A Young Wife's Wild Night - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
You are reading A Young Wife's Wild Night, Chapter 4: Chapter 4. Read more chapters of A Young Wife's Wild Night.
Waking up felt like I'd been hit by a truck—every muscle screamed in protest. The karaoke room was empty now, just Tiffany and me in the aftermath of whatever chaos we'd caused.
I helped her get dressed and flagged down a cab, my brain still foggy from whatever we'd been drinking.
That's when I screwed up.
In my dazed state, I rattled off Tiffany's home address to the driver without thinking, sending her off in one taxi while I took another.
I'd completely forgotten her husband was home—unlike mine, who was conveniently away on business.
By the time I stumbled through my own front door, I collapsed into bed, dead to the world.
The next morning, my phone was lit up with over a dozen missed calls from Tiffany.
The second I called back, she exploded.
"You ruined me! Tell me you didn't forget I have a husband? You sent me home last night covered in marks—were you trying to get me kicked out so I'd have to crash at your place?"
I scowled. "Okay, fine, I was drunk and messed up. But I only gave the driver the gated community's address. Wasn't it your job to tell him where to go after that?"
Sure, I'd practically shoved her into the cab, but she'd been coherent enough to answer basic questions. Her villa was barely a two-minute walk from the gate—it wasn't like I needed to hold her hand the whole way.
"I—I wasn't thinking straight—"
She knew we were both too wasted to untangle whose fault it really was. Right now, all that mattered was damage control.
Turns out, Tiffany hadn't gone straight home. She'd stopped to pet a stray cat in the neighborhood, then passed out on a bench and slept there until dawn, waking up shivering with a cold no amount of meds could fix.
"So what's the situation now?" I asked.
By morning, the worst of the marks had faded, leaving only faint bruises. But she was a mess—dirty, disheveled—so she'd rushed to book a hotel room to clean up before facing her husband.
Vincent had been up all night buried in work files, too busy to notice her absence until morning. When he finally called demanding answers, she lied—claiming she'd been out drinking with me and crashed at a hotel.
That could've been fine. I could've backed her up, played the "just girls' night" card.
But then, after freshening up and heading home, Vincent hit her with: "Did you sleep on a bench last night?"
"Someone saw me?"
"Yeah. A neighbor who lives near that bench spotted you. They came down to check on you, but you were already gone."
Of course, that nosy neighbor just had to know Vincent. One phone call later, and he was suspicious.
"Why not just say you passed out on the way home? It's not that big a deal."
"Because he tricked me! He let me spin my whole story first, then dropped the bomb about the witness. How was I supposed to fix that?"
Exactly. Lies only make things worse—either the liar's an idiot, or they're hiding something way worse.
"Now what? He's already seen the bruises on my knees. If he notices the ones on my hips and ass, he'll know I slept with someone."
I sighed, talked her down, then headed over to Tiffany's place to help clean up the mess we'd made.
I helped her get dressed and flagged down a cab, my brain still foggy from whatever we'd been drinking.
That's when I screwed up.
In my dazed state, I rattled off Tiffany's home address to the driver without thinking, sending her off in one taxi while I took another.
I'd completely forgotten her husband was home—unlike mine, who was conveniently away on business.
By the time I stumbled through my own front door, I collapsed into bed, dead to the world.
The next morning, my phone was lit up with over a dozen missed calls from Tiffany.
The second I called back, she exploded.
"You ruined me! Tell me you didn't forget I have a husband? You sent me home last night covered in marks—were you trying to get me kicked out so I'd have to crash at your place?"
I scowled. "Okay, fine, I was drunk and messed up. But I only gave the driver the gated community's address. Wasn't it your job to tell him where to go after that?"
Sure, I'd practically shoved her into the cab, but she'd been coherent enough to answer basic questions. Her villa was barely a two-minute walk from the gate—it wasn't like I needed to hold her hand the whole way.
"I—I wasn't thinking straight—"
She knew we were both too wasted to untangle whose fault it really was. Right now, all that mattered was damage control.
Turns out, Tiffany hadn't gone straight home. She'd stopped to pet a stray cat in the neighborhood, then passed out on a bench and slept there until dawn, waking up shivering with a cold no amount of meds could fix.
"So what's the situation now?" I asked.
By morning, the worst of the marks had faded, leaving only faint bruises. But she was a mess—dirty, disheveled—so she'd rushed to book a hotel room to clean up before facing her husband.
Vincent had been up all night buried in work files, too busy to notice her absence until morning. When he finally called demanding answers, she lied—claiming she'd been out drinking with me and crashed at a hotel.
That could've been fine. I could've backed her up, played the "just girls' night" card.
But then, after freshening up and heading home, Vincent hit her with: "Did you sleep on a bench last night?"
"Someone saw me?"
"Yeah. A neighbor who lives near that bench spotted you. They came down to check on you, but you were already gone."
Of course, that nosy neighbor just had to know Vincent. One phone call later, and he was suspicious.
"Why not just say you passed out on the way home? It's not that big a deal."
"Because he tricked me! He let me spin my whole story first, then dropped the bomb about the witness. How was I supposed to fix that?"
Exactly. Lies only make things worse—either the liar's an idiot, or they're hiding something way worse.
"Now what? He's already seen the bruises on my knees. If he notices the ones on my hips and ass, he'll know I slept with someone."
I sighed, talked her down, then headed over to Tiffany's place to help clean up the mess we'd made.
End of A Young Wife's Wild Night Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to A Young Wife's Wild Night book page.