Begging To Be My Mistress

The morning the iron gates rolled open, Naomi was waiting for me.

New car. Custom-tailored camel wool coat. On her left ring finger, a flawless platinum band anchored an emerald-cut diamond that caught the pale autumn sun.

I stared at that ring. She tracked my gaze downward, her chin remaining high. She didn't flinch, and she didn't try to hide it.

"I got married. Last spring. To Colin."

My throat felt coated in dry cement. "...When did it happen?"

"Your third year in."

I took half a step backward, the soles of my state-issued sneakers scraping against the gravel.