LOGIN_Author’s POV_Danica didn’t sleep that night.She lay in the dark for most of the night and had the conversation she had been putting off for weeks, the one where she lined everything up and looked at it honestly. No deflecting. No telling herself it was just gratitude, or proximity, or the strange intimacy that came from sharing a house and a secret with someone for months.She was no doubt in love with Eden Cross.She didn’t say it out loud. She just thought it, quietly, in the dark of her room, and then sat with it the way you sit with something broken, not panicking, not moving, just understanding the shape of the damage. Because that was the other part. The part that made the first part worse. The contract. One year. She had always known the terms. She had signed them. She had been sensible and clear-eyed and completely certain she understood what she was walking into.She just hadn’t known she would feel like this when the knowing actually mattered.She cursed herself. Quietly,
_Author’s POV_Danica told herself she had misheard.She spent the whole night doing exactly that, building explanations, tearing them down, constructing better ones. The house had been quiet around her, the kind of quiet that had weight to it, and she had lain in the dark and worked through every reasonable possibility with the focused patience of someone defusing something they weren’t sure was actually a bomb. By the time grey morning light began pressing through the curtains, she had almost convinced herself. Almost. The word did a lot of work that morning.She came downstairs and Eden was already up. That wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the quality of the silence he carried with him. It wasn’t the comfortable silence of two people who had learned how to exist in the same space. It was the other kind. The kind with something underneath it. The warmth that had been building carefully between them over the past few days was still there, but it had shifted slightly.She asked
_Danica’s POV_The first thing I noticed was the smell of coffee.That shouldn’t have been strange. Coffee got made in this mansion every morning. But it wasn’t my coffee, and when I pushed open the door Eden was sitting at the breakfast table with his laptop open and a mug at his elbow and he looked up and said, “Good morning,” like it was nothing.I almost walked into the doorframe.“Morning,” I said carefully.I sat down. I waited. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for, a phone to ring, a reason for him to stand up and grab his jacket and disappear. It didn’t come. He just turned back to his screen. I poured myself coffee. We sat there together in the quiet and it was, genuinely, the most disorienting thing that had happened to me in recent memory. More than the arguments. More than the silences.He noticed the sketchbook on the counter around noon.I had been leaving it places lately, which was careless of me. I didn’t usually leave my work out where people could see it. But he pic
_Freya’s POV_Three days.That was how long it had been since the wedding, and Maxine and I had been texting. Not talking. Texting. There was a difference and it mattered, even if I was the only one who thought so. Talking implied something I wasn’t prepared to put a name to yet. Texting was just words on a screen. Anyone could do that. It meant nothing.The problem was that he was funny.Not in the way he was in person, where there was always a layer of performance underneath it, that crooked smile doing half the work. Over text he was dry and quick and oddly self-aware, like someone had removed the showmanship and left only the actual person behind. He sent me a photo on the second day of what he claimed was a business lunch and what appeared to be four grown men in suits arguing over a single document. He didn’t explain it. He just sent it with the caption: important work happening here.I had laughed out loud. Alone in my hostel.I was checking my phone more than I’d like to admi
_Freya’s POV_“I can be lame for you.”I stared at him.“That,” I said slowly, “is the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever said to me.”“Probably.” He nodded, completely unbothered.“It doesn’t even make sense.”“It makes complete sense.”“It really doesn’t.”“You like things that are real.” He shrugged. “I’m offering real. The lame version, specifically, since the other version seems to be scaring you.”“Nothing scares me.” I said immediately.“Sure.” He said.I hated that he said it like that. Quiet and easy and not even slightly argumentative, like he had filed my response under noted but incorrect and moved on.I picked up my drink.He smiled the crooked smile.I looked away first.The problem with Maxine was that he was very good at existing in a room.Not in the loud way. Not in the way that demanded attention and performed for it. He just settled into whatever space he occupied like he had always been there, and people responded to it without knowing why. Within twenty minute
_Freya’s POV_The next day, I remembered what day it was.And I almost didn’t go.I stood in my kitchen on Saturday morning with the invitation in my hand and ran through the list of reasons not to. Traffic. The venue was forty minutes away. I had class I could theoretically be attending. My shoes would hurt. There would be a seating chart and I would be seated next to someone’s divorced uncle named Gerald.Then I thought about my cousin’s face if I wasn’t there, and I put the invitation down and went to get dressed.I wanted to be clear that I was not dressing for my mother. I was dressing for myself, in the sense that I was a person who had standards. The fact that I spent forty-five minutes on my makeup and selected the green dress specifically because it was the most difficult thing to find fault with, structured, elegant, exactly the right length, was entirely coincidental.“You look incredible,” Danica said, through the phone, we were on a video call while I was doing my eyeline
_Author’s POV_Eden’s fingers hovered over the remote as the news anchor’s voice filled his penthouse suite. Danica’s face flashed across the screen, another scandal. He clicked the television off and tossed the remote onto the leather sofa.He couldn’t be bothered with what Danica did with her lif
_Danica’s POV_ The fallout began immediately. By morning, my phone was exploding with notifications. I made the mistake of opening social media, and there it was, photos from the mall incident, pictures of me at the police station, all plastered across every gossip site and news outlet imaginable
_Danica’s POV_ The silence in the police station after my declaration felt heavy, almost suffocating. My father stood frozen, his face cycling through shades of red and purple as he processed what I’d just said. Behind him, through the bars of the holding cell, I could see Margot clutching the met
_Danica’s POV_The crowd that had been jeering at me just moments ago suddenly shifted. Their hostile faces melted into expressions of remorse and embarrassment as they realized who I was—or more accurately, who my husband was.“We’re so sorry, Mrs. Cross,” one woman said, wringing her hands nervou







