The Professor's Mate Clause

"Right there, yes, just like that."

I froze in the doorway.

The woman's voice was breathy and high-pitched. She was on my bed. Her dark hair was spread across my pillow as she owned it. The red dress I did not recognize was pooled on the floor next to heels that probably cost more than my rent. Her lipstick was smeared across her mouth and down her neck.

Kelvin was on top of her.

His hands were in her hair. His mouth was on her throat. The sheets I had washed three days ago were tangled around their legs.

He looked up.

Our eyes met.

He did not stop. Did not scramble away. Did not even look surprised. He just stared at me for a long second before slowly pulling back and sitting up on the edge of the bed.

"Freya." His voice was flat. Calm. Like I had just walked in on him watching television instead of screwing another woman in our bed.

The woman turned her head to look at me. She did not cover herself. Did not grab for clothes. She just propped herself up on one elbow and watched me with lazy brown eyes.

"You should have called," Kelvin said.

My brain could not process the words. Could not make sense of what he just said. I stood there with my keys still in my hand and my work bag still on my shoulder.

"Called?" The word came out quietly.

"Yeah. You usually work late on Thursdays."

The woman laughed. The sound made my skin crawl.

"Are you serious right now?" My voice was steadier than my hands. My hands were shaking so badly I had to shove them in my pockets.

Kelvin stood up and grabbed his boxers from the floor. He pulled them on without any hurry. Without any shame. "Look, Freya. We need to talk."

"You think?"

He ran a hand through his messy hair. The same hair I used to run my fingers through when we watched movies on this couch. The same hair I had washed when he was too drunk to stand up straight last month. Now I wanted to rip it out of his skull.

"This was going to happen eventually," he said. "You and me. We were not working out."

The floor felt unsteady under my feet. "So you decided to fix it by bringing someone else into our bed?"

"I am getting married."

The words did not make sense. I heard them but they felt like they were in a different language. "What?"

"Next Saturday. I am getting married."

The woman sat up straighter. She looked at Kelvin with wide eyes. "You did not tell her yet?"

"I was going to," he snapped at her without looking away from me.

My chest was tight. Too tight. Like someone was squeezing all the air out of my lungs. "Married to who?"

"Vanessa. Our families arranged it."

"Arranged," I said the word slowly. Testing it. Trying to make it