The Wife Next Door – Episode 1
The Wife Next Door – Episode 1
“A steamy new serial novel” She leaned over the garden fence, her lips glistening with wine and secrets, whispering,
“My husband’s away this weekend… You should come water my plants.”
I knew she wasn’t talking about roses.
The quiet suburb of Clearwater Ridge had rules.
Unspoken ones.
The kind you learned not from HOA meetings but from stolen glances, tight smiles, and whispers exchanged between neighbors as they clipped hedges and pushed strollers.
One rule stood above the rest: never get too close to the wife next door.
But that rule shattered the moment Alinah moved in.
The moving truck came early on a Wednesday. Trevor stood at the window in his button-up shirt and tie, nursing a lukewarm mug of coffee, pretending not to be interested. But he watched. Everyone did. Alinah stepped out in a curve-hugging dress, long braids draped over one bare shoulder, sunglasses too big for her face but perfect for mystery. Her walk wasn’t fast, but deliberate — slow enough to be noticed, fast enough to pretend she didn’t care.
Trevor’s wife, Nadine, stood behind him brushing her teeth, wrapped in a white towel.
“You’re gonna burn holes in her dress if you stare any harder,” she mumbled through the foam.
Trevor didn’t flinch. “I was just wondering how she can afford this neighborhood alone.”
Nadine rolled her eyes. “Maybe she’s married. Maybe she’s divorced. Or maybe she sold feet pics to fund the bond. Either way, stop gawking.”
He laughed. “I wasn’t gawking.”
But he was.
Later that evening, the neighbors organized an impromptu welcome braai, as they always did. Clearwater Ridge prided itself on forced friendliness and passive-aggressive casseroles. Nadine baked her famous chicken wings. Trevor brought a six-pack of craft beer, the kind he didn’t even like. But he wasn’t going for the beer. He was going for her.
Alinah opened the door in a silky green top that shimmered like wet grass under moonlight. Her jeans clung to her like a second skin. Every man at the gathering noticed. Every wife noticed their husbands noticing.
“This is such a warm neighborhood,” she said, her voice rich and velvety like late-night radio.
She had a laugh that lingered too long. She held Trevor’s gaze longer than polite. Nadine noticed. So did everyone else.
As Trevor offered her a drink, their fingers brushed.
“Oops,” she smiled, eyes dark. “Electric.”
That night, after the gathering, Trevor couldn’t sleep.
The next morning was foggy and still. Trevor stepped into his backyard to sip his coffee in silence before work. He wasn't expecting anyone to be up. But she was.
There, across the low fence dividing their yards, Alinah stood in a satin robe, watering her lavender bushes barefoot. She looked up, caught him watching, and smiled.
“Morning, neighbor,” she called.
Trevor cleared his throat. “Morning.”
“You always up this early?”
“Just… habit.”
She licked her lips slowly. “I like habits. Especially the bad ones.”
That evening, Nadine was late from work. Trevor made pasta, poured himself a glass of wine, and stepped outside for fresh air. And there she was again.
Alinah leaned over the fence, a bottle of red wine in one hand, her robe slightly looser than the morning. Her eyes sparkled with something unspeakable.
“I was about to drink this alone,” she said, lifting the bottle. “Wanna help me not look pathetic?”
Trevor hesitated. He knew he should say no. He had dishes in the sink. He had a wife. He had morals.
But he said, “Just one glass.”
Her living room smelled like vanilla and secrets.
She poured the wine slowly, watching him instead of the glass. Jazz played softly in the background. The lights were dim. Everything about the space was sensual without trying — books stacked recklessly, incense half-burned, pillows everywhere like fallen whispers.
“I don’t usually drink with neighbors,” she confessed.
“Neither do I.”
“So this is special?”
She was close now. Very close.
Trevor swallowed. “It’s just wine.”
She chuckled. “Of course.”
But when she sat beside him, thighs brushing, and her hand lingered too long on his knee as she laughed at a joke that wasn’t funny — Trevor felt the ground shift.
He left before anything happened. Or at least before anything physical did.
But his thoughts stayed behind.
That night in bed, Nadine curled up next to him. “You’re quiet.”
“Just tired.”
She kissed his shoulder. “You're not cheating on me, right?” she teased sleepily.
“Of course not,” he whispered.
But even in the darkness, he could still taste the wine on his lips. And he wondered how it would feel to water her plants.
Next door, Alinah stood at her window, watching. Naked beneath her robe. A slow smile curling across her lips.
Did this episode tempt you? 
Like, comment, and share The Wife Next Door with your most daring friends.
Will Nadine catch on before Trevor falls too deep?
And who exactly is Alinah — just a lonely housewife, or something far more dangerous?
Stay tuned for Episode 2…
“Window Games” — Where the view gets steamier… and the stakes get higher.
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