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Claire's POV
“Boss requests your presence in his office, right now.” My colleague said and walked away. Wasting no time, I stood up and went to his office. I knocked softly and entered. He sat on his chair, tie loosened,and if I had known any better I’d say he had sex in this office. "Close the door," he ordered. I complied and sat on the other chair in the room. He stared hard at me. "Your performance has dropped lately. Numbers are off, deadlines missed. Are you alright?" I managed a smile. "Everything's fine, sir. Just a rough patch." He took a deep breath. "You say everything is fine but you can’t even send a simple mail without making a mistake.By the end of the week, you'll be out of here, and that promotion? Well, it is going to someone else-someone hungrier. By the time I thought of my mortgage and car payments, I blurted out, "I can do something. Tell me how I can improve my performance. I want that promotion. He smirked, leaning closer. "Easy, as I want you on this desk, that is, bent over, while I fuck you hard telling you how I want to tie you up, make you beg for my cock in every hole, even choking you a little just to see those pretty eyes of yours water as I fill your mouth with my cum until you swallow every drop. And then the darkest would be watching you crawl to me after, covered in my cum, promising to be my slut in this office for life, after which I will make you head of whatever big department you want, and triple your pay." Disgust hit me like bile. I stood up, shaking. 'No. Absolutely not. I am sorry but I'm happily married just like you." 'You are fired and I am not.' He said in a cool tone. I stood there watching him but pride wouldn’t let me beg, so I slammed the door and walked out of the office. As I drove home I cried my eyes out. I needed my husband, his arms offering some sort of comfort against this shitstorm. But pulling into the driveway, strange moans were leaking out from the open window of the living room. I crept to the curtain and peeked right in. There was my husband. His ass cheeks was the first thing I saw and there seemed to be a lady under him. Her legs were tightly locked around his waist, with nails digging into his back as he pounded into her pussy The air in my lungs seemed to have vanished,and tears clouded my vision. I slowly walked away and stepped back in my car. I let my car drift without direction until the bright lights of a club attracted my attention. It was , then realized, why not lose myself in the noise, sink to the bottom of a bottle? And also cheat back…hopefully with a younger guy! Inside, I struggled through the crowd and found the bartender, shots after shots of the tequila until I started to see double. Then I caught sight of him across the room. A broad shouldered man, dark blond hair, and a well defined jawline. He was younger but my eyes met his and I caught a glimmer of interest. Fueled by the alcoholic mind, I pushed through the noisey crowd to stand right next to him. “Buy me a shot?” I slurred the words. He turned, without apparent effort, smiling. “Tough night? Of course, what's your pleasure ?” We chatted, or rather, I rambled on about everything and anything, He listened, and at one point, his hand brushed mine. The casual gesture sent a shiver up my arm. Another couple drinks and he looked at me then, concern etched on his handsome face. “You're pretty far gone. Let me get you somewhere safe. There's a hotel close by, just to sober up, nothing else.” I knew full well I should have said no and trusted my instincts, but the ache deep down echoed for some kind of release. So out I went into cool night air that did little towards clearing my head. His room was just like any others in hotels: impersonal, yet tidy. The door clicked shut and I turned to him as the words poured. “Make me forget. Just for tonight. All the mess.” He hesitated, widening his eyes in surprise. “Are you sure? I don't want to assume-“ I cut him off, stepping closer, and captured his lips with mine. My fingers fumbled with his belt, and then my hand closed around his cock, already thick and hard. I stroked him, feeling him twitch in my grip as I went down to my knees. “Fuck,” he managed to utter, but I continued. I took him fully into my mouth, sucking on his cock with my tongue swirling the tip. My hair was grasped by him as my mouth went to work freely while my chin dripped with my saliva. He helped me stand, taking my clothes off. He took one of my nipples in my mouth, sucking hard as his fingers lifted my skirt and pushed aside my underwear. With two fingers, he plunged inside, curling his fingers so he hits my G-spot. I shamelessly moaned as he worked his fingers in and out of me. “Bed,” he ordered me as he carried me. Threw me on the bed and took off his clothes. I parted my legs inviting him. He slipped his cock inside, filling me completely. I cried out, raking my fingernails down his back as he began to pound into me. "Harder," I gasped, my voice echoing in the room. Each thrust, the headboard hit back against the bed. He flipped me on all fours, with my butt and pussy bared towards him onto my stomach. I felt his tip moving in circles against my clit before without a warning he slammed his dick into me, pulling my hair at the same time to make me look up at the ceiling. I felt his cock hitting spots in my pussy that had never been hit before, my breasts swaying as I moaned and begged for mercy. His skin glistened with sweat and he reached to rub my clit in rough , hard circular motions. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as a wave of pleasure burst through me and just then I felt his hot cum fill me, and it was right then that the question broke out: Who is this guy?POV (Sophie)The morning sun spilled softly through our wide windows, painting the living room in gentle bands of gold. Dust motes drifted lazily through the air, catching the light like tiny stars, and for a moment I simply stood there, breathing it in.This—this—was what peace looked like.Laughter filled the room, light and musical, as our children played together in that effortless way children do when they feel safe. Aria darted between the furniture, her bare feet barely touching the floor as she moved, small hands weaving sparks of magic into shapes that shimmered and twisted in the sunlight. Butterflies made of light flitted toward the ceiling, dissolving into glitter when they touched it.Arianna sat cross-legged on the rug, notebook balanced carefully on her lap, her brow furrowed in concentration as she documented every playful spell with meticulous detail. She paused often to observe, to tilt her head and murmur to herself, already thinking about patterns and possibilities
Years from now, when someone asks how it all ended, I won’t talk about villains defeated or magic mastered.I won’t describe the nights where the air cracked with power or the days where survival demanded everything we had. Those stories exist. They always will. But they aren’t the ending.They aren’t what stayed.I’ll talk about mornings without fear.About waking up and knowing—without checking, without bracing—that everyone I love is still breathing under the same roof. About the way sunlight fills the kitchen before anyone else is awake, and how that light feels like a promise instead of a warning.I’ll talk about the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Of doors opening not because something is wrong, but because someone is hungry, or bored, or curious. I’ll talk about coffee growing cold because conversation matters more than schedules now.Fear used to wake me before the sun did.It lived behind my eyes, tight and vigilant, already scanning the day for fractures. Even peace once
There was one thing left undone.Not unfinished—because that would imply something broken or incomplete. This wasn’t that. What remained wasn’t a loose thread or a mistake waiting to be corrected.It was unacknowledged.Some experiences don’t ask to be resolved. They ask to be recognized—to be seen once, fully, without judgment or fear, and then allowed to exist where they belong: in the past.I realized this on a quiet afternoon when the house was empty in that rare, fragile way that only happens when everyone’s routines line up just right. The kids were at school. Elena was with Adrian and his wife. Cassian had gone out—no explanation given, which somehow meant he’d be back with groceries, a story, or both.Lucian was in the study when I found him, looking at nothing in particular.“You’re thinking again,” I said gently.He smiled. “So are you.”I hesitated, then nodded toward the back hallway. “There’s still one place we haven’t revisited.”He didn’t ask which one.The old storage
The future used to feel like something I had to brace for.Not anticipate—brace. As if it were a storm already forming on the horizon, inevitable and waiting for the smallest lapse in vigilance to break over us. Every plan I made once had contingencies layered beneath it like armor. If this failed, then that. If safety cracked here, we retreat there. If joy arrived, I learned to keep one eye on the door.Even happiness felt provisional.There was always an unspoken for now attached to it, trailing behind like a shadow that refused to be shaken. I didn’t celebrate without measuring the cost. I didn’t relax without calculating the risk. I didn’t dream without asking myself how I would survive losing it.That mindset had saved us once.But it had also kept us suspended in a version of life that never fully touched the ground.The change didn’t arrive in a single moment. There was no epiphany, no sudden certainty that announced itself with clarity and confidence. It came the way real heal
Time moves differently when you stop measuring it by fear.I didn’t notice it at first. There was no single moment where the weight lifted all at once, no dramatic realization that announced itself like a revelation. Instead, it happened the way healing often does—slowly, quietly, in increments so small they felt invisible until one day I looked back and realized how far we had come.The mornings stopped beginning with tension.No sharp intake of breath when I woke.No instinctive scan of the room.No mental checklist of threats before my feet even touched the floor.I woke because the sun was warm against my face. Because birds argued outside the window. Because life continued, not because I needed to be alert to survive it.That alone felt like a miracle.The girls flourished at school in ways that still caught me off guard. Not because they were excelling—though they were—but because they were happy doing it. Happiness without conditions. Without shadows trailing behind it.Aria fo
We returned to the Memory Garden at dusk.Not because we needed closure—but because we wanted acknowledgment.There is a difference, I’ve learned. Closure implies something unfinished, something still aching for resolution. What we carried no longer demanded that. The pain had already softened, reshaped by time and understanding. But acknowledgment—that was different. It was about seeing what had been, without flinching. About standing in the presence of our own history and saying, Yes. This happened. And we are still here.The garden greeted us the way it always did—quietly, without judgment.The flowers were in full bloom now, wild and unapologetic, no longer arranged with care or intention. They had grown the way living things do when given freedom: uneven, vibrant, resilient. Colors bled into one another—yellows too bright to ignore, purples deep and grounding, greens thick with life.This garden had once been symbolic.Now, it was simply alive.Elena lay on a blanket beneath the







