Novel-novel oleh Maryam Nura garba

Safe Storage Solutions looked exactly like every storage facility ever built. Concrete block building. Fluorescent lights. Smell of dust and old cardboard.I'd driven across the city in a daze. Flynn's texts kept pinging my phone.Dinner with the Sterlings tonight. Where was I?I'd stopped answering after the third message.Gloria was dead, possibly murdered. I was potentially a kidnapped heiress. Flynn had been drugging me for two years.The Sterlings and their dinner party could go to hell.I had a storage unit to open and a past to uncover.The facility manager barely looked at me. I showed him the death certificate."Unit 447. Been hers for..." He checked his computer. "Twenty-two years. Paid up through next year."Twenty-two years. When I came to Gloria."Never seen her come here much. Maybe once a year to add something."He left me alone in the hallway. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.The unit was small. Five by ten.The roll-up door opened with Gloria's key. I pulled th

Gloria Martinez died at 4:17 AM on Friday morning.I got the call at 6:00 AM from a nurse at Mount Sinai who'd found my number listed as emergency contact."Heart attack," she said, voice professionally sympathetic. "Very sudden. She didn't suffer."I stood in my kitchen, phone pressed to my ear, and felt the last thread connecting me to my real life snap.Gloria was the only person who'd known me before Flynn. The only person who'd loved me without agenda.And now she was gone.Dawn light was just starting to creep through the windows. Flynn appeared in the doorway. Up early. Unusual."What's wrong?"My voice came out distant. "Gloria died."He paused. Then, "I'm sorry, darling."His sympathy sounded rehearsed. Like he'd practiced it."Heart attack?"I went still. The nurse hadn't specified in the voicemail. How did he know?"Yes. How did you…""You said she had heart problems."I never said that. Gloria was healthy. Active. Only sixty-two.Flynn kept talking. "Will there be a funera

I'd almost canceled the appointment three times.My annual gynecological exam felt absurdly mundane given that my life was imploding. Who cared about a pap smear when you'd just discovered your husband was a bigamist and you might be a kidnapped heiress?But Dr. Kim's office had called twice to confirm. And some ingrained sense of responsibility made me show up.Besides, Flynn thought I was at the salon. I needed him thinking everything was normal.So here I sat in a paper gown, trying not to think about the newspaper clipping hidden in my studio drawer.Dr. Sarah Kim had been my doctor for three years. She was maybe forty. No-nonsense but warm. The kind of doctor who actually listened."How are you feeling?" She checked my blood pressure."Fine.""Any concerns today?""No.""Still trying to conceive?""Yes."The answers were automatic. Rehearsed.Two years of trying. Two years of disappointment.The tests had shown nothing wrong physically. "Unexplained infertility," they'd called it

I became a spy in my own home.The phrase sounds dramatic, but that's what it was. Documenting my husband's life like an anthropologist studying a dangerous species.I started that evening, sitting at the kitchen island with my laptop. Ostensibly shopping online while Flynn was still at work.Instead, I was googling "Daniel Torres death."The obituary was three paragraphs. That's it.*Daniel Torres, 34, tech security consultant, died in a car explosion on March 15th. He survived by his parents, Robert and Maria Torres of Boston. Services private.*Car explosion. Lone occupant. Investigation closed.No suspects. No foul play suggested.But Sienna's voice was in my head. They made it look like an accident.I kept digging.LinkedIn profile still active. Daniel's face stared back at me from the small photo. Kind eyes. The man Sienna had loved.Work history showed military intelligence, then private sector. Specialized in financial crimes investigation. Multiple certifications in cyber sec

I chose the coffee shop, not Sienna.Neutral territory. Public place. Easy exit if I needed one.The Village café was small, cramped, loud with the hiss of espresso machines and indie music. The opposite of anywhere Flynn would go.Which was exactly the point.I arrived fifteen minutes early. Took a table in the back corner with sightlines to both doors.And waited.Felt ridiculous being this paranoid.Felt vindicated when Sienna walked in precisely on time, scanned the room like a professional, and spotted me immediately.We were both running from something.She looked different today. Jeans. Simple sweater. Hair in a ponytail. Minimal makeup.Younger. More vulnerable.Her pregnant belly was obvious without the designer dress hiding it.Dark circles under her eyes. She hadn't slept either."Thank you for coming," I said."Thank you for calling."We stared at each other. Awkward.What was the protocol for meeting your husband's other wife?The barista appeared. Young guy with a man bu

I woke up on the studio floor at 6:00 AM with a crick in my neck and a text from my husband.*Coffee's ready when you are.*Like it was just another Wednesday. Like our entire marriage hadn't exploded last night. Like I hadn't spent hours locked in my studio, alternating between tears and rage, googling "bigamy laws New York" and "how to know if your husband is a sociopath."The quiz results were inconclusive on the sociopath front. Very conclusive on the bigamy being a felony.I looked at myself in the studio mirror. Face puffy from crying. Eyes red and swollen. Still wearing yesterday's clothes.I needed to shower. Needed armor.The master bedroom was empty. The bed pristine. Like Flynn had never slept there at all.Or like he'd made it perfectly.I went into the bathroom. His toiletries were lined up exactly as always. His towel hung straight. No sign of distress. No sign of a disrupted night.How did he do that?I turned on the shower. Let the water get scalding hot.Stood under i