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EIGHTY EIGHT

Author: Hummingbird
last update Huling Na-update: 2025-10-13 21:13:30

I took my seat in front of Antonio and his son, Lorenzo went to take his seat at his father's side.

Lorenzo pushed a file in front of me.

“I think you would want to hear this.” Lorenzo said with a small smile.

His father turned briefly to him and his smile wiped off his face in a second.

Antonio turned to me with a smile that resembled his son's own, only that it was much more cunning.

“We have information we think you would want to hear.” Antonio said but when I tried to reach for the file, he placed his hand on it. He was missing his middle finger.

I wanted to ask him how he'd lost his finger but I didn't have time. Diana was with Dan and although I knew that he would not hurt her, I also knew he would try to frighten her. Just to get me to understand that he can control her. And if she controls me then he can indirectly control me too.

I sat with a straight face, watching Antonio as his smile softened.

“The information you will see here today is true and very sensitive.”

“Se
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  • Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore    ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY THREE

    Morning came quietly, the way it always did here, light seeping through the trees like it was unsure whether it was welcome. Diana stepped out of the tent barefoot, the earth cool beneath her soles, pine and smoke still clinging to the air from the night before.Mikhail was already awake.He sat on her camping chair like it had been built for him alone, broad shoulders relaxed, head bent as he worked a blade against a stone. The soft scrape scrape sound was steady and unhurried, almost meditative. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, forearms flexing with each controlled movement, veins faintly visible beneath his skin.For a moment she just watched him.There was something grounding about the sight. About knowing he was here, solid and real and dangerous in a way that made her feel safe rather than afraid.When he sensed her, he did not look startled. He never did. He simply stopped.The knife slid back into its sheath with a muted click. He stood in one fluid motion and reached for her

  • Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore    ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY TWO

    The bonfire was already alive when they arrived. Not roaring. Not wild. Just a steady breathing thing in the center of the clearing, flames licking upward in soft oranges and golds, embers drifting lazily into the night like fireflies that had forgotten where they were going.People gathered in loose circles. Logs dragged closer. Laughter floated without urgency. Someone passed around cups. The air smelled like smoke and pine and something sweet that reminded Diana of childhood nights she could not fully place.She sat beside Mikhail on a low log, close enough that their thighs touched, close enough that she could feel the heat of him even with the fire between them. His arm came around her without ceremony, heavy and familiar, resting across her shoulders like it had always belonged there.The tour guide clapped his hands once, smiling too wide, voice carrying easily over the crackle of flames. “Tonight we relax. Tomorrow morning we stretch,” he said, amused by the groans that follo

  • Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore    ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY ONE

    Mikhail was already halfway across the clearing when the guide called his name.“Hey. Big guy. We need your help.”Diana watched the way he turned, a quick glance over his shoulder toward her before he nodded and jogged toward the stack of logs near the fire pit. He moved with an easy confidence that still surprised her, shoulders broad, arms corded with strength, his presence pulling attention even when he was doing something as ordinary as lifting wood.“They need help chopping for the bonfire tonight,” he called back to her. “I will be right back, okay?.”She smiled and lifted a hand, watching as he bent to lift one end of a heavy log while another man struggled at the opposite side. Mikhail adjusted his grip, muscles flexing beneath his shirt, and the log came up like it weighed nothing.She exhaled slowly.“I’ll go grab my sweater,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, and turned back toward their tent.The path was quiet. Too quiet. The wind whispered through the trees an

  • Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore    ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY

    The guide’s voice carried through the trees, loud and cheerful, calling everyone back toward the tents and away from the trees. The group shifted slowly, chatter rising as adrenaline faded. Harnesses were loosened, helmets unclipped, laughter spilling out as if nothing in the forest had weight or memory.Mikhail stayed close to Diana as they walked, his hand brushing hers, not holding yet, just there. Present and grounding. She could still feel the echo of the moment in the trees, the way her breath had caught, the way her heart had frozen in her chest. She told herself she imagined it. She told herself fear could wear familiar faces.They were almost near the tents when Mikhail slowed.“Go ahead,” he said to the others, his tone polite, calm. “We’ll catch up.”Before Diana could ask why, his fingers closed around her wrist and gently pulled her aside, deeper between two trees where the light thinned and the sounds of the group softened. Not hidden. Just private.Her pulse ticked fast

  • Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore    ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY NINE

    DIANAThe guide’s voice cut through the low hum of the camp like a bell.“Gear up. Tree climbing in ten.”There was a ripple of excitement through the group. Buckles clinked. Someone laughed too loudly. Someone else groaned. I stayed where I was, finishing the last sip of my drink, watching the way Mikhail stood when there was something to prepare for. Alert. Focused. As if the world narrowed to whatever task sat in front of him.When I was done with eating, we went outside together. He came to me with a harness in his hands.“You okay with heights?” he asked quietly.“I think so,” I said, which was not exactly a lie. Heights only bothered me when I had too much time to think.“Good,” he said. “Then we do this slow.”He knelt in front of me and began fitting the gear around my thighs, his movements careful and exact. It reminded me of the way he handled weapons. The way his hands never shook. The way he treated every detail like it mattered.The straps tightened. His fingers brushed

  • Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore    ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY EIGHT

    Diana woke slowly, drifting up from sleep like someone surfacing from deep water. For a moment she didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t want to break whatever fragile, perfect thing was holding her there. The air felt different. Warm. Still. Safe in a way she had learned to trust.Then she felt it.Fingers in her hair.Not careless. Not absentminded. Slow and deliberate, as if every strand mattered. As if he was memorizing the weight of her, the curve of her skull beneath his palm, the way her breath shifted when she moved.Her lashes fluttered before she opened her eyes.Mikhail was already awake.He was sitting beside her, one knee drawn up, the other foot on the floor. He wasn’t dressed for the day yet. Just a dark shirt, sleeves pushed up, his forearms relaxed. His gaze was fixed on her face with an intensity that would have unsettled her any other time.But this morning, it didn’t scare her.It softened something in her chest instead.“Hiii,” she murmured, her voice still thick with

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