CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

Wanda’s breath caught in her throat as she stepped into the lavish cottage house. The entrance was a breathtaking display of opulence, with tall glass walls that offered a panoramic view of the shimmering Las Vegas skyline. The interior was no less stunning: polished marble floors, modern chandeliers dripping with crystals, and plush furnishings in soft, inviting tones. It was the epitome of luxury, a place designed to impress and indulge.

Michael followed closely behind, his hand resting lightly on Wanda’s back as he guided her through the sprawling space. “Welcome to paradise,” he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction as he watched Wanda’s reaction. She glanced around, her eyes wide with awe, but there was a hesitation in her steps—an uncertainty that Michael either didn’t notice or chose to ignore.

The cottage was massive, each suite tailored for couples seeking the perfect honeymoon escape. Everything from the soft ambient lighting to the subtle scent of roses hinted at romance and exclusivity. Large bay windows framed stunning views of the resort’s private gardens, where other couples strolled hand in hand, lost in their own worlds.

Michael had spared no expense; their suite was the most luxurious in the entire resort. A king-sized bed adorned with silk sheets sat at the center of the room, surrounded by elegant décor in muted shades of gold and ivory. A private balcony overlooked a shimmering infinity pool, its waters reflecting the twinkling lights of the city beyond. Wanda ran her fingers along the cool marble of the vanity, taking in the understated elegance that pervaded every corner.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, though her voice lacked the genuine excitement that usually accompanied such a statement. She couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by it all—the grandeur, the expectations, the inescapable weight of her choices. She had never imagined her life would bring her here, in a place that felt both like a dream and a trap.

Michael smiled, pleased with her reaction, however muted. “Only the best,” he said, leaning casually against the wall, his eyes scanning the room with pride. “We deserve this, Wanda. After everything, this is our reward.”

Wanda nodded absently, moving to the balcony to escape the intensity of his gaze. She wrapped her arms around herself, staring out at the city lights flickering in the distance. The air was warm, filled with the hum of nightlife and the faint strains of music drifting up from the resort’s bar below. Yet, amid the glitter and luxury, Wanda felt a pang of loneliness—a hollow space inside her that no amount of wealth or comfort could fill.

Michael joined her, placing a glass of champagne in her hand. He clinked his glass against hers, his smile relaxed and confident. “To us,” he toasted, his voice smooth and unwavering. Wanda echoed the gesture, taking a small sip as her mind wandered, the taste of the bubbly liquid doing little to lift her spirits.

The evening unfolded in a blur of champagne and shallow conversations. Michael moved through the cottage with a restless energy, pouring himself drink after drink, the lines between celebration and excess quickly blurring. He laughed a little too loudly, his steps a little too unsteady as the hours wore on. Wanda watched from a distance, her heart sinking as she saw the man who seemed so composed start to unravel before her eyes.

“I’ll be back,” Michael slurred at one point, waving her off as he stumbled towards the bar area. Wanda nodded, her expression unreadable as she watched him disappear. She felt a strange detachment, as though she were watching the scene unfold from behind a thick pane of glass—present but removed, unable to fully engage.

Meanwhile, in a quiet, dimly lit bar on the other side of the city, Anderson sat hunched over a glass of whiskey, his eyes bleary and unfocused. He had spent the evening drowning his sorrows, each drink another attempt to numb the pain that clawed at his insides. He could still see Wanda’s face in his mind—beautiful, unreachable, gone.

A familiar voice broke through his haze. “Mind if I join you?” Agnes slid onto the stool beside him, her eyes gleaming in the low light. Anderson groaned inwardly, too tired and drunk to push her away. He didn’t answer, just took another swig of his drink, hoping she would take the hint and leave him in peace.

But Agnes was not one to be easily deterred. She placed a hand on his arm, her touch light and coaxing. “You’re better than this, Anderson,” she said softly, her voice a mix of concern and something else—something that made Anderson’s skin crawl. “Wanda isn’t worth destroying yourself over.”

Anderson scoffed, pulling his arm away from her. “What do you know about it?” he muttered, his words slurring together. “You’re the reason she’s gone. You… you and your lies.”

Agnes flinched, but her expression quickly hardened. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear. “I did what I had to do,” she said, her voice low and sharp. “And you—you let her slip away. Don’t blame me for your mistakes.”

Anderson turned to glare at her, his vision swimming. “Get lost, Agnes,” he growled, pushing his glass away. But Agnes didn’t move. Instead, she tightened her grip on his arm, her nails digging into his skin just enough to make him wince.

“Look at you,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a twisted mix of pity and scorn. “You’re a mess, Anderson. You need someone who actually gives a damn about you.” She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. “Someone like me.”

Anderson didn’t respond. He was too far gone, lost in the fog of alcohol and regret. Agnes seized the moment, her hand sliding from his arm to his thigh, her touch both comforting and possessive. She knew exactly what she was doing—knew how to push Anderson’s buttons, how to manipulate him when he was at his weakest.

Slowly, deliberately, Agnes coaxed him up from the barstool, her arm wrapping around his waist as she guided him towards the door. Anderson’s steps were clumsy, his mind a haze of conflicting emotions, but he followed her, too numb to resist. They made their way to his suite, the door clicking shut behind them with a finality that sent a chill down Anderson’s spine.

Agnes wasted no time. She pushed him onto the bed, her lips meeting his in a fervent kiss that tasted of desperation and victory. Anderson’s hands fumbled weakly against her, his mind screaming at him to stop, but his body betrayed him, surrendering to the pull of Agnes’s calculated seduction.

Back at the resort, Wanda lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as Michael’s drunken snores filled the room. She turned over, her thoughts heavy and restless. She knew she should feel happy, or at least relieved to be away from her old life, but the nagging unease persisted, a quiet voice in the back of her mind that whispered doubts she couldn’t quite silence.

Little did she know, across the hall, another pair of eyes watched the unfolding drama with keen interest. Michael’s ex-girlfriend, her room not far from theirs, stood by her window, her gaze fixed on the suite where Michael and Wanda now stayed. She had seen them arrive, had watched the couple’s awkward interactions with a knowing smirk. And now, she waited, plotting her next move, the wheels of her own intentions turning in the dim glow of the night.

Wanda sighed, pulling the sheets tighter around her as the world outside their luxury cocoon continued its restless dance. Unbeknownst to her, the past she thought she had escaped was lurking just beyond the walls, ready to re-emerge and shatter the fragile illusion of her new beginning.