Chapter 3: The New Project

Later that afternoon, after Jesse was absorbed in his Lego, Linda found herself in front of the hallway mirror. Her short brown hair, usually styled for practicality, was carefully brushed and pinned back, revealing the curve of her neck. She added a touch of lipstick, a rare indulgence. She wanted to look "amazing and respectful," to make a good first impression. She baked her signature apple pie, the scent of cinnamon filling the kitchen, a domestic offering of goodwill.

With the warm pie cradled in her hands, a hopeful smile on her face, she walked across the street. The porch steps were freshly swept, the door a rich, dark wood. She raised a hand to knock, but before her knuckles could connect, the door swung inward.

The man stood there, framed in the doorway, sunlight highlighting the strong planes of his chest. He was shirtless, his dark hair tousled, as if he'd just woken or perhaps finished a workout. Linda froze, the pie suddenly heavy in her hands, her carefully constructed composure crumbling. Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of bewildered confusion. She was utterly, awkwardly, speechless.

Then, from just behind him, a soft, cultured voice drifted. "Darling, who's at the door?" A second later, the woman Linda had seen earlier stepped into view, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the scene: the half-dressed man, the confused woman holding a pie. A polite, but unreadable, smile touched her lips.

The man blinked in surprise, then stepped aside with casual politeness that only added to Linda’s flustered state.

“Come in,” he said, voice low and composed, the timbre of someone used to being obeyed. “You must be from across the street.”

She nodded, wordlessly entering the cool interior. The house smelled faintly of jasmine and wood polish. The floors gleamed, the air carried no trace of children's messes or takeout boxes. Linda’s eyes darted around—neutral tones, glass and steel fixtures, a sculptural lamp shaped like a twisted ribbon in the hallway.

The woman appeared, wearing a silk robe that clung to her effortlessly. She was younger than Linda had thought, or maybe just... freer. Her dark curls spilled down one shoulder, and her expression was gracious but guarded.

“Oh, how kind of you,” she said, accepting the pie with a warm but distant smile. “Apple?”

“My signature,” Linda replied, finding her voice. “I’m Linda. We live right across, with my husband Gary and our son Jesse. I just thought... you know, neighborhood thing.”

“How sweet,” the woman said. “I’m Maya. That was Calvin you met. And that’s Luca our boy. He’s upstairs, probably rearranging his books alphabetically. Again.” She gave a tired little laugh, then called over her shoulder, “Calvin, would you mind grabbing a shirt?”

“Of course,” came the smooth response, already ascending the stairs.

Maya led Linda into the kitchen, a sleek space of matte-black counters and brushed copper. The sink was cluttered bottles, baby utensils, a stray wine glass. A tablet with three overdue notifications blinked faintly on the island. She made no move to hide the mess.

“Sorry about the chaos,” Maya muttered, pushing some things aside to make space. “It’s been a week. We moved from Joburg Calvin’s got a new contract here. I haven’t figured out which cupboard holds the tea.”

Linda smiled, folding her hands neatly in front of her. “No need to apologize. I remember when we moved in boxes for weeks.”

But she didn’t remember it like this. She remembered holding Jesse on her hip, Gary barking about the modem not working, dinner from cardboard containers, not silk robes and careless elegance. Maya moved like someone used to being adored, not questioned. Even her fatigue had glamour.

“You said Calvin’s in contracts?” Linda asked, trying not to pry.

“AI. Tech infrastructure. He freelances... mostly for research firms, smart grids, military startups. Big on ‘applied ethics,’ whatever that means.”

Linda’s eyebrows rose slightly. “That sounds impressive.”

Maya gave her a half-smile, peeling an apple with a small knife that glinted in the light. “He’s clever. Terrible at grocery shopping. Knows how to reboot a drone but forgets to buy toothpaste.”

Linda laughed. It felt too loud in the minimal kitchen.

For a brief moment, silence. Maya’s eyes drifted toward the window, where the sun was beginning to dip behind the rooflines. The room took on a golden hue. Linda noticed the smudge on Maya’s cheekbone, a faint streak of mascara. She wasn’t perfect. Just... unbothered. Even her flaws were elegant.

“I should probably let you settle in,” Linda said, voice softer.

Maya nodded, as if granting her an exit. “Thanks again. And hey your hair’s lovely. That chestnut color is so natural.”

Linda flushed. “Oh, thank you. Yours is beautiful, too.”

They stood there a moment longer, and then Linda left, her smile clinging even after the door had closed.

Later that Night

Back home, Jesse was asleep, sprawled sideways across his bed, his hands still clutching a Lego minifigure. Gary hadn’t come home yet. Linda stood in the bathroom, staring at herself under the flickering bulb. She pulled her hair out of its bun. Ran a finger along her cheekbone. She didn’t wear lipstick tonight, and somehow that made her look older.

She opened her makeup drawer slowly. Dug out a tube of coral gloss she hadn’t used in years. Then a pale blue eyeshadow. She tilted her head, trying to replicate the same careless beauty Maya wore like a second skin.

The next morning, she dressed differently. Fitted blouse. A splash of perfume. When she passed the mirror, she didn’t recognize the woman. But she looked... seen.

From across the street, Maya watched through her curtain. She noticed the change. And I didn't like it.

Gary leaned back in his sleek black car, engine purring low. He was parked near a new development up the hill — expensive plots, angular architecture, privacy fences like fortress walls. The kind of homes that whispered power without ever raising their voice.

He sipped his black coffee slowly, watching as two workers carried slabs of material across a yard. Then, a woman stepped onto a balcony, her dress fluttering. Gary’s eyes followed her with the same analytical precision he gave his schematics.

He wasn’t looking at her beauty. He was imagining where the solar panels would fit. Where the surveillance nodes would be hidden in the siding. The house had flaws. Beautiful flaws he could improve.

His phone buzzed once.

VERONIKA (1 new email)

“Re: The AI project you mentioned. Can we meet? I might have a legal contact for you.”

Gary’s smirk was slow. Calculated.

He shifted the car into gear.

And drove home to write the next part of the plan.

The morning buzz of the city was a rhythm Gary had memorized long ago the sharp staccato of impatient honking, snippets of morning radio filtering from passing taxis, a vendor’s distant call echoing through the cavern of steel and glass. The city wasn’t beautiful, not in the traditional sense, but it had structure, momentum. He respected that.