Romans de Laramie Writes

Ashley’s POVThe mansion felt colder after midnight. My heels clicked across the foyer marble like accusations no one else could hear. Richard, my dad was upstairs, lost to sleep and whatever pill he took to keep the world quiet. Ethan had come in late again, shirt collar open, bourbon already settling into his bloodstream. He thought the night was over.I knew better.He was in the study, standing at the window like some tragic king surveying his kingdom. The city lights painted long gold streaks across his face. I let the USB dangle from my fingers so he would see it before I spoke.“You really believed I’d just hand this over and disappear?” My voice stayed soft, almost conversational. “Plug it in. Let me see what you’ve been building with my money.”He turned. For one heartbeat his expression flickered—something close to surprise—then smoothed into that familiar, lazy confidence. He took the drive, slotted it home. The screen bloomed.Folders I wasn’t supposed to recognize so easi

Ashley’s POVI didn’t touch the envelope right away. I just sat there on the leather sofa in Ethan’s office, legs crossed, hands folded in my lap like I was waiting for a verdict I already knew was coming. The salmon had gone cold. Those stupid edible flowers looked like they were mocking me—tiny, fragile things trying to pretend everything was still beautiful.He waited. He always waited when he knew the silence would do more damage than words.Finally I leaned forward and picked it up. The paper felt wrong under my fingers—too light for what it carried. I tore the flap open.I was expecting divorce papers. The final, tidy end to seven years. Paragraphs about irreconcilable differences, asset splits, maybe a quiet line about no-fault so we could both save face.Instead, photographs spilled onto the desk like poison.Me. Naked. Sweaty. Tangled in sheets that weren’t ours. My head thrown back, mouth open in a way I’d never let him see. Different hotel rooms—Meridian’s ugly geometric he

Ashley’s POVI pushed through the glass doors of Ethan’s office building at 11:50 on the dot, the same way I always did when I brought him lunch or just wanted to steal ten minutes of his day. The receptionist gave me her usual small smile and waved me through without buzzing. Familiarity has its perks. The hallway smelled faintly of coffee and printer toner. My heels clicked softly against the polished concrete.Everything felt normal. I felt normal. Until I didn’t. I was maybe ten steps from his door when the voices leaked out—low, urgent, the kind of murmur people use when they think no one else is listening. “We will have a wedding and be powerful. You become my legitimate wife, and Ash can’t touch us.” Three words hit like ice water down my spine. Wedding. Legitimate wife.Ash can’t touch us. My feet stopped moving before my brain caught up, but inside, something ignited—a slow burn starting in my chest, spreading like wildfire through my veins. How dare he? How d

Vina woke before the alarm, heart already hammering. Sunlight sliced through the blinds in cruel horizontal bars across her bed. Last night’s pleasure had evaporated; only the ghost of Ethan’s taste lingered in her throat, sour now, and the red blink of that camera burned behind her eyelids.She sat up too fast. The room spun. Her phone sat silent on the nightstand—no new texts from him, no missed calls from Ash. That silence felt worse than accusation. She’d swallowed him like it was salvation, and he’d recorded it. Why show her at all? To own her?She took a hot shower , scrubbing until her skin pinked, but the shame stayed lodged under her ribs. Her body had betrayed her last night—clenching, moaning, begging. Now her mind wouldn’t shut up. What if he sends it to Ash? What if he never does, and that’s worse?By 9:00 am, she was dressed in leggings and an oversized hoodie—armor, not seduction on a normal basis —when the doorbell rang. Tessa. Vina had texted her at 3 a.m.: Can’t talk

Vina had stopped counting the nights she promised herself this would be the last one.The room was dark, the air still carrying the faint vanilla ghost of yesterday’s candle, and six months of silence pressed in on her chest—six months of stolen looks at family dinners, whispered excuses, and the slow, terrifying realization that wanting Ethan, her sister’s husband, no longer felt like a choice. She laid naked on her back, knees bent high, thighs fallen wide open, craving for pleasure.The thick silicone vibrator hummed low against her clit—slow, relentless circles that made her hips twitch every few seconds. She dragged it down through her folds, then pressed the curved head inside just enough to stretch her entrance, letting the buzz sink deep before pulling it back to her swollen clit.Her breath came in shallow pants. Eyes squeezed shut. Mind locked on him. On the way it all began: Ash’s miscarriage last summer, the way Ethan had leaned on Vina for support while Ash shut down. One