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2025-04-05 00:48:00
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Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine Lost
Viola McCoy I don’t move.I can’t.I’m still standing there, frozen, like if I stay still long enough, maybe the world will reverse itself and he won’t walk away.But he does. He already did.He’s gone.Logan Reynolds… is gone.I let him walk away.Just like that.And I didn’t stop him.I couldn’t.Because somewhere between his voice breaking and my chest cracking wide open, I realized he was right.All of it. Every damn word he said.I do keep him waiting. I do reach for him only when I’m hurting. I do make him feel like an afterthought—because maybe deep down, I’ve been so scared of what he made me feel that I never let myself choose him.And now he’s gone.My legs finally give in. I walk slowly to the low concrete ledge near the railing and just… sit.The wind is sharp against my skin. My arms wrap around myself, like that might keep me from unraveling. Like I can hold all the pieces of me together with just my fingers and silence.But I can’t.I can’t hold it in anymore.The
Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine Show
Logan Reynolds It’s almost 2 a.m. and no one’s sleeping. Not really. Not when a wedding has just gone up in flames.The lounge is still lit. A few people are around Susan, draped over her like a shroud of sympathy but I know none of it is real. Her mascara is smudged, cheeks blotchy, but she’s nodding at every comforting word like she hears them. She doesn’t. She’s somewhere else entirely.Fred’s vanished, of course. Gone the second the truth hit the air. I’d bet money he’s holed up in some closet or stairwell with a flask and a shattered ego.Julian’s pacing the lounge like a man with something to prove. His fists keep clenching like he’s imagining what he’d do if he got his hands on Fred. “I’ll kill him,” he keeps muttering. “I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill him.”He won’t. We all know he won’t. That guy doesn’t have the guts to kill a spider, let alone a man. But it makes him feel like a protector, like he still has a role to play in all this.I lean against the pillar ne
Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine Title
Viola McCoyMy head is pounding as my eyes flutter open. Light filters through the curtains in soft golden streaks. My mouth tastes stale, and there's a dull ache at the base of my skull, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat. It takes me a moment to piece together where I am, why I’m here, and why my chest feels so heavy. I sit up slowly, the world tilting for a second before it steadies. The room smells faintly of cologne—Logan’s cologne. That clean, masculine scent still lingers in the air like he never left. He brought me back last night. That part I remember. His arms around me, solid and warm. The way I melted into his chest.My gaze shifts, and I freeze.Julian stands by the dresser in a crisp white suit and tie, straightening his cuffs. His reflection in the mirror is calm, almost pleased. Like nothing happened. Like everything is fine.My mouth is dry as I ask, “Where are you going?”He turns, adjusting his tie, eyes unreadable. “You’re awake?”I nod, my stomach churning w
Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine Lovers bridge
Logan Reynolds I haven’t slept all night.The mattress beneath me feels too firm. The ceiling too white. The sheets too loud. My thoughts? Even louder. I toss again, dragging a hand down my face. My skin feels tight, dry from the air conditioner.Viola.Her name is like a bruise in my chest. Aching, impossible to ignore.I shouldn’t have kissed her like that. I shouldn't have said what I said. Run away with me? What the hell was I thinking? Who says something like that in the middle of… whatever that was? I was caught up. Lost in her. And then I saw her panic and bolt, like the air had been sucked out of her lungs the second the words left mine.I left her alone. Dammit.I sit up, rubbing my temple. Maybe it was a mistake—leaving her. I thought I was giving her space. Trying to respect her boundaries. But what if she thought I was abandoning her?She’s still married.I hate the way that tastes in my mouth. Like ash.The light peeks through the curtains now. Thin beams of gol
Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine You
Viola McCoy I slam the door behind me and lock it.My back hits the wood, and I slide to the floor like I’ve been shot in the chest. The sob that escapes me is raw and sudden, like it’s been sitting in my throat for years just waiting for a chance to scream its way out.The room is dim—one of the guest suites with golden wallpaper. The bed’s still made. The lights are off except for the lamp in the corner. It smells like polished furniture and roses. I pull my knees to my chest.And then I cry.I cry like my body’s collapsing inward. Like every ounce of strength I’ve faked for years is melting out of me and I can’t stop it. It’s not even graceful. It’s ugly, heaving, snotty, shoulder-shaking grief. The kind that steals your breath and leaves your chest hollow.I cover my mouth with my hand to muffle the sounds, but I don’t think anyone’s listening.Good.Let them have their damn cake-covered disaster. Let them stand there stunned while I fall apart in peace.My cheek still sti
Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine Sh*t
Logan Reynolds I pull back a little, trying not to get lost in the drunken taste of this woman in front of me. Her cheeks are flushed. And she’s panting a bit.God knows how much I’m trying to control myself right now. I want her to feel safe with me, I don’t her to think I’m taking advantage of the situation. But it’s hard to hold back when she’s staring at me like that. She also doesn’t move. She continues to stare blankly at me and I interpret that as an agreement. My mouth hovered over hers, giving her one last chance to pull away.When she doesn’t, I close the remaining distance again and brush her lips with the lightest of kisses. It’s so soft, it counts more as a graze than a kiss, but it detonates every emotion I’ve tried so hard to bury. Pain, longing, regret, love. No one could make me feel as much or as deeply as Viola does, and any control I might’ve had left snaps at her nearly inaudible sigh of pleasure.I deepen the kiss, my mouth molding to hers with an ease. M
Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine Kiss
Viola McCoy I finally pull back from the hug, breathless and shivering. Rain drips from Logan’s hair, his eyes glossy and dark with worry. His jacket is soaked, clinging to his broad shoulders, and his fingers twitch at his sides like he’s not sure if he should reach for me again.“What are you doing here?” I whisper, my voice rasped from the storm of panic that had only just begun to settle.“I was worried about you,” he says, his gaze searching mine.I step aside, my fingers trembling as I reach for the door and lock it behind him with an audible click. My whole body is humming from fear and adrenaline and something I can’t name when he’s near. I grab the towel from the dresser and hand it to him wordlessly.He runs it through his hair in slow, rough movements, droplets still falling to the hardwood floor. I stare a second too long before blinking myself back to reality.“Did you drive in this rain?” I ask, crossing my arms. I don’t mean for it to sound like I’m scolding him,
Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine Rescue
Viola McCoy I’m curled up by the window, knees drawn to my chest, drowning in Logan’s hoodie. It’s huge on me—swallows my whole frame—but that’s exactly why I brought it. It smells like him. Still. That warm, musky cologne he always wears, like cedarwood and something a little darker. Masculine. Safe.I breathe it in again. Deep. Like it’s oxygen.The rain hasn’t let up since last night. It’s soft now, more like a hush against the glass, but every so often the wind picks up and rattles the panes, like the weather can’t decide if it’s mourning or angry. The sky outside is gunmetal gray, streaked with silver. It’s quiet here. For most of the day, that peace has been a comfort. I’ve needed it. Needed to disappear. Needed to feel like I’m not someone's wife, not someone's problem, not trapped in a life I keep pretending is fine. I didn’t want to answer to anyone. Not Julian. Not even Logan.But now…I hear the bell.A soft ding. Room service maybe. I didn’t order anything, but ma
Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine Searching
Logan Reynolds. I’m pacing.Back and forth across my office, wearing down the Persian rug with every step. My jaw’s tight. My palms are damp. Viola’s phone has been off since last night—last night—and I’ve gone from frustrated to worried to this barely-contained kind of panic that’s starting to settle in my chest like cement.Twenty-four hours.No calls. No texts. No damn read receipts. Just silence.I tried Amirah this morning—twice. Sent messages. Called. Even dropped by her place like some lunatic boyfriend from a bad rom-com. Nobody answered. The lights were off. No sound. No trace. I even checked the mail slot like some detective trying to piece shit together from shadows.It’s not like her. Or her either.So I did what any desperate man would do—I pulled some strings. I asked one of my guys in digital to dig up where Amirah works. He said he’d get back to me in an hour.That was six hours ago.I glance at the clock. 6:57 p.m.I grip the edge of my desk, knuckles whitening.
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