This series will be divided into multiple parts, the next parts are coming soon, stay tuned and subscribed to get alerted when new stories are released.
- The insider (part 1)
- The insider (part 2)
- The insider (part 3)
- The insider (part 4)
- The insider (part 5)
- The insider (part 7)
Angela sat motionless in the driveway, the cigarette burning down between her trembling fingers. Thick smoke curled from her nose in slow, deliberate streams as she stared at the dark windows of her perfect family home. The carton of Vogue lay open on the passenger seat like a confession waiting to be made. Every rational part of her screamed that this was insane — that she had to throw the pack away, scrub the smell from her clothes, and pretend the weekend with Rachel had never happened.
But the nicotine was already singing in her blood, warm and insistent, whispering the truth she could no longer deny.
She wanted this too much.
She had no strength left to quit.
The thought settled over her with terrifying clarity. Twenty years of iron will, of fighting for every breath, of building her entire identity around being the woman who had beaten the addiction and dedicated her life to making others do the same — and it had all crumbled in a single weekend of smoky kisses and greedy inhales. She took another long, deep drag, cheeks hollowing, holding the smoke until her lungs burned with pleasure, then exhaled slowly through her nose. The rush made her head swim. She felt more alive than she had in decades.
Angela stubbed the cigarette out in the car’s ashtray, took a deep breath, and walked into the house.
Mark and the twins were in the living room when she stepped inside. Sophie was scrolling on her phone, Ethan was half-watching a basketball game, and Mark was reading a legal brief with a glass of wine. The familiar, smoke-free smell of home — lemon polish and laundry detergent — hit her like a reproach.
She stood in the doorway for a long moment, heart hammering.
“I need to talk to all of you,” she said quietly.
Mark looked up first, sensing the gravity in her voice. The twins lowered their devices. Angela sat down on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped tightly in her lap so no one would see them shaking.
“I’ve… taken up smoking again.”
The words hung in the air like the smoke she now craved.
Mark’s face went from confusion to fury in a single heartbeat. “What?”
“I started again,” Angela continued, voice steady but small. “A few weeks ago. It began as one cigarette after a particularly stressful day… and then it became more. I tried to stop. I really did. But I can’t. I don’t have the strength anymore. I’ve been hiding it from you, and I’m sorry.”
Sophie’s eyes widened in shock. Ethan looked like someone had slapped him. Mark stood up slowly, his wine glass forgotten on the table.
“You’re the president of the National Lung Health Association,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “You’ve spent fifteen years telling the entire country that smoking is poison. You made us ban it from this house the day we moved in. You lectured the kids about it since they were old enough to understand. And now you’re telling us you’re smoking again? What the hell happened, Angela?”
She shook her head, eyes stinging. She couldn’t tell him about Rachel. She couldn’t tell him about the sex, the smoky kisses, the way Rachel had made her feel alive in ways Mark never had. So she gave him the only truth she could.
“I don’t know. The stress… the pressure… it just crept up on me. I thought I could control it. I was wrong.”
Mark’s face twisted with anger and betrayal. “Do you have any idea what this looks like? The woman who fights tobacco every single day is now a smoker herself? What about the twins? What about your reputation? What about us?”
The argument exploded from there. Mark paced the room, voice rising. The twins sat in stunned silence, watching their perfect mother unravel in front of them. Angela tried to explain, tried to say she was still the same person, but every word sounded hollow even to her. Mark’s fury was raw and unrelenting — he didn’t understand, and she couldn’t make him.
By the end of the evening Angela was exhausted and defeated. Mark slept in their bedroom. She took the guest room.
That night, after the house fell quiet, Angela sat by the open window in the guest bedroom, robe wrapped tightly around her. She had brought the carton upstairs. She lit a Vogue with trembling fingers and took the first deep drag of the night. The smoke filled her lungs and the relief was immediate. She smoked one after another, chain-smoking at the window, exhaling long plumes into the cool night air while tears ran silently down her cheeks. She didn’t stop until the pack was nearly empty. The nicotine calmed her racing mind, but it couldn’t erase the shame.
The next morning she drove to work in silence.
Rachel was waiting for her in the small conference room they had started using for their private “strategy sessions.” The moment the door closed, Angela crossed the room and kissed her — hard, desperate, tasting of the two cigarettes she had already smoked in the parking garage.
They pulled apart, breathing heavily.
“I told them,” Angela said, voice hoarse. “I told Mark and the kids I’ve started smoking again. He’s furious. He doesn’t understand.”
Rachel’s honey eyes darkened with satisfaction. She stroked Angela’s cheek gently.
“I’m proud of you for being honest with them,” she murmured. “But we both know the real truth. You don’t want to quit. You want this.”
Angela nodded, eyes glistening. “I do. I want it too much. But I can’t smoke openly at the association. It would destroy everything I’ve built. We need a plan.”
They sat close on the small sofa, knees touching. Rachel lit two Vogues and handed one to Angela. They smoked together while they talked, passing the cigarettes back and forth, sharing smoky kisses between drags.
“We can’t have you lighting up in the office,” Rachel agreed, exhaling a thick plume. “But we can start turning the culture here. Slowly. Subtly. Convince a few key members that the fight has been too extreme. Plant the idea that ‘harm reduction’ and ‘personal choice’ should be part of the conversation. If we get even a couple of influential doctors or board members to start smoking… the whole association could shift.”
Angela took a long, greedy drag, cheeks hollowing. The nicotine made her bold. “I want to smoke freely at work. I need it. But you’re right — we have to be smart.”
They spent the rest of the lunch hour planning, smoking cigarette after cigarette. By the time they left the room, Angela’s head was swimming with nicotine and dark possibility.
After work she drove straight home. Mark’s car was already in the driveway. She didn’t even try to hide it anymore. She walked straight to the back porch, sat in one of the patio chairs, and lit a fresh Vogue. She was on her third cigarette, smoking with slow, sensual pulls, when Mark stepped outside.
The argument was immediate and brutal.
“You’re smoking on our porch now?” he shouted. “In front of the neighbors? After everything we built here?”
Angela took another deep drag, held it, and exhaled toward the sky. “I can’t stop, Mark. I’ve tried. I don’t have the strength anymore.”
“You’re throwing away everything we stand for!” he yelled. “The kids are confused. I’m furious. I don’t even know who you are right now.”
The words cut deep. Angela stood up, cigarette burning between her fingers, eyes blazing with a mix of shame and defiance.
“I feel rejected just for this,” she said, voice trembling. “For something I can’t control. I’m going to stay at a friend’s house tonight. I need space.”
She didn’t wait for his answer. She grabbed her overnight bag, the carton of Vogue, and drove straight to Rachel’s apartment.
Rachel opened the door with two lit Vogues already between her lips — one for herself, one ready to pass to Angela. She was wearing nothing but a black silk robe, hair loose, eyes gleaming with twisted, dark pleasure.
Angela stepped inside, took the offered cigarette, and kissed Rachel deeply, the smoke passing between their mouths. The night that followed was pure, unashamed indulgence.
They barely left the bedroom. They made love slowly, passionately, bodies moving together while cigarettes burned in ashtrays. Angela smoked almost constantly — lighting one from the end of the last, inhaling with deep, greedy pulls that made her moan against Rachel’s skin. They shared smoky kisses for hours, tongues tangled in menthol and nicotine, hands exploring, bodies slick with sweat and pleasure.
Rachel had never felt such twisted, dark satisfaction. Watching the once-perfect anti-smoking crusader surrender completely — chain-smoking with shameless abandon, moaning with every drag, begging for more between orgasms — filled her with a powerful, erotic thrill she had never known.
Angela had never felt so happy. So alive.
She lay in Rachel’s arms late that night, a fresh Vogue burning between her fingers. Thick smoke curled from her lips as she exhaled slowly, eyes half-closed in pure bliss.
She was lost.
She was home.
And for the first time in twenty years, she didn’t want to be found.
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