The penthouse was silent, deceptively so, the kind of silence that presses on the chest and makes every shadow feel alive. Analees had spent the night in a restless state, the horrors she had discovered in Falvio’s study replaying in her mind. Every photograph, every chain, every note felt like a scar pressed against her ribs. The city outside seemed impossibly distant, indifferent, oblivious to the living nightmare inside. But tonight, she would no longer be trapped. Her plan had formed in fragments over the last twenty-four hours. Falvio had left in the evening for a meeting, confident in the unshakable order of his world. He believed the apartment, like his mind, was impermeable, flawless. And yet, in that perfection, he had left cracks. He had underestimated Daisy, his grandmother, whose trembling loyalty and fear had kept her quiet… until now. Analees moved quietly through the apartment, her heels removed to avoid the telltale click of polished floors. The folder of evidence—
Analees had thought she knew every inch of the penthouse. Every wall, every window, every polished surface gleaming under soft golden light. But that night, when Falvio left for a late meeting, she realized how little she actually knew. The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the city below, a quiet that seemed unnatural for a home that had hosted countless guests, countless events. She lingered near the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing down at the lights of Manhattan, but her eyes kept straying to the study, the one room Falvio had always warned her not to enter without permission. A flicker of unease passed through her, mingling with curiosity—a dangerous, irresistible pull. She tried to shake it off. Falvio was her husband, the man she had chosen, loved—or at least thought she had. But something in her gut, a small, insistent whisper, told her she needed to see. She had to know what her life had truly become. The study door loomed before her, polished dark wood
The truth about nature is that what starts have to come to an end and Falvio couldn't have wished for a better end than gallery showcasing Raffaele's photography. Giving Raffaele a memorial to be remembered by and finding Analees as his wife. He was leaving Paris with a fullness in heart. Analees had always thought the sky belonged to everyone. Standing on balconies in Paris, watching the gray-blue stretch roll endlessly above Montmartre rooftops, she used to imagine that people in New York or Tokyo or Rio must be seeing the same wide canopy, the same drifting white. But as she walked across the glittering runway of Charles de Gaulle that morning, Falvio’s hand warm and commanding around hers, she realized that skies, like cities, could be owned. At least, men like her husband acted as though they could. The private jet waited for them like a white-winged secret. Its nose glistened under the dim French sun, sharp and polished, its silver trim catching every sliver of light. She had
Falvio was resting on the pool chair in the morning after an early breakfast and later a good swim. He didn't have company today. He chose not to have company today as all he wanted was to relax, alone. But his peace was interrupted. "Hey, boss" calls Raphael and at first Falvio didn't acknowledge him but he looks down at his junk when Raphael said "Boss, your dick is out and it looks taned" Falvio instantly looks down at his dick and as soon as he did, Raphael busts out laughing. "Men like you always worried about their dick" says Raphael and takes a seat at the pool chair next to Falvio. "Men like me means rich, handsome and very rich" says Falvio and continues "What do you want?" "Boss, I have something to tell you. I have hired a man for the gallery work. He is professional and knows what he is doing. I did the whole cleaning of the place but don't know much about hanging the picture and shit, so i hired him and he has done a good job" says Raphael. "Ok. why do I
Falvio and Magnus stood next to eachother looking down at all the bank statement, legal papers nominating Falvio as Raffaele' s heir. "This is too much money for one person" says Magnus looking at all the cheques from all the banks Raffaele held accounts at. They were all named to Falvio now. "What do you think i should do?" asks Falvio. "It's all yours to do what you want" says Magnus and looks at Falvio and continues "You know, Daisy inherited a lot of money from Raffaele too" "Though they were not married on paper?" asks Falvio. "It was all not white money so no one had claimed it. Nevertheless it was money so, i kept it under her name" says Magnus. "Am i inheriting that too?" asks Falvio. "Don't be greedy" says Magnus. "I was just asking. I am going to inherit a lot from you too and dad" says Falvio. "You know after Maurizio married Jaques, I have two new grandkids " says Magnus. "Step grandkids" reminds Falvio. "Grandkids" says Magnus and Falvio asks "How much are y
Ines sat at the edge of her bed, the dim light from the streetlamp outside flickering through the blinds like nervous fingers. She clutched the thin blanket around her shoulders, though the room was stifling. Every shadow seemed to twitch at the corners of her vision, every creak of the old apartment resonating like a whisper aimed directly at her. Her heart thumped erratically, a staccato rhythm that matched the frantic thoughts spiraling through her mind. The first whisper came softly, almost politely, like someone leaning close and murmuring behind her ear. “They’re here.” Ines froze. The room felt suddenly smaller, the walls pressing inward. She scanned the corners, the ceiling, the floorboards. Nothing moved—but the whisper repeated, more insistent now, dripping with urgency. “They’ve been waiting.” Her hands trembled as she pressed them to her ears, trying to block the sound, but it seeped through anyway, sinking into her bones. The whispers multiplied, weaving themsel