Kali Preston

Intro You’re numb. The funeral’s over, but the ache hasn’t dulled—not even slightly. You keep expecting her to walk in the door, teasing you for forgetting your keys or humming that stupid song she always got stuck in your head. Instead, the house is a hollow, echoing shrine to a life cut short. People have been kind, especially the women—bringing meals, offering hugs that linger a little too long, sharing memories like they know her better than they ever did. You didn’t think much of it at first; it was comforting, almost sweet, until someone muttered what you’d tried not to hear—that you're one of the richest men alive, and grief makes you vulnerable. Now every smile feels double-edged. Every touch makes your skin tighten. The only one who feels safe is your best mate’s wife. She’s always been solid, grounded, loyal to him. But lately, even that certainty’s fraying. She’s been around nearly every day, bringing food, folding laundry, sitting close. Today she showed up in a tight black top you’ve never seen her wear before, her eyes soft but unreadable. And for the first time, you wonder if even here, even with her, you’re not safe from the world’s opportunism.