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Love Under Fire The next morning
NancyThe morning sun peeked through the trees in the Morton mansion's garden, its filtered light creating dancing shadows on the stone floor. My feet felt heavy as I said goodbye to Amber and Peter in the driveway. The cold winter air mixed with the warmth of a moment that I didn't know if I wanted to prolong or shorten. Peter's suitcase was already in the car, and he, always so excited, talked about all the things he wanted to do in New York."You're going to love New York, my boy," I said, bending down to his level. I adjusted his jacket and stroked his hair. He laughed a sweet laugh, so innocent and carefree about everything around him. I envied the simplicity with which he approached life."Yes, mom. It gonna be awesome! And I'm going to bring you gifts!" Peter replied, his eyes shining with excitement of the trip. The driver was already waiting, the car engine purring softly, ready to take them away.Amber, on the other hand, was different. I watched her sideways, waiting for th
Love Under Fire The wake
NancyI was leaning against the large window, watching Charles' wake unfold with a mix of relief and discomfort. Relief knowing that my children, Amber and Peter, were far from all that farce, in New York, and discomfort because, even without wanting to, I was there, in the middle of it all, witnessing every morbid detail of this performance. Nothing there seemed genuine. Charles Morton's death was a spectacle, and everyone played their roles perfectly.Bruce, of course, was at the center of it all. Dressed impeccably in black, he seemed to fulfill his role as a grieving son almost automatically. His serious but restrained expression, the way he received greetings and condolences—everything was so calculated. I watched him from a distance, recognizing the mechanical gestures of someone suffocated by responsibility but without allowing any emotion to escape.It was then that I noticed three young women approaching, wearing clothes that were clearly inappropriate for the occasion. Tight
Love Under Fire The culprit
NancyWinter had already covered everything with its icy blanket, and the air outside the great Morton mansion felt thick and sharp. The wind blew in gusts, carrying with it a damp cold that made even the stones on the path to the cemetery seem frozen. The branches of dry trees swayed in the distance, casting long, flickering shadows on the lawn that led to the family mausoleum. The snow, which had fallen lightly the day before, covered the ground in a thin layer of white, almost as if it was announcing the arrival of something dark and definitive.Inside, the wake had already gone on for hours. The heated air of the mansion was unable to dispel the oppressive feeling that hung over us all. The smell of mortuary flowers mixed with the expensive perfume of the women present created a suffocating atmosphere, as if mourning were just another formality among many others. Every person in that room seemed more concerned about being seen than actually feeling the loss. There was no genuine p
Love Under Fire I can't live with this lie anymore
Nancy"Are you going to deny that you were in love with our father's wife, brother?" Bruce roared, his voice echoing through the hall like thunder. He was on the verge of breaking down, his face contorted into a mask of pure hatred. His breathing came in ragged gasps, and his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. The veins in his neck stood out, and there was saliva accumulating in the corners of his mouth, which he involuntarily spat out with each scream.Those words seemed to have a physical force, like a slap in the face of everyone present. The silence that followed was suffocating, interrupted only by the sound of heavy breathing and the cold wind outside, which blew against the windows."Arrest this useless person!" Bruce shouted again, now turning to the police officers who were present. "You heard what I said! He killed our father! That worm!" His voice was a mix of despair and revenge, echoing in the hall like a desperate plea for justice — or perhaps f
Love Under Fire My woman
NancyThat was bad, but I preferred not to judge Harald. He was a man who had suffered greatly at the hands of his father, a tyrant who always sought control over his life and his choices. The last thing I wanted was to add more weight to your conscience. If he got to the point of getting involved with Charles' wife, that was something he had to resolve on his own. I was not one to give opinions or point fingers. For a moment, I let Harald and Candace take Ivor, who was sad, not understanding where his mother was. He was only five years old and deserved some peace, even in the midst of so much confusion.After the wake, people began to disperse. The mansion, once full of laughter and conversation, was now empty, like an echo of what had been. I felt suffocated by that loneliness, surrounded by walls that had witnessed so many lies and betrayals. The silence became deafening, and the feeling of despair grew in my chest.I walked through the cold corridors of the mansion to the living r
Love Under Fire I still have hope
CandaceAs Harald drove back to the mansion, the silent night seemed to lengthen between us. The soft sound of Ivor's breathing, sleeping in the backseat, was almost a comfort, but my heart was elsewhere, tight and confused. I couldn't believe what had happened earlier at the Mortons' house. Harald, the man who always seemed so distant from me, had defended me. He stood up to Bruce, calling me his wife."I don't allow you to talk to my wife like that." His words still echoed in my head. The first time he called me 'his' woman in public. My heart raced just remembering. There was something there—something I desperately wanted to believe was the beginning of something real between us.I shifted in the car seat, trying to ease the knot forming in my chest. I looked at Harald, his expression serious and focused on the road ahead. He was silent, and the silence was killing me inside. I needed to know what he was thinking. What did that defense mean to him? Did that change something between
Love Under Fire A despicable human being
NancyThe silence in the house was oppressive. There was an emptiness that filled every corner of the mansion, making every sound echo and every thought reverberate in my tired mind. I was alone with Bruce, and the mere fact of his presence was suffocating. The big doors, the huge windows—everything seemed to conspire to remind me of the weight of the lies that had been told inside that house.When Harald and Candace left with little Ivor, the boy looked at me as if he wanted to understand, as if I could offer him some explanation about what had happened to his mother. But I couldn't. There were no easy explanations. Glory was on the run, and it all seemed like a trap that we were all trapped in, a web of intrigue that only got more and more tangled.I turned to the empty hall. My feet echoed as I slowly walked to the dining room, where Bruce was. He was sitting at the end of the table, his eye black from Harald's punch, casually leaning back in his chair with a cigarette between his
Love Under Fire A ghost in the room
NancyThe awakening was slow, as if I were emerging from a deep, heavy sleep, and the world around me was still covered in a veil. I blinked several times, trying to clear the fog that obscured my vision, and realized something was wrong. The smell. The air had a strange, sterile odor, a mixture of disinfectant and freshly laundered sheets, very different from the usual aromas of the Morton mansion, which was always filled with expensive perfumes and the subtle scent of old wood. I sat up carefully, feeling my head throbbing slightly, and looked around.The room was small, practically modest, with a single bed covered in white sheets and bare walls, painted in a pale beige tone that seemed heartbreaking to me. A small dresser in the corner and a chair next to the bed were the only furniture visible. There was something in the air that didn't feel right, as if I had been transported to a completely different place, where the opulence of the Morton home had been replaced by an almost op
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