“Actually, I think everyone should be in the picture,” I start to say, not wanting Karl to feel left out. After all, he’s a part of the team, part of this night. And he’s helped me immensely with the preparations. Karl meets my eyes, and it’s as if he reads my thoughts. His face softens, and he pu
The city’s nocturnal pulse is like a second heartbeat, a comforting undercurrent as I make my way toward the subway. Tonight was something else. A blend of euphoria, sprinkled with an indescribable tension—thanks to Karl’s abrupt departure. I’m not sure why he left, or really even when he left.
As the stop comes up, I stand abruptly, shoving the man away. “What do you think you’re doing?” he growls. “Getting out of here,” I say, gathering my belongings as the train screeches to a halt at the next station. The doors slide open, and I make my exit, not looking back, even when he yells so
I’m pacing my living room, a glass of whiskey in hand, lost in my thoughts. The night has been a cocktail of emotions—high spirits at the party, laughter with Abby… And then, of course, there was the palpable tension with Chloe. I thought I had managed to keep my feelings under wraps, maintain the
“Fine,” I say, gritting my teeth. “I’ll be there.” I hang up, feeling the weight of my double life—the life I left behind and the one I’m struggling to build. It’s a constant juggling act, and sometimes I drop the ball. As if on cue, my phone buzzes again, pulling me back to the present. This ti
The city lights blur past us as Karl drives, the tension in the car so thick I could slice it with a knife. My mind is still spinning from the events of the last hour—the creepy guy on the subway, the group of leering men, and then Karl, showing up like a storm, sweeping everything away. My eyes s
“It’s nothing,” I say. “It’s a nice shirt. I’d hate to see it get ruined.” Karl smirks. “I could just buy another. But thanks.” We’re close, too close, and my thoughts betray me, drifting to places they have no business going. Memories flicker through my mind—the feel of his arms around me, the
I’m standing over a steaming pot of ragù, stirring as I listen to the sizzle and pop of ingredients melding together in culinary harmony. The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity, the dinner rush in full swing. But amidst the orchestrated chaos, a discordant note strikes my ears. It's John, my head