“It’s our anniversary today. I planned our day together,” I declare. “I have work to do,” “But I asked your PA to clear your schedule for the day,” “That’s the thing. You made plans behind my back without talking to me about it first, Ariel,” He then walks past me and walks out of the closet. “I thought I was doing something nice for you – for us at least. You have always worked so hard, so at least take this day off with me. We never got to celebrate our wedding anniversary,” I rebuke. He decides not to say anything. He opens his bag on the couch facing our bed and takes out a white A4 envelope, tossing it on the little table in the middle of our room. “Is it so hard for you to read the room all the time? How would you celebrate a wedding anniversary when there is no love between us? Are you not tired of all this pretence because I am!" He chastises. "That’s for you. Sign it so that we can get it over and done with,” With that said, he puts on his black sunglasses and walks out of the room. Only then do I breathe out the air I didn’t even know I was holding. I’m confused and, most of all, hurt. I didn’t see this coming. I drop my eyes on the envelope with bold printed letters of the name of the law firm our lawyer works at.
View MoreThe late afternoon sun spilled golden light over the waterfront promenade, the ocean shimmering as seagulls called overhead. Lily skipped ahead, her hand clutching a small paper bag of warm, sugar-dusted doughnuts. Dante kept a steady watch on her, his arm loosely draped around Monica’s shoulders.
The rain had stopped by morning. Light streamed through the wide windows of Dante’s estate, spilling across the kitchen where Monica stood barefoot, hair loose, wearing one of his shirts. She was stirring Lily’s oatmeal, the steam curling into the air. She didn’t even realize she was humming—an ol
The breakfast had been a slow, simmering torture. Monica sat rigid in the high-backed chair, her fingers curled around the delicate porcelain cup as though it might shatter under the weight of her pulse. Across from her, Dante lounged like a king who’d already won the war, one hand lazily draped o
Her cottage could fit into this place twenty times over. At the end of the hall, a set of double doors swung open. The dining room stretched long and wide, sunlight spilling through tall windows. The smell of coffee and expensive leather filled the air. And there he was. Sitting at the head of
Monica’s eyes snapped open. For a second, she thought she was in one of those luxury hotel commercials — the kind she used to mute while eating instant noodles because they made her feel broke. The ceiling stretched high above her, painted with pale cream swirls and gold accents. The curtains, h
A man stepped in like he owned the place — dressed in black from boots to gloves, black tactical vest, mirrored sunglasses even though it was night. The faint squawk of radio static came from the earpiece buried in his ear. And the rifle in his hands… that spoke louder than words. Monica froze. He
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