Just as I say “Ten,” I see Ryan take a reluctant step back. Soon enough, I notice it’s not entirely by his choice. Emily's fingers are wrapped tightly around his arm, pulling him away from me. Her face is set in a hard line, eyes blazing with an expression I can’t name. Ryan tries to shrug her off, but Emily holds him firm, blocking his path. “Emily,” he says. “What the hell are you doing? I’ve told you so many times not to involve yourself in these fights. Let me handle Julie.” Emily doesn’t budge, doesn’t look away. Her voice is cold, quiet, but beneath it, there’s a fire bubbling up, one I’ve never seen from her before. "That woman," she says, eyes fixed on him, "just survived a near-death experience. Do you really think she won’t go through with her threat? That she won’t burn this entire house down if she wants to? I have properties worth a lot scattered all over this place, Ryan. You’re not going to make her light them up. Do yourself some good and calm the fuck down.” Ry
I stare at her blankly. “Frozen? There must be some mix-up. Maybe the machine’s acting up? That’s my account. I would know if it’s frozen.”The receptionist’s expression remains stoic, as if she’s used to dealing with late-night guests having issues with their cards. “I’m afraid so, ma’am,” she says. “It’s showing as restricted.”I feel frustration simmering beneath my skin. Whatever this is, it has Ryan’s name written all over it. Yet, at the back of my mind, I doubt. It might be a coincidence, because I can’t figure out any possible way Ryan could have done it, frozen this account without my approval. It’s a joint account. There’s a reason it’s called joint, because two people have to sign off on decisions involving the account. So yes, there has to be a reasonable explanation for this. There better be.“What am I supposed to do?” I ask.Angela shifts uncomfortably, typing again, like maybe she’s hoping a magical solution will pop up on her screen. When it doesn’t, she looks back at
A couple of minutes after I hang up the call, I see an Aston Martin pulling into the hotel’s driveway at a crazy speed. It sounds a lot like it’s heading in my direction. I quickly step aside, not wanting to add ‘hit by a car’ to my list of today’s problems.That is until I see Luke flying out. He doesn’t even bother to turn off the car before he’s out of the door, his face hard.“Julie,” he says, “what happened? Did that son of a bitch kick you out?”I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. The words feel caged somewhere deep inside me. How do I explain the mess I’m in? How Ryan has stripped me bare of everything, left me stranded, powerless… humiliated. I try again, but all that comes out is a shaky breath.Luke’s eyes narrow. He’s watching me carefully, taking one slow, measured step at a time. He stops right in front of me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him, close enough that I can smell his faint cologne, something deep and woody that makes me want to pull h
We pull up to Luke’s place a few minutes later, and I almost forget to breathe.This isn’t just a house. It’s a mansion—a literal mansion, all sharp angles, stone walls, and towering windows. The driveway winds through a huge garden, the kind of lush, manicured greenery that feels like something out of a dream.Luke glances over, catching me staring, and smirks. He hops out of the car, strolling around to my side.“Do you live here alone?” I ask, half whispering.“Why?” He looks amused. “Does it seem lonely?”“Lonely? No, just… massive.”He laughs softly. “I like space,” he says, and though the answer feels simple, I get the sense there’s more to it.“I can see that,” I say.He extends his arm dramatically. “Welcome to my castle, Julie. Mi casa es tu casa.”The air is cool, and the scent of jasmine drifts over us as we head up the stone steps. I glance around, taking in the enormous front door and stone pillars. This place feels almost enchanted.Inside, it’s even more impressive. We
~~Ryan O’Brien~~ Ryan O'Brien stares down at the stack of papers in his hands, the ones just handed to him by a server. TO: RYAN O’BRIEN YOU ARE HEREBY SUMMONED to answer the Complaint in this action, which is brought to obtain a divorce, and to appear before the Ravenswood District Court of the State of New York, Greenwood County, within twenty (20) days after service of this Summons upon you." Complaint: "PARTIES: Plaintiff: JULIE JENKINS (currently known as JULIE O’BRIEN) Defendant: RYAN O’BRIEN ... GROUND FOR DIVORCE: Adultery (Domestic Relations Law § 170(1)) …… The world blurs for a second. A divorce Summon? He reads it again, slower this time, each word grating against his mind, and his grip tightens on the paper. Somewhere in the background, he hears a faint hum. It’s Emily. She’s hovering beside him with her hand on the back of his chair. “How did she manage that so quickly?” Emily asks. She doesn’t sound unhappy about it. In fact, Ryan could swear there’s a hi
Ryan lets out a shaky breath. “So this is what it comes down to? Blackmail?”“Call it what you want,” Elaine says. “But yes, Ryan. Blackmail. You want Julie back? You want your life back? You get me out of here. Simple as that.”He runs a hand through his hair, barely able to look at her. He doesn’t want to do this. The very idea makes him sick to his stomach. But what choice does he have? Julie is slipping through his fingers, and with her goes everything—his reputation, his family’s respect, his carefully crafted life.“Fine,” he says. “I’ll talk to my lawyer. If, by some miracle, he gets you out, you’re going to fix it. You’re going to make Julie see that this divorce is a mistake.”Elaine’s smile is wide. “Of course,” she purrs, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “I’ll do whatever it takes, darling. I’m sure Julie and I will have a lovely little chat.”He can feel bile rising in his throat. He stands, shoving his chair back, unable to stay in the room with her any longer. He turn
~~Julie~~In my dream, I’m floating somewhere soft and far away. And then—bang—the calm shatters, replaced by a loud, insistent pounding. Someone is knocking on a door, and it sounds like they’re one bang away from kicking it down. I bury my face deeper into my pillow, hoping the noise will stop. But it doesn’t.Thump. Thump. Thump.Groaning, I open my eyes and squint at the clock on my nightstand. 4:47 a.m. It’s basically the middle of the night. Who in their right mind is awake at this hour?I drag myself out of bed and stumble to the door, throwing it open. And there, in all his early morning glory, stands Luke. “Morning, Julie,” he says.He’s in workout clothes. The shirt stretches across his chest and shoulders in ways that should be illegal. His shorts fit just right, showcasing his toned legs, and don’t even get me started on the definition of his arms. A faint sheen of sweat is already on his brow, like he’s fresh from a warm-up. I can barely believe he’s a real human being,
At first, I’m just too stunned to say anything. It’s like my brain’s stalling, processing, until finally, I blurt out the only thing I can manage:“Aren’t you supposed to be in jail?”There’s this unbearable, casual calm in her voice. “I made bail,” she says, like she’s talking about a nail appointment. “I’m bipolar and off my meds. They can’t hold me.”Oh, come on. I want to scream, but I swallow it down. “I don’t know what magic trick you pulled to get out, but don’t call this number again. I’m getting a restraining order.”“Sweetheart, you can do whatever you want. But for now, just listen to me. Please?”A request from her—a polite one at that—throws me for a second. Against my better judgment, I don’t hang up. My pulse is pounding. She takes my silence as permission.“I wanted to apologize, Julie,” she says. “For being… difficult. For pushing you. You know, I’ve got a condition.”It’s ridiculous. The laugh that escapes me is hard and hollow, almost a bark. “Oh, is that your excus
~~Julie~~ The pain started several hours ago. At first, it was manageable—a dull ache radiating through my lower abdomen. It felt like my body was whispering its warnings. But now, hours later, it’s no whisper. It’s a full-blown scream. Sharp, relentless waves of pain grip me, tightening like a vice around my insides. I’ve been timing the contractions, because the last time this happened, Dr. Casey Patel had sent me home with enough instructions on how to detect real labor. If this isn’t labor, then God help me, because it feels like this baby is about to crawl up my spine and burst out of my chest. I clutch the bannister with one hand and my lower abdomen with the other, pausing halfway down the stairs to catch my breath. Every step feels like a test of endurance, like I’m descending a mountain instead of my own staircase. “Paula!” I shout, hoping the cook will come running. But it isn’t Paula who appears. Instead, Javier rolls into view at the bottom of the stairs, his expressio
~~Julie~~I have to say this: Luke’s family knows how to party. It’s like everyone’s high and energetic. Even the children aren’t left out. It’s one thing to practice a dance, and it’s another to actually use those moves. I’m stumbling, but I don’t care. Because I’m happy. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I can’t keep track of the number of people I’ve danced with. I’ve lost Luke for the hundredth time tonight. The last time I saw him, he was being dragged into a conga line by his mother, who seemed to have the stamina of a teenager. Somewhere between the flashing lights and the sea of bodies spinning and stomping, he’d disappeared again.I stumble slightly in my heels, though at this point they feel more like medieval torture devices. My silver dress—once sleek and elegant—is now sticking to me like a second skin, the fabric damp with sweat from almost an hour of dancing. I brush confetti out of my hair. It’s everywhere—on my shoulders, even stuck to the perspiration on my arms.A
It’s our first dance as a couple, and Julie’s arms are draped around my neck, her warmth melting into mine as we sway to the soft rhythm of the music. Her dress catches the golden glow of the chandeliers, shimmering like something out of a dream. But it’s not the dress or the lights that have me mesmerized—it’s her.Her cheeks are flushed, a shade of pink that makes my heart stutter, and her eyes, those deep, captivating pools, glisten with unshed tears. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but all I can manage is, “You’re beautiful.”Julie’s blush deepens, and she looks away for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “You’ve already said that. Twice.”“Because it’s true.”Around us, everyone is watching.Julie bites her lip, a nervous gesture that only makes her more endearing. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Feeling this… shy?”I chuckle. “Like teenagers on a first date.”“Exactly. The entire room is watching, and I don’t know where to look.”“You’re doing great so far,” I say. “Jus
~~Luke~~I don’t know if it’s appropriate for the groom to cry on his wedding day, but right now, it’s taking my entire self-control not to sob. My throat feels tight, my chest is heavy, and every muscle in my face is fighting. Screw it—who made that rule anyway?Julie is walking toward me. Julie. My Julie. And it feels like the first time all over again—the day I saw her sitting on that barstool, drowning her sorrows in a glass of whiskey. I hadn’t planned to approach her. I was headed toward the fire exit, escaping someone whose face I can’t remember now. But then I saw her, and something in me shifted.Now, here she is, making her way down the aisle, radiant in a dress that looks like it was sewn from clouds and moonlight. My breath catches in my throat, and I wonder if it’s possible to actually combust from sheer awe.Her maid of honor walks beside her, clutching her arm with a steadying hand, but Julie doesn’t need it. She’s poised, her eyes locked on mine.“You’re far gone, man,
~~Julie~~People say all brides are late to their weddings. It’s practically a tradition, isn’t it? But me? I was not going to be one of those brides. I had a plan. I gave myself a generous window—ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops—because, really, what could possibly make me late?The answer, apparently, is everything. Here I am, forty minutes behind schedule, crammed in the backseat of a car with Marissa, my maid of honor, wrestling with my veil like it’s some kind of unruly octopus.“Hold still,” Marissa says, her fingers tangled in the fabric. “You keep moving, and this thing’s going to look like a bird nested in your hair.”“I wouldn’t be moving if we weren’t speeding down the road like we’re in a car chase,” I shoot back, my head jerking as the driver swerves to avoid another car.The blame? It falls squarely on last night’s rehearsal dinner. It felt like the entire world showed up. Luke’s family alone must have taken up half the venue, and their energy? Boundless. How do they eve
~~Ryan O’Brien~~ It’s fifteen minutes before the pre-trial, and Ryan’s car pulls into the courthouse. As Justin, his chauffeur and bodyguard, cuts the ignition, Ryan stares through the tinted window at the swarm of reporters and onlookers gathered outside like vultures, cameras poised for the kill. He can practically hear the click of shutters, the incessant questions ready to pounce, though he hasn’t even stepped out yet. Adeline is beside him, looking as bored as ever. Adeline taps her manicured nails against the leather armrest. She looks as though she’d rather be anywhere else, though Ryan knows better. His mother thrives on drama, especially when she’s not the one under fire. “How long is this circus going to take?” she says. “You didn’t have to come.” Ryan loosens his tie, the knot around his neck nothing compared to the one in his chest. Adeline shrugs. “I had nothing better to do. Besides, someone has to ensure you don’t embarrass the family name more than you already hav
I and Marissa, the vice president of marketing, have formed a new habit of meeting for lunch. It started as casual, a convenience thing—we both needed a break from the relentless grind at Illusionaire. Now, it’s become a ritual. I’m still unsure if this qualifies as friendship, mainly because I don’t know what friendship actually looks like. But Marissa talks a lot, and I love to listen. Her stories have this wild, messy charm, like someone spilling glitter across a chaotic art project.We’re at a cozy little café a few blocks from work, the kind of place that tries too hard to be trendy with its mismatched furniture and aggressively minimalist menu. Marissa is mid-rant about her current boyfriend and her dog, gesturing with a fork that’s dangerously close to flinging her salad across the room.“I swear, Nathan only comes over to spend time with Chubbs.”I choke on my sip of iced tea. “Chubbs?”She nods. “My French bulldog. He’s—how do I put this—larger than life. And I mean larger. T
~~Julie~~We’re at a bridal boutique, and Carolina’s excitement could power a small city. Baby Valeria is strapped to her chest, a tiny, sleeping bundle of calm amidst the chaos her mother is stirring up. Carolina jumps from one gown to the next. Her enthusiasm is contagious, even though I’m already sweating from the sheer force of it.“Isn’t Valeria heavy?” I ask, watching as the baby shifts against her chest. “Are you sure you don’t need a break?”She waves me off. “No. You get used to it. It’s like she isn’t there.”“Oh.”Before I can say anything else, Carolina turns to me. She places a hand on my stomach.“You’re already showing!” she exclaims. “Know the sex yet?”I smile. “No, I was thinking we could work a surprise reveal into the wedding.”“Ohhhh!” she squeals. Her face lights up. “That’s magnificent. The family’s going to go ballistic.”“Careful so you don’t wake her,” I say, nodding toward Valeria, who stirs at the sound of her mother’s excitement.“Don’t worry. When she’s
~~Ryan O’Brien~~The cold splash of water shocks Ryan awake. His head is throbbing, each pulse like a mallet pounding against his skull. He groans, squinting against the morning light. Everywhere is bright. Too bright. It’s like a thousand needles piercing his eyes. His mouth feels dry and cottony. He tries to swallow, but his throat is parched. As he tries to sit up, the room spins. You’d think after two months, he’d get used to this feeling. But it hurts every single time."Aww," he says, clutching his head. "What the hell—""Don’t get up too fast."The voice is sharp, familiar, and unapologetic. He blinks away the fog until his mother’s silhouette sharpens before him. She’s standing tall and imposing, dressed in a cream suit that somehow looks both effortless and intimidating. In one hand, she holds a half-emptied glass of water, the one she’d poured on his face. In the other, two white pills."Don’t tell me you’ve finally decided to kill me," Ryan says."What?”"Poison me."She sn