His ASSASSIN LUNA

Cora's heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst right out of her chest. She clutched the handlebars of her rusty delivery bike, her knuckles white, but her face—oh, her face was glowing with pure joy.

"He got it," she whispered, then louder, "He actually got it!"

A woman passing by gave her a strange look, but Cora did not care. Let them think she was crazy. Her husband was going to be a star! After all those failed auditions, all those nights he came home defeated, all those times his so-called friends laughed at his dreams—finally, finally, something good was happening.

"I sent Liam's resume to Director Morrison last week," she said to herself, pedaling through the crowded street with a grin that would not quit. "The casting director called me this morning. She said Liam was perfect for the lead role. Oh God, he is going to lose his mind when I tell him!"

She imagined the moment over and over. How his eyes would go wide with shock. How he would grab her and spin her around their tiny apartment. How he would kiss her and tell her she was his lucky charm, his angel, the only one who ever believed in him.

Cora's chest swelled with something warm and aching. Love. That was what this feeling was. Pure, honest, devoted love.

She looked down at the brown parcel balanced in her bike basket, then checked her watch. Her smile faltered just a little. "As soon as I deliver this parcel, I have to rush home. I need time to cook something special. Maybe that spicy noodle dish he loves? No, wait—pasta! The one with garlic and tomatoes. And I should pick up a cake. Just a small one. We cannot afford much, but it is our anniversary. Our third anniversary."

Three years of marriage. Three years of struggling together, laughing together, holding each other through the hard times. His family hated her—they made that clear at the wedding. They called her worthless, a nobody, an orphan with no future. But Liam defended her. He stood up to his mother, to his sister, to everyone. He chose her.

That had to mean something. That had to mean everything.

"I wonder if he has anything planned," Cora murmured, her voice soft and hopeful. "Maybe he remembered. Maybe he bought flowers, or booked that restaurant I mentioned last month. Or maybe—" She laughed at herself. "Maybe I am being silly. He has been so busy with auditions. But still... a girl can hope, right?"

She pedaled faster, her legs burning with effort. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. It was beautiful. Romantic evening. Everything felt like a sign that tonight would be perfect.

The apartment building loomed ahead—tall, modern, expensive. The kind of place Cora could only dream of living in. She parked her bike and grabbed the parcel, checking the address one more time. Apartment 1207. Twelfth floor.

Her phone buzzed. A text from her supervisor: "Last delivery of the day. Make it quick."

"I know, I know," Cora muttered, shoving her phone back into her pocket. "I am going as fast as I can."

The lobby was freezing with air conditioning, all marble floors and chandeliers. The security guard barely looked at her as she rushed to the elevator. People like her—delivery workers, cleaners, nobodies—were invisible in places like this.

The elevator ride felt like forever. Cora tapped her foot impatiently, watching the numbers climb. Seven. Eight. Nine. Her mind was already at home, already planning the evening. She would light the two candles they had left over from last year. She would put on that dress Liam liked, the blue one that was getting old but still fit her well. She would tell him about the role, and they would celebrate together.

Just the two of them. The way it had always been.

The elevator dinged. Twelfth floor.

Cora stepped out and walked down the quiet hallway, counting doors. 1205... 1206... 1207. She knocked firmly, putting on her best professional smile. "Delivery!"

No answer.

She knocked again, louder this time. "Hello? Your package is here!"

Still nothing.

Cora frowned. The door was slightly open, just a crack. Voices drifted from inside—low and muffled. She hesitated. This was not right. She should just leave the package and go. That was the rule. Drop it off, take a photo as proof, and leave.

But then she heard laughter. A woman's laughter, high and flirtatious.

"Ooh, baby!" the voice purred. "Our condoms are here! Perfect timing to celebrate your victory!"

Cora froze.

Her stomach dropped so fast she thought she might be sick right there in the hallway. She should not be hearing this. Customer privacy was everything in her job. You delivered the package. You did not ask questions. You did not listen. You definitely did not think about what was inside.

But that voice. Something about that voice made her skin crawl.

"Let's get into action, handsome," the woman continued, her tone dripping with seduction. "This role is going to make you a star. And I want to be the first to celebrate with you properly."

The words hit Cora like a punch to the gut.

Role. She said role.

"Hey, pay the delivery girl first," a man's voice called back, lazy and satisfied. "She is probably standing out there waiting."

The parcel slipped from Cora's hands.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

That voice. She knew that voice. She had heard it whisper "I love you" a thousand times. She had heard it laugh at her jokes, sing in the shower, promise her forever.

Her legs moved on their own, carrying her forward even though her brain screamed at her to run. To leave. To unsee whatever was about to happen.

But she could not stop. She pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.

The apartment was massive—floor-to-ceiling windows, leather furniture, modern art on the walls. And there, on the white couch in the center of the living room, were two people.

The woman was draped across the cushions wearing nothing but a thin red robe that barely covered her body. Her long black hair fell over her shoulders like silk. She was beautiful—the kind of beautiful that belonged on magazine covers. The kind of beautiful that made girls like Cora feel invisible.

And the man...

The man had his back to the door, shirtless, his shoulders broad and familiar. There was a small scar on his left shoulder blade, a jagged line from a fight he got into as a teenager. Cora had traced that scar with her fingers a hundred times.

Her vision blurred. Her chest tightened so hard she could not breathe.

The man turned around and time stopped, Everything stopped.

It was Liam.

Her Liam. Her husband. The man she had just been daydreaming about. The man whose career she had fought for, begged for, sacrificed for. The man she loved with every broken, battered piece of her heart.

And he was here. Half-naked. With another woman. On their anniversary.

The woman—Cora recognized her now, Vanessa Lux, the supermodel everyone was obsessed with—smiled slowly, like a cat who had just caught a mouse. She did not even bother to cover herself.

Liam's face went pale. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

Cora's voice ripped from her throat, raw and ragged and full of every ounce of pain her body could hold.

"LIAM!"

Her scream echoed through the apartment, through her chest, through the entire miserable universe.

"What are you doing here?!" Tears poured down her face, hot and unstoppable. Her whole body shook. "Are you... are you making out with another woman on our third wedding anniversary?!"

Liam stared at her, frozen. while Vanessa smirked.