[Jenna's POV]
The red checkered tablecloth feels rough under my fingertips as I trace nervous circles on its surface. I've been sitting at this corner table for twenty minutes already, watching the door like a hawk. The tiny Italian bistro buzzes with Friday night energy, couples laughing, waiters balancing plates of steaming pasta, wine glasses clinking. Everything feels so normal, while I'm anything but.
I check my phone again: 6:07 PM. They're late. My stomach twists with anticipation and rage as I fidget with the small vial hidden in my purse.
The door chimes, and there they are. Scott steps in first, scanning the restaurant with those anxious eyes I've come to recognize from meetings. He looks like absolute hell, pale and drawn, like he's being marched to his execution rather than dinner. But Summer...
My fingers clench around my water glass. Summer fucking glows. Her blonde hair cascades perfectly over her shoulders, her makeup flawless, her white sweater highlighting every curve that Scott must worship. She clings to his arm like she owns him, her blue eyes immediately locking onto mine with predatory focus.
I force my lips into a smile and wave, the motion feeling mechanical and stiff. God, I hate them so much. I hate how they look together. I hate how she's marked him as hers. I hate how he destroyed my life and still gets to be happy.
"Jenna!" Summer's voice carries across the restaurant as they approach, syrupy sweet and dripping with false warmth. "So lovely to see you again after all these years!"
I stand, my legs shaky beneath me. Summer immediately pulls me into a hug that feels more like a python's squeeze than a friendly greeting. She smells expensive, like vanilla and something darker underneath.
"Thanks for inviting us," she coos.
"It's my pleasure," I reply, fighting to keep my smile fixed as Scott pulls out a chair for her.
We all settle at the table, the silence hanging awkward and heavy between us until our waiter appears, a slender man with slicked-back hair and a practiced smile.
"Can I start you folks with something to drink?" he asks, pen poised over his notepad.
Scott clears his throat. "I'll have a Coke, please."
"Is Pepsi okay?" the waiter responds automatically.
Scott's face falls slightly, his mouth opening and closing as he fumbles for words. "Um, I…"
"He'll take a root beer then," Summer interrupts, her hand sliding possessively over his on the table.
The waiter's smile tightens. "I'm sorry, we don't have root beer."
"Then Sprite," Summer says, her voice hardening just enough to notice.
"I'm sorry," the waiter replies, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "We only have Starry."
Scott sighs. "Pepsi is fine."
"Just water for me," Summer says, not even looking at the waiter anymore, her eyes fixed on me like a predator tracking prey.
"Water for me too," I add, grateful for the mundane distraction of drink orders to calm my racing heart.
As the waiter retreats, I take a deep breath and lean forward, focusing on Summer. "So, how have you been? I haven't seen you since college."
Summer's perfectly manicured fingers trace the rim of her water glass, her wedding ring catching the light with every movement. "I'm good lately," she says with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. Then her voice drops to something harder, sharper. "But I heard you were trying to fuck my husband."
The bluntness of her words hits me like a slap. Scott chokes on his water, his eyes wide with panic as he looks between us.
She's not technically wrong. The vial in my purse feels suddenly heavier. My plan was always to ruin Scott's life by any means necessary, making him fall for me just to throw him away when he was vulnerable. Sex would have been part of that revenge. The perfect way to destroy him.
"Summer, Jesus," Scott hisses, his face flushing crimson.
I force a laugh, keeping my expression innocent. "Wow, you certainly don't mince words, do you?"
"Not when it comes to what's mine," Summer replies, her smile widening to show perfect white teeth.
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," I say, my voice honey-sweet as I reach for my water. "Scott and I are just friends from the program. Recovery partners, nothing more."
Summer's eyes narrow slightly. "That's interesting, because Scott tells me everything. And he mentioned how you've asked him out for coffee multiple times."
Scott shifts uncomfortably in his chair, looking like he wants to dissolve into the checkered tablecloth. "Summer, I told you…"
"Coffee doesn't sound very committal, does it?" I interject with a light laugh, watching Summer's face darken. "Just two friends sharing caffeine and conversation about recovery. Nothing romantic about that."
I can see the muscles in Summer's jaw working as she grinds her teeth. Her blue eyes turn glacial, and I swear I can feel the temperature around our table drop several degrees.
"Interesting perspective," she says, her voice dangerously soft. "But I wonder why you'd ask a married man out repeatedly if your intentions were so... innocent."
Before I can respond, Scott suddenly pushes his chair back, his face ashen.
"I can't... I have to go to the bathroom," he mutters, practically bolting from the table.
As he disappears around the corner, the waiter returns, setting Scott's Pepsi down with a small flourish. The tension at our table is so thick I'm surprised the waiter doesn't choke on it as he retreats.
Summer's fake smile drops the instant we're alone, her eyes turning cold as winter ice.
"Let's cut the bullshit," she says, leaning forward. "I'm back in my husband's life. Whatever chance you thought you had is over. Move on."
The venom in her voice should intimidate me, but instead, I feel a thrill of opportunity. With Scott gone, this is my perfect chance. My fingers twitch toward my purse, where the vial waits.
I squint suddenly, looking past Summer toward the entrance. A tall Black man in a dark jacket has just walked in, and my heart leaps with recognition, or what I want Summer to believe is recognition.
"Isn't that Scott's old dealer?" I ask, keeping my voice casual but loud enough for her to hear.
Summer goes rigid, her face draining of color. She whips around in her chair, scanning the entrance area with frantic eyes.
The second her back is turned, I move efficiently. The tiny vial comes out, cap off, and three drops fall into Scott's Pepsi. The liquid disappears instantly, leaving no trace as I slip the vial back into my purse. My heart pounds so loudly, I'm amazed Summer can't hear it.
When she turns back to me, relief floods her features. "No, that's just some random guy," she says, her voice slightly unsteady.
"Oh, whoops," I reply with a sheepish smile. "My mistake."
Summer's eyes narrow suspiciously, like she's trying to determine if my 'mistake' was deliberate. Then her expression shifts, a smile forming on her lips.
"Speaking of old faces," she says smoothly, "isn't that Professor King over there?" She nods toward a spot behind me. "By the bar?"
I turn automatically, scanning the crowded bar area. There are several older men seated there, but none I recognize from our college days. I search more carefully, not wanting to be caught in my own game.
"No," I say finally, turning back to her. "Professor King was a lot older than any of those men. White hair, thick glasses?"
"Oh, my bad," Summer replies with a dismissive wave. "The lighting in here is terrible."
I notice her hand is oddly positioned near Scott's drink, but she pulls it away casually as our eyes meet. Something about her expression makes my skin prickle with unease.
Did she just...
No, I must be paranoid.
I decide to take advantage of our private moment, leaning in with an air of confidentiality.
"Listen," I say, lowering my voice to just above a whisper, "I need to tell you something about Scott. I'm only bringing this up because I care about his sobriety."
Summer's eyes narrow, but there's something else there, a flicker of interest that feels almost hungry.
"What about his sobriety?" she asks, her fingers tightening around her water glass.
"I think he might be slipping," I say, the lie coming easily. I picture Scott's old dealer, imagining Summer seeking him out after hearing this, pushing away the very support system Scott needs to stay clean. "At the last few meetings, he's seemed... off. Distracted. Pupils dilated."
Summer's face transforms before my eyes. What should be concern morphs into something disturbing, her lips curl into a smile that's just a bit too wide, her eyes lighting up with what can only be described as excitement.
"Do you really think Scotty might be using again?" she asks, her tone harsh and accusatory, but there's an undercurrent of something that makes my skin crawl. She sounds almost... overjoyed at the prospect.
"I'm not certain," I continue, watching her reaction carefully. "But I've seen the signs before. He's been making excuses to step away during meetings, coming back looking more relaxed. Classic behavior."
Summer leans forward, that manic smile still playing on her lips. "What else have you noticed?" she asks eagerly, like I'm telling her about a surprise party rather than her husband's potential relapse.
"He's been jumpy. Irritable. Checking his phone a lot," I add, piling on details that could be attributed to anything, stress, anxiety, having your estranged wife suddenly reappear. "And last week, I could've sworn I saw cash exchanging hands in the parking lot after a meeting."
Summer's breath quickens, her pupils dilating slightly. "With who?" she demands, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper.
"I couldn't see clearly," I lie, "but it was a tall guy with dreads. Looked familiar, like from back in college."
"Well, don't you worry. I'll have a very serious conversation with him about this. In private."
The way she says 'private' sends chills down my spine, not concern, but anticipation dancing in her eyes. It's like I've handed her a gift rather than a warning about her husband's potential relapse.
"Please do," I reply, trying to mask my unease with sincerity. "He needs someone looking out for him."
The conversation halts as Scott returns to the table, his face still pale. "Sorry about that," he mumbles, sliding back into his seat.
Summer's entire demeanor shifts instantly. She places her hand high on his thigh, squeezing possessively as she offers him a cutesy smile.
"No worries, baby," she coos, her voice dripping with sweetness. "I know I stressed you out earlier. I'm sorry, dear." Her fingers stroke his leg suggestively. "Go on, have a drink. You must be thirsty after what we did in the car."
Scott's cheeks flush crimson as he reaches for his glass. I watch with mounting excitement as he lifts the Pepsi to his lips, my revenge just seconds away from fruition.
But before the glass can touch his mouth, a large hand appears out of nowhere, three fingers plunging directly into Scott's drink with a small splash.
"HA! GOTCHA!" booms a deep voice. "The ole three-finger classic!"
Scott's face transforms from embarrassment to pure rage, his knuckles whitening around the glass. Then recognition floods his features as he looks up at the tall Black man standing beside our table, the same man I'd pointed out to Summer earlier.
"Oh fuck," Scott breathes. "TJ? What's up, man?"
TJ grabs the contaminated drink from Scott's hand with a boisterous laugh. "Couldn't resist, man. You left yourself wide open." He takes a long swig from the glass, draining half of it in one go. "Mmm, nothing like stealing a coworker's beverage."
I feel the blood drain from my face as I watch him gulp down the drink meant for Scott, the drink containing my carefully measured drops. My heart hammers against my ribs so violently, I'm sure everyone can hear it.
Across the table, Summer looks equally horrified, her eyes wide with panic as they meet mine in a moment of unexpected solidarity. Her hand has frozen on Scott's thigh, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his leg.
"Hey," Scott says, gesturing between TJ and us, "let me introduce you to my wife, Summer."
I watch as TJ's eyes widen, his mouth falling slightly open as he stares at Summer. He finishes the last gulp of Scott's drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Wife?" TJ exclaims, his gaze bouncing between Scott and Summer like he's watching a tennis match. "You only mentioned her for the first time the other day! That's insane, man." He punches Scott playfully in the shoulder. "What a terrible husband, keeping such a beautiful woman secret from your work friends."
"Don't you dare call him a terrible husband!" Summer snaps, her voice slicing through the restaurant chatter like a razor. Her eyes flash dangerously as she rises halfway from her seat, fingers curled into claws on the tablecloth. "You don't know anything about our marriage."
TJ's playful expression evaporates, his hands raising defensively. "Whoa, I was just joking around. Sorry if I…"
"It's fine," Scott says quickly, one hand reaching for Summer's arm. "TJ's just messing around. It's how we talk at work."
The tension hangs thick in the air as Summer slowly sinks back into her chair. TJ shifts uncomfortably, glancing between Scott and me, clearly searching for safer conversational ground.
I clear my throat. "I'm Jenna," I offer, extending my hand toward him. "A friend of Scott's from his recovery program."
TJ's face brightens with relief as he shakes my hand. "Nice to meet you, Jenna. I'm Tyreese Jones, from Halcyon Bridge."
My stomach twists as I watch him standing there, completely unaware of what I've just done to him. The drops I put in Scott's drink aren't lethal, just enough to trigger cravings. But this stranger, this innocent bystander, has no idea what's coursing through his system right now. The guilt hits me like a physical blow.
"Did you, uh, drive here alone?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
TJ laughs, gesturing toward the bar area. "Nah, I took an Uber. I'm meeting my boys over there for drinks." He nods toward a group of men in suits, all watching our table with curious expressions. "Just stopped by when I recognized Scott."
Relief washes through me. At least he won't be behind the wheel when whatever I gave him kicks in.
"Well, don't let us keep you from your friends," I say, forcing a smile that feels brittle on my face.
TJ grins, apparently oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around our table. "Yeah, I should get back. Nice meeting you ladies." He claps Scott on the shoulder. "See you Monday, man."