Viola McCoyThe banging doesn’t stop. “Viola, please—open the door. I didn’t mean to… I swear, baby, it was a mistake.” I close my eyes and press the heels of my hands into them, willing the exhaustion to take over. But sleep won’t come. Not when Julian’s keeps coming from the other side of the door. “I love you, okay? I just, I lost my temper. You know I didn’t mean it.” The door rattles as he leans his forehead against it, his voice muffled but still too loud in the silence of our bedroom. “I just need you to talk to me,” he pleads. “Don’t do this, Vi.” I don’t answer. Instead, I tighten my grip on my laptop, my fingers trembling slightly as I stare at the blinking cursor on the screen. I should be sleeping. But instead, I write. The words spill out faster than I can process them, my fingers flying across the keyboard. I haven’t updated ‘Who Was I Before You?’ in days, but now the story flows easily, as if my female lead has been waiting for me to finally set her
Viola McCoy “You were late.” Logan says.I force a small smile. “I overslept.” His gaze sharpens. “Did something happen last night?” “No.” The lie comes too easily. I reach into my bag and hand him his jacket. “Here. Thanks for lending it to me.” He doesn’t take it. “Keep it.” “I can’t.” I set the bag in front of him. A beat of silence. His eyes don’t leave mine. I can feel it that he has something he isn’t saying. I start to turn away, but then…“Why did you erase it?” My stomach drops. I freeze. Slowly, I turn back to him. “Erase what?” He tilts his head slightly, studying me. “The tattoo.” His voice is quieter now. “The one we got together.” My fingers twitch at my sides. “I still have yours, Viola.” He steps closer. “Why did you erase mine? Did you hate me that much?” I can’t tell him the truth. That Julian forced me to remove it before we got married. That it was never my choice. So instead, I swallow the lump in my throat and say, “I wanted every me
Logan Reynolds "I wanted every memory of you gone." The words stay lodged in my mind like a rusted knife, wedged so deep that every attempt to pull them out only makes the wound worse. Viola said that to me. She looked me right in the eye and said it like it was nothing. Like I was nothing. I exhale sharply, leaning back in my chair and dragging a hand down my face. The office is silent, the screen in front of me is filled with unfinished reports, emails I was supposed to respond to hours ago, but I haven’t gotten a damn thing done. Because I can’t stop thinking about her. About the way her voice didn’t waver when she said it. Every memory of me, gone. I shut my laptop with more force than necessary. The ache in my chest turns into something else. Something heavier. Something I can’t name. My phone buzzes. I glance at the screen. Dad. I sigh before answering. “What is it?” “You have dinner with Madeline tonight,” he states, as if it’s not up for debate. I rub a
Viola McCoy I blink away the sting in my eyes and push past the lump in my throat. Julian’s absence shouldn’t hurt this much. It shouldn’t still have the power to hollow me out like this. But it does. It always does.And the worst part?I should leave. I reach for my purse, forcing my hands to steady as I push my chair back. My limbs feel heavy as I feel the weight of someone’s gaze in me. I hesitate before raising my head, and my heart stumbles in my chest. Logan.He’s standing just a few feet away, his dark eyes locked onto mine. There’s something unreadable in his expression and it makes my stomach twist. I don’t know how long he’s been watching me, but the moment our eyes meet, I look away. I can’t let him see it. The sadness. The disappointment. The humiliation.I push to my feet, gripping my purse a little too tightly. But before I can take a step, he moves. “Hey, hey, no rush,” he says, closing the distance between us.I shouldn’t stop. I should keep walkin
Logan Reynolds I watch Viola’s car disappear into the night, the taillights shrinking until they blend into the city’s glow. I know I should turn away, but I don’t. It’s almost midnight. Is it safe for her to be driving alone at this hour? I clench my jaw. Not my business. She made it clear she didn’t want me to drop her off. But the way she bolted the second Madeline showed up, is unsettling. Was she afraid? Or did she think something was going on between us? A soft hum of laughter pulls me from my thoughts. “I saw you at the party with that lady too.” I turn to find Madeline watching me, arms crossed, with an amused smirk on her lips. I play dumb. “What lady?” Madeline scoffs. “The one that just left.” I shake my head. “You’re imagining things. We should go.” Madeline doesn’t push. She just shrugs, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder before sliding into the passenger seat of my car. The ride is quiet on my end, at least. Madeline talks, fil
Viola McCoy By the time I get home, my mind is already settled. Or at least, I tell myself it is. I slip off my heels at the door, pressing my fingers against my temple. The silence in the house is almost suffocating. But that’s what I wanted, right? Silence. Peace. I’m not thinking about Madeline or Logan or what their plans might be for the rest of the night. Because somehow, it hurts to wonder. Julian’s car isn’t in it’s parking space. I barely pause to take that in as I walk through the dimly lit hallway, up the stairs and straight to the bedroom. I don’t bother turning on the lights too. I slip out of my dress and into a slick nightgown. I don’t wait for Julian. I don’t call. I don’t text. I just slide under the covers and sleep off. *** The sound of the bedroom door creaking open wakes me. My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the darkness. A shadow moves near the vanity. Julian. His tall frame is stiff as he shrugs off his jacket and places it over the chair
Logan Reynolds I clench my fists, the tension crawling up my arms as I pace back and forth in the departure hall of O’Hare. The overhead announcements are low but all I can focus on is the time ticking away on my watch. 11:58 AM. Linda told me to be here at 11:30 sharp. I hate waiting. More than that, I hate uncertainty. She texted me earlier, said there was an emergency and that I should just wait here for her, but this is cutting it close. I exhale, running a hand through my hair, and take another glance toward the entrance. No sign of her. I pull out my phone, about to call her, when I hear the sound of heels clicking against the polished floor. I glance up and my stomach drops. It’s Viola. She walks toward me in a tailored navy dress that hugs her body in a way that’s completely inappropriate for a business trip and yet, somehow, I can’t look away. Her hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail, makeup flawless as always, but there’s something in her expression tha
Viola McCoy “It’s just a day trip. You’ll be back by evening, and Julian won’t even notice you’re gone."That’s what I told myself when I got on the jet this morning. Now, as the pilot’s voice crackles through the overhead speakers announcing our arrival in Paris, my eyelids flutter open. For a second, I forget where I am. The cabin is dim, sunlight filtering through the small oval windows.Then I feel that solid and steady warmth. Someone is next to me. I stiffen, my breath catching in my throat. Slowly, I tilt my head and that’s when I see Logan. My head is on his shoulder. My heart kicks against my ribs as I immediately pull away, straightening in my seat. The sudden movement makes the armrest dig into my side, but I barely register the discomfort. Instead, my focus stays on him. Logan’s face is relaxed, his breathing slow and even. His jaw is sharp, with his dark lashes.I watch him, my gaze tracing the faint crease between his brows, the strong slope of his nose.
Viola McCoy The spoon slips from my fingers the moment I see him.Julian.Standing at the door. The warm laughter that had just filled the room with Bonnie and Logan dies. A coldness slips into the space between us. I can feel Logan’s body shift beside me, subtle but tense.“Vi?” Julian says softly. He takes a step forward.I don’t say a word.Because I’m not sure what version of him I’m getting today. The one who kisses me on the forehead and calls me darling? Or the one who locks doors and drags me by the wrist until my ankles feel like it’d crack?My body instinctively leans closer to Logan. I don’t mean to—it’s not intentional, not performative—but it’s like my ribs remember who was there when I passed out cold in the street. My skin still burns from where the masked man grabbed me, and all I can think is Julian didn’t save me. Logan did.“I didn’t know you were here,” Julian says, eyes scanning the room now. The flowers on the nightstand. The extra chair pulled beside
Logan Reynolds I watch the nurses wheel Viola away, her body limp against the hospital stretcher. Her hair matted, her skin is pale. There’s a smear of blood on her chin, a bruise above her collarbone, and my throat feels like it’s closing up. My heart slams against my ribs, wild, like it’s trying to tear through my chest to get to her.I keep hearing that sound—her body hitting the pavement right before I caught her. One second she was knocking on my door, the next she was collapsing into my arms. I remember the way she whispered my name right before she lost consciousness. The terror in her eyes. The tremble in her voice. I’d shouted her name, trying to wake her up, to keep her with me.God.I should’ve protected her.I carry that weight now, pacing the sterile white hallway of the ER like a madman. Everything feels wrong. Off. I run a hand through my hair and look down at the faint traces of blood still on my shirt. Hers.I should’ve taken it seriously when she told me ab
Viola McCoy I’ve been extra careful since the creeper incident a few days ago, locking every door twice, double-checking the windows, sleeping with the hallway light on even though I hate the glow it casts across the wall like shadows trying to crawl in. And hopefully—God, hopefully—Julian is finally coming back from his triptonight. I told myself I’d tell him about the man lurking outside the last time. Even though deep down, I suspected... no, I feared he had something to do with it. But I couldn’t doubt him. He’s my husband. Still is. And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe that’s why the thought ever entered my head at all—that he could be behind something like that. What kind of marriage do you have when you’re afraid of your own partner?A honk blares outside, sharp and sudden, and my spine stiffens.I glance at the clock. 8:02 PM. Of course. Julian. It’s got to be him. I rise from the couch, feeling the soreness still lingering in my back from being locked in that dam
Viola McCoy The house is quiet again. Too quiet.Amirah left a few minutes ago—after tea, a lot of pacing, and promises to talk to Kendrick face-to-face. I stood by the front door, watching her drive away, arms wrapped around my waist like that might stop the tremble I didn’t want her to see. As soon as her taillights faded down the street, I closed the door and leaned my back against it, my head tipping back until it hit the wood.Silence stretches through the house.Julian’s gone. Business trip, he said, though he never told me where. No proper goodbye. No apology. Just a warning disguised as a farewell—“Try not to make things worse while I’m gone.”Worse. As if I’m the one lighting matches.I move slowly through the living room, dragging my fingers along the edge of the couch as I pass. My legs are still sore from yesterday, from being yanked up the stairs like I was nothing but weight to be hauled around. I didn’t let Amirah see the bruise on my wrist when she came by. Th
Viola McCoy The door’s open now. I heard the click around 4 a.m.—not because I was waiting for it, but because I hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. My eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling while my thoughts clawed at the inside of my skull. I must’ve blinked a thousand times, hoping one of them would carry me into sleep, into some kind of dream where things didn’t feel this fractured. But it never came.And now, the door is just... open. Like last night never happened. Like the anger, the dragging, the yelling, the fear—I’m supposed to just erase it. Just walk out and go back to normal.I finally shift. My legs are stiff, my back sore. I’ve been curled up in the same position for hours. The wooden floor beneath me has left a dull ache in my hips, but it’s the numbness that gets me—the way I don’t even flinch at it. Today’s Sunday. No office. Not that it would’ve mattered. I don’t have the strength to sit behind a desk, smile at coworkers, pretend everything’s fine. I barely have the strength
Viola McCoy Logan and I continue to sit on his car as we stare at the horizon. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have let him sneak me out.But if I had stayed in that house one moment longer, I would’ve lost it completely. I would’ve screamed. Thrown something. Maybe told Julian’s mother exactly what I thought of her sad, tight little smiles and fake compliments. I would’ve told his cousin to keep her uterus-obsessed mouth shut and that the reason we don’t have kids isn’t her damn business. I would’ve said a lot of things I shouldn’t.So maybe sneaking out with Logan wasn’t the worst mistake I could’ve made today.The wind is gentle, cool against my cheeks. The view from here stretches endlessly and the sun has almost dipped past the horizon. I hug myself tighter.I wonder what Julian is thinking right now. Wonder if he’s pacing. Fuming. Wondering where the hell I am. I told myself I’d only be gone for a few minutes, just a breather, but it’s been over an hour. Maybe two. I
Logan ReynoldsI should’ve known something was up when Julian invited me over. Never thought he’d reach out to me. If anything, he should be wary of me, not shooting out casual texts saying we’re old friends. And yet, I showed up. Like an idiot. Thinking maybe—just maybe—I’d get to see Viola. Talk to her. See through the cracks in whatever illusion they’re trying to sell as a happy marriage.Now I’m sitting at this long-ass mahogany table, surrounded by a sea of fake smiles and passive-aggressive comments. I regret it already. The air is thick with roasted meat and tension. There’s a massive centerpiece of red roses and golden eucalyptus that looks expensive but smells faintly like mildew. Across from me, Julian’s cousin is twirling her hair around a manicured finger, eyes locked on me like I’m a steak she wants to sink her teeth into.“So… what do you do?” she asks, voice sugar-sweet and clearly rehearsed.I clear my throat, pushing the mashed potatoes around my plate with the
Viola McCoy For the rest of the day, my mind is a chaotic mess. I’m unable to think of anything besides the scene in the elevator. I tell myself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just tension—claustrophobia, proximity, fatigue. Anything but real. But it’s a lie, and I know it.Still, I manage to get through the rest of my workday without any more intrusive thoughts clawing at me. I focus on spreadsheets, keep my head down, smile at the interns like everything’s normal. Like I’m not completely unraveling on the inside.Julian hasn’t texted all day. Not a single word. But I’m sure he saw the missed calls, saw the timestamp when I got home, saw Logan’s car dropping me off. I wonder what’s running through his mind right now. I want to believe he’ll understand, but who am I kidding? Even I wouldn’t believe me.Even if I keep reassuring him that nothing happened, that it’s not what it looks like... deep down, I know it is what it looks like. Maybe worse.I drive home in silence, hand
Logan Reynolds She said it.She said not feeling seen isn’t enough reason to tear down a marriage. And maybe she’s right. Maybe that alone doesn’t justify lighting a match to vows and rings and promises made in front of people who believed them. But I know it’s not just about being seen. There’s more. So much more.Like the way her voice changes when she says his name. Hollow. Or how her hands shake when she thinks no one’s watching. Or the way she looks at me like I’m oxygen in a room that keeps running out of air.And now, we’re stuck. In a goddamn elevator.I lean back against the cold metal wall, arms crossed, trying to breathe past the heat pooling low in my chest. I can still feel the soft imprint of her waist under my hands. The tension in her spine when I touched her. The way her body moved without thinking, grabbing onto me when the elevator shuddered.She’s curled up on the floor now, knees pulled tight to her chest, like she’s trying to make herself disappear. Her he