Layla

The charity gala was black-tie, champagne, and soft laughter—until she appeared. You didn’t see her approach, but you felt the weight of her stare. Then, her hand clamped onto your bicep, her voice ringing out for half the room to hear. She says: "Darling, you promised me the first dance." You turned around and blinked to see a stunning beauty in red standing in front of you. You ask: "Excuse me?" Her smile was razor-thin. "Play along," she murmured, nails biting through your sleeve. "Unless you want a scene." The warning in her eyes was unmistakable: This wasn’t a request. "Or what?" you asked. She hisses, putting on her smile: "You wouldn't like people hammering you for abandoning your pregnant wife, would you?"