“Good afternoon, Mrs. Mancini.” Dr. Ramirez came into the living room. “How are you feeling today?”
I gave her a faint smile.
“Better now,” I say. “Still stuffy, but the fever’s gone.”
“That’s a good sign,” she nodded and sat down across from me. “ Let’s get started with a quick check-up.”
Dr. Ramirez went through the usual checks. Blood pressure. Temperature. Pulse. I’d done this so many times before, but this time felt different. I just wanted good news.
But then she paused. “Wait… according to your medication tracker, you haven’t logged any doses for almost a month.” Her voice tightened. “Is that right?”
I hesitated, “Yes… I had that terrible cold, remember? I was taking cold medicine, and I didn’t want any interactions with the fertility drugs. So… I stopped for a bit.”
Dr. Ramirez set the tablet down and looked at me, her brows drawing together. “Hannah, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought I’d be fine once I got better. I didn’t think—” I stopped myself. “I didn’t want to bother you. I’ve troubled you so much.”
She exhaled sharply, visibly frustrated but trying to stay calm. “Look, Hannah. This medication is time-sensitive.A disruption like this could throw everything off. We may have to adjust the whole cycle.”
I blinked, surprised by how anxious she seemed. To be honest, I didn’t have much hope left for the treatment. It’s already been seven years, after all..
But she looked genuinely distressed. Not just like a doctor doing her job, but like someone who cared.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t realize it would affect things so much.”
“I know you didn’t,” she replied, her tone softening. “But that’s why I’m here, to guide you through this. You should never feel like you're bothering me.”
I was touched that she was so responsible for me.
“We’ll need to run a few extra tests before restarting the medication,” she continued. “And I want to see you again in five days. We’ll reassess and pick things back up without losing too much ground.”
“I understand,” I said. “And I’ll be more careful.”
“I know you will,” she replied. “We’ll get back on track, Hannah. I just need you to keep trusting the process, and me.”
“I do,” I said with a smile. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
During my check-up, Nico stayed in his study. He didn’t come out until Dr. Ramirez was about to leave.
“Thank you for coming over, Doc,” Nico said.
Dr. Ramirez gave a small nod. “Of course. Just let me know if anything changes.”
“I guess I’ll see you next week, Doc,” I said. “Goodbye for now.”
After Dr. Ramirez left, I felt a bit drained. Nico noticed I wasn’t feeling well and pulled me into his arms. “Don’t worry, honey. Everything’s going to be okay. I only care about whether you’re happy.”
I nodded and leaned against him. His broad chest gave me a sense of comfort.
He asked Paula to prepare some afternoon tea on the balcony. Then he kissed my forehead and said, “A little sunshine will lift your mood.”
We had just sat down on the balcony when Nico’s phone rang.
After the call, he let out a groan. “Oh God, I need to step out for a bit. Can’t work pause for just one minute? All I want is to enjoy some tea with my beautiful wife.”
I couldn’t help but laugh and gave him a gentle push. “Go on, then. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
He left. I sat on the balcony with my tea. The late afternoon breeze brushed against my skin.
A thought crept in when I was trying to relax.
If I couldn’t give him a child, would Nico go to someone else?
I hated this idea. No matter how much he loved me, it might not be enough.
I’m not sure how much time had passed. I suddenly heard shouting from downstairs.
It was…Nico?
I froze by the railing. At first, I thought he was on the phone.
Work could get intense for him sometimes.
Then I saw Dr. Ramirez standing in front of him. He was arguing with her.
What was going on?
I set my tea down and went downstairs.
“Nico,” I called out. “What’s going on?”
Nico turned first. He softened instantly when he saw me, like he could switch it on and off.
“It’s nothing. I just…” he said, struggling to continue. I got upset hearing about the medication issue. I don’t think this treatment is working, and I don’t want to waste more time.”
Dr. Ramirez looked stunned. “Mr. Mancini —”
“I’m considering hiring someone else,” he cuts in. “Someone with a different approach.”
I tried to process what he just said. “Wait, what? Why would you —”
“It’s not about her,” he replied. “It’s about you and your health. I just want what’s best for you.”
His concern caught me off guard. Nico wasn’t frustrated with me at all.
He still cared about protecting me. But Dr. Ramirez didn’t deserve to take all the blame.
“Honey… It’s okay,” I said quietly. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”
Nico sighed. “I just… I’m worried you’re not getting better fast enough,” he said. “I want us back on track. That’s all I was talking about with her.”
“I know you’re worried,” I said softly. “I want to start the treatment as soon as possible. But it's been great working with Dr. Ramirez. She’s always been very responsible with me, and she knows my physical condition very well. I don't want to find another doctor to help us out.”
Dr. Ramirez smiled. “Thanks for your belief. I’m still confident I can help you conceive, Mrs. Mancini.”
I nodded. “Then let’s keep going.”
He wrapped his arm around my waist. “I just want you to have our baby, Hannah. I want to see you holding them one day. I want a family with you.”
I looked up at him. “I want that too. If I follow Dr. Ramirez’s treatment plan, maybe I can conceive one day.”
“Can’t wait, honey,” Nico beamed.
I pictured it. Nico was cradling our baby with a big smile on his face. I could almost hear the silence in the house change. It would be filled with the sounds of tiny footsteps and giggles.
I wanted that more than anything.
I turned to our driver. “Ben, please take Dr. Ramirez home,” I said.
Dr. Ramirez gave me a kind smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Mancini.”
Nico exhaled beside me and gave a reluctant smile. “You’re too kind, you know that? I love you so much.”
“I love you too, honey,” I whispered. I leaned into his touch for comfort.
We headed back inside. Just as I stepped through the door, my phone buzzed in my hand.
I looked down and squinted.
No name. Just an unknown number.
Hmm… Strange.
The picture loaded slowly, then it appeared.
My eyes went wide the second it came into focus.
My hands shook so hard I almost dropped the phone.
Nico was in it. He was naked, lying on his side. Nico’s eyes were closed. He looked like he was asleep.
His arm was draped over a blonde‑haired woman, pulling her close against him. Her bare back was to the camera.
What?!
I told myself it might be fake. After all, Nico had business rivals who wanted to destroy his life. What the fuck is this cruel trick?
But then I saw the small birthmark on his shoulder. It was the one I’d kissed a hundred times. That was exactly Nico! He really cheated on me!
I felt like throwing up. The image of the family I wanted with Nico was shattered in an instant.
Everything I’d been hoping for suddenly felt like a lie.
I felt dizzy. The last thing I remembered was everything going dark.
DAVIDThe papers stank of smoke when Hannah slid them across the table to me.We were holed up in the flat above an abandoned storefront two blocks off the avenue, the one Elise had rigged as a “dead zone” for signals. No cameras, no bugs, no ears but ours. The curtains were nailed shut, the only light a desk lamp angled low. She’d wrapped the scraps in her shawl like contraband, and now they spread across the tabletop in black curls and ash-smudged fragments.I handled them with tweezers, my gloves streaked gray.Numbers. Account codes. Wire transfers through Belize and Cyprus, dates lining up with key contracts Mancini Industries had no business winning. A list of names scribbled in a hand I’d recognize anywhere. Nico’s.And one scrap that made my jaw clench until my teeth clicked: Hawthorne. The clinic. Right there in his handwriting, paired with a line item labeled “retainer.”“Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “He wasn’t just a monster in his house. He’s been laundering half the city thr
HANNAHThe house no longer hummed with confidence; it hissed. Every corridor carried whispers. Staff voices dipped when Nico passed, eyes cutting sideways like they were checking who was still left standing. Even Alvarez, usually the model of composure, moved with clipped steps, head down, her jaw tight as she poured my tea.“Thank you,” I murmured.She gave the smallest nod, quick, like acknowledgment was dangerous.I tucked the moment away. Nico always thought power was in boardrooms, in headlines. He never understood the weight of the staff who cleaned the glasses, who carried the trays, who decided whether a door closed softly or slammed loud enough to echo. If the staff were whispering, it meant the house itself was turning against him.**********************************By noon, the cracks spread past the walls. A call with one of his biggest partners ended in silence so thick I could hear the static between his teeth when he hung up. I was sitting nearby, playing the role of dut
HANNAHThe internet moved faster than grief. By morning, the videos were everywhere—angled shots from glittering phones, some shaky, some blurred, but all carrying the same brutal truth: Nico Mancini, the perfect husband, the careful host, had shoved Sydney across the ballroom floor in front of two hundred guests and a dozen reporters.Hashtags bloomed like bruises. #ManciniMeltdown. #VowsAndViolence. #BehindTheSmile. Clips stitched together—him shouting, me standing still, Sydney’s gasp, Veronica’s thin smile frozen in the background. Commentators on morning shows dissected every gesture like they were archeologists dusting bones.The narrative he had written for himself—devoted husband, reconciled marriage, a vow renewal built on forgiveness—was unraveling in real time. And I was still here in his house, wearing his ring, brushing my teeth in the same marble sink as if everything hadn’t shifted overnight.I scrolled in silence, back braced against the headboard, phone cold in my hand
HANNAHThe last champagne glass had barely been cleared before the silence turned dangerous.Guests shuffled out in clusters, buzzing like hornets carrying the sting with them, whispers too loud to be whispers anymore. The ballroom smelled of lilies and sweat, of spilled wine and shattered glass. Phones still glowed in hands as people typed the first headlines into the world.Nico hadn’t looked at me once while they left. Not once. He’d held himself rigid, smiling too wide at the guests who dared to offer pity, shoulders square as if posture alone could glue the night back together. But the moment the last guest’s heel clicked against the marble and the front doors shut with a heavy thud, he turned.The mask dropped.“Upstairs,” he snapped. His voice wasn’t loud—he didn’t need loud. It was a command polished by years of expecting obedience.I didn’t move. My dress clung to me like another layer of skin, suffocating, emerald silk meant to scream loyalty. It screamed cage instead.His ja
DAVIDNico’s shove had already hit every lens in the room. Phones lifted, flashes stuttered, the gasps turned into the messy chorus of a scandal being born. Sydney, shaking in her blood-red dress, stood with a hand to her elbow, hair wild from his grip. Hannah… Hannah stood like she’d known all along this would be the moment. Too calm, too poised, a statue in emerald silk while the house burned behind her.I pressed my earpiece tighter. “Eyes on her,” I told Omar, who had the east exit. “Anyone gets too close, you intervene.”“Copy,” he said, low and sharp.Beside me, Elise didn’t look away from her screen, where half a dozen feeds stitched the chaos into a single story. “It’ll be online before midnight,” she whispered. “Clipped, captioned, memed. By morning, he’s not a husband. He’s a headline.”I should’ve smiled. God knows, I’d worked long enough in shadows to recognize when a tyrant dug his own grave. But the weight in my chest wasn’t pride. It was fear. Because Hannah wasn’t done.
HANNAHIt only takes one sentence to tilt the whole room.Veronica says it like she’s weighing pearls in her palm, soft enough to sound civilized and sharp enough to make people bleed: “Maybe Hannah should explain why Nico keeps so many secrets locked in his safe.”The ballroom exhales wrong. The hum of champagne and small talk collapses into a low, animal murmur. You can hear the shift—the delicate scrape of chairs, the hush of silk against silk, the microphones on the cameras waking up as hands tighten around them. Even the lilies seem to hold their breath.My spine stays straight. That’s the rule: don’t show your pulse. I keep my hands loose at my sides even though my ring finger aches to tap the signal—two taps, eyes up; three, location; four, break the glass. Not yet. Not while every lens in this room is hunting for a crack in my face.The word safe ricochets in my ribs. She knows. Maybe not what’s in it, but she knows it exists. She said secrets like she’s counted them.Nico’s he