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Out

Author: Siwa Rose
last update Last Updated: 2025-04-03 16:50:43

Logan Reynolds

The view from my office does nothing to clear my head. I’ve been staring out of this damn window for the past hour, but all I see is him. Julian, standing in that living room, acting like I was some intruder in Viola’s life.

And Viola? She just stood there. Quiet. Not a single word.

I tell myself I don’t blame her. She was sick, barely able to stand, let alone deal with an argument. But that doesn’t stop the gnawing feeling in my chest. The kind that’s been sitting there since I walked out of that house.

A knock on my office door pulls me out of my thoughts.

Linda steps in, holding a file in one hand, her phone in the other.

“We finally heard back from Cameron,” she says. “He’s ready to come back to Reynolds Publishing.”

I lean back in my chair, my jaw tightening. Cameron. The same man who once pointed a gun at me and Viola in Paris. I should feel something about this. Maybe anger because of the stunt he pulled or maybe relief because I finally got hi
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  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Romeo112

    Viola McCoy I rush back into the office. My breath is slightly uneven from hurrying across the parking lot. The moment I step inside, my eyes dart to my desk. My laptop is still open. No one’s around. Relief floods my chest as I slide into my chair and exhale. Thank God. I quickly reach forward, shutting the laptop with a soft click. My fingers hover over the lid for a second. My heartbeat is still a little too fast. No one saw anything. No one knows. Before I can fully collect myself, a voice calls my name. “Viola,” Linda says, appearing at my desk. I look up. “Yeah?” “The book fair team is meeting in a few minutes. Conference room.” I nod. “Got it.” She leaves, and I grab a notebook and pen before heading toward the meeting. The conference room is already half full when I walk in. I spot a few familiar faces. My colleagues are chatting, flipping through notes but my gaze catches on Logan. He’s sitting at the far end of the table with his eyes locked

    Last Updated : 2025-04-04
  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Reminder

    Viola McCoy I walk up to the counter, holding the small note between my fingers. My heart is still racing with something I don’t want to name yet. Excitement? No. I clear my throat, looking at the barista. He’s a man in his early forties with tired eyes and a name tag that reads * Ethan. He’s drying a mug with a towel, glancing up at me with a polite smile. “Hey,” I say, shifting slightly. “Did you, um, happen to see anyone sitting at that table by the window? My usual spot?” Ethan pauses, thinking. Then shakes his head. “Not that I noticed. We’ve been a little busy. Why? Something wrong?” I hesitate, glancing at the note again. The handwriting is neat but not familiar. “No, nothing’s wrong,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just curious.” He nods and goes back to his work. I sigh, turning back toward my table. I drop into my seat, staring at the note again. Romeo112. A fan. My first real-life fan. I run my thumb over the paper, reading the words again. It’s fl

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  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Encourage

    Viola McCoy The note from Romeo112 this morning is simple, but it sticks with me more than the others. “Even when the world doesn’t see you, I do. And I think you’re brilliant."It’s nothing extravagant. Nothing poetic. But it hits differently, and I fold it carefully, slipping it into my purse. That’s the ninth note. Nine days of waking up and knowing there will be something waiting for me at my usual table. Nine days of feeling seen in a way I haven't in a long time. And maybe I should be worried that someone knows who I am. That someone is watching. But I’m not. Instead, I find myself anticipating these notes. Looking forward to them. And that… that’s what scares me. The air outside is chill as I step out of the café. I cross the street toward the office building, but then I see Madeline. She’s stepping out of Logan’s car. She flips her hair over her shoulder, laughing at something as she turns to face him. Logan, however, isn’t laughing. He’s gripping the ste

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  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Mr Anonymous

    Logan Reynolds The last few days have been shitty. I wake up too early, go to bed too late, and somewhere in between, I spend hours convincing myself that I don’t care. That I can keep my distance from Vi. That I can forget what I know. It’s not working. Ever since I found out she’s Shortstuff002, my head’s been a fucking mess. That book—the one that’s had me hooked, that’s kept me up at night, that made me feel something for the first time in years—was written by her. By the woman I left behind. And now? I can’t stop thinking about it. About her. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic. Because every morning, without fail, I wake up before the sun and drive to that café across from the office just to leave her a note. I don’t know why I do it. Maybe because I know it’ll make her smile, even if she doesn’t know it’s me. Maybe because, this, being Romeo112, is the only way I can still have a piece of her. Or maybe I just need to feel close to her again, even if it’s from a fuck

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  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Anniversary

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  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   False

    Viola McCoy"A car that just delivered them," the guard says, nodding toward the flowers. "Are they from your husband?" I smile. "Yes." The guard grins. "You’re really lucky." I nod, still smiling as he helps me place the flowers in my car. Before I leave, I take a picture with them because this is what happy wives do, right? They take pictures of the sweet gestures their husbands make, post them, cherish them. I head back inside, and the moment I step into the office, my colleagues erupt into cheers. “You’re so lucky, Viola!” someone calls. "Julian is such a dream," another voice chimes in. I laugh lightly, tucking my hair behind my ear, letting their excitement take over me, even if a small voice in my head whispers that something doesn’t feel quite right. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Logan walk past. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t acknowledge me. Fine.I won’t let him bother me. I settle into my seat just as Linda appears, tapping my desk. “Your

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  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Wrong Direction

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  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Romeo112

    Viola McCoy I can’t sleep. My eyes refuse to shut as I continue to stare at the ceiling in my bedroom. I blink over and over, hoping each time that maybe—just maybe—the weight in my chest will lessen. Julian is still passed out on the couch downstairs. I haven’t moved since I came up, hours ago, and he hasn’t moved since he came in, reeking of alcohol.He forgot our anniversary. No matter how I try to spin it, soften it, excuse it, it doesn’t change the fact that he forgot. I feel it. Deep in my chest, a dull ache. Like something’s caved in where warmth used to live. Like I’d been standing in a room I thought had furniture, only to fall flat when I tried to sit. I keep thinking about Romeo112 too. The flowers. That note. The timing. I’ve been so sure it was Julian. Wanted to be sure. Who are you, Romeo112? Why do your words feel more like love than anything my husband has said to me in months?I sigh, curling into myself. I’m too tired to cry now. Maybe it’s maturity

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Latest chapter

  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Outburst

    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

  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Emergency

    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

  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Attack

    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

  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Creeper

    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

  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   News

    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

  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Rare

    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

  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Escape

    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

  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Dreadful

    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

  • Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine   Clarity

    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

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