with a low groan. His head pounded, his mouth was sandpaper-dry, his whole body heavy with what last night’s drinking had left behind. He fumbled blindly across the nightstand until his fingers closed around his phone.
He squinted at the screen, and his stomach dropped.
15 Missed Calls — Christine
8 Unread Messages — Christine
6:45 AM.
Panic cut through the fog in his brain. Jeff sat up too fast, and the room spun with him.
He looked around. Thick hotel curtains blocked most of the morning sun, leaving the room in dim shadow. His tuxedo jacket lay crumpled on a chair. Beside him, under the heavy duvet, Mylene shifted, her face turning toward the light.
It hit him all at once, worse than the hangover. His chest heaved, his heart slammed against his ribs, and the pieces of the night came back to him out of order—the toasts, being sick on the table, someone helping him into an elevator—and then the one piece that mattered: he had believed, completely, that he was holding his wife.
He stared at his own shaking hands, then at his phone, where Christine’s name still glowed on the dim screen.
He was in a hotel room. Not home. He hadn’t tucked Christian in. He hadn’t answered a single call.
Jeffrey scrambled off the bed, adrenaline burning straight through the hangover. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t look back at Mylene.
His hands shook as he grabbed his wrinkled shirt off the floor and jammed his arms into the sleeves, buttons going in wrong. He pulled on his trousers, snatched his watch and wallet off the nightstand, and was out the door before it had finished slamming shut behind him.
He moved through the quiet hotel corridors fast, half-sick, the floor still tilting faintly with every step, Christine’s name looping through his head. He took the stairs instead of waiting on the elevator, and by the time he hit the lobby his shirt was sticking to his back.
He knew better than to get behind a wheel like this—some small, still-working part of his brain was sure of that much—so he pushed through the lobby doors and flagged down the first taxi idling at the curb. He gave the driver his address in a voice that barely worked. “Please, as fast as you can.”
He spent the whole ride with his forehead against the cold window, phone gripped so hard in his hand it left a mark on his palm. He wanted to call Christine. His throat wouldn’t let him make a sound.
The taxi pulled up outside his building at 7:20 AM. Jeff shoved a fistful of bills at the driver, not waiting for change, and ran through the lobby to the residential elevators, chest heaving. When the doors opened on his floor, he sprinted down the hallway and fumbled his keycard at the door, hands shaking so badly it took three tries to get it open.
The door clicked open.
Inside, the condo was dead silent. Warm morning sun streamed through the living room windows, illuminating a half-empty glass of water on the coffee table and Christian’s plush green T-Rex sitting neatly on the couch cushion.
“Chris?” Jeff called out, his voice cracking with sheer panic. “Christine?!”
He took a slow, terrified step into the entryway, bracing himself for what was waiting for him.