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THE CHARITY GALA
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2025-12-20 06:17:51The emerald silk felt like armour—beautiful, expensive, suffocating. Alexander had laid it out on our bed this morning, along with the diamond earrings and the Louboutin heels I could barely walk in. No discussion. No choice.
I navigated the Four Seasons ballroom like a minefield, champagne flute in hand, smile fixed in place. Across the room, Alexander stood with a group of investors, his posture relaxed, his laugh easy. But I could feel his eyes on me. Always on me. "You look beautiful, Elena," said Jenna, Marcus's wife, her hand resting on her pregnant belly. Seven months along with their second child. "That colour is stunning on you." "Thank you," I murmured, smoothing the silk. Marcus grinned. "Jenna's been craving Thai food at two in the morning. I'm basically a delivery service now." I laughed—a real laugh—remembering when life felt that simple. "Elena Rodriguez?" I turned. A young man approached, his face lighting with recognition. David Chen. We'd worked together at Morrison Gallery years ago, back when I had a career, an identity beyond Mrs. Alexander Blackwood. "David! How are you?" "Great! I'm a curator now. Can you believe it?" His enthusiasm was infectious. "I always said I learned everything from you." Pride flickered in my chest—a feeling so foreign I almost didn't recognize it. "That's wonderful. Congratulations." "We actually have an opening for a consultant position. You should—" He said something funny—I don't remember what—and I laughed. I really laughed, the sound escaping before I could stop it. Then I felt it. The hand on my waist came from behind, fingers spreading across my ribs. Not gentle. Never gentle anymore. "Darling," Alexander's voice was warm honey poisoned with arsenic. "We should mingle. The Hendersons are leaving soon." His fingers pressed harder, hidden by the drape of my dress. Pain bloomed beneath his touch. My smile never faltered—I'd learnt that trick well. "Of course," I said smoothly. "David, it was lovely seeing you." "Wait, let me give you my—" But Alexander was already steering me away, his hand a vice on my waist. I caught David's confused expression and Marcus's concerned one. "Who was that?" Alexander's voice was low in my ear, dangerous. "David Chen. We worked together at Morrison—" "You were laughing." Each word was precise and controlled. "Loudly. Everyone could hear you." "I was just being polite—" His fingers dug deeper into my ribs. I kept smiling, aware of the cameras, the watching eyes. Mrs. Alexander Blackwood, perfect wife, living the dream. Across the room, Catherine Blackwood stood with her society friends, elegant in silver Chanel. Our eyes met. She'd seen everything—the possessive grip, my rigid smile, the way I'd gone very still. She looked away. She always looked away. Near the bar, Vincent Blackwood held court, his booming laugh carrying across the ballroom. Alexander's father, who'd cheated on Catherine more times than anyone could count. Who'd taught his son that women were possessions to be controlled? The apple didn't fall far. I saw Sarah across the room, my best friend, making her way toward me. Her expression was worried and determined. "We need to say goodbye to the Hendersons," Alexander said, smoothly changing direction. I caught Sarah's eyes. Wanted to mouth ‘I'm okay’, but the lie wouldn't come. Because I wasn't sure it was true anymore. The car ride home was silent. Deadly silent. I sat perfectly still in the back of the town car, hands folded in my lap, watching Seattle's lights blur past tinted windows. The driver was present but ignored, separated by the privacy screen. I knew what was coming. I always knew. "You embarrassed me tonight." My stomach dropped. "Alexander, I was just being polite—" "Polite?" His laugh was sharp, cutting. "You were flirting. I saw how you looked at him." "I wasn't—" "Don't lie to me, Elena. I know what I saw." His voice was cold, controlled. "Throwing your head back, laughing like he was the funniest man alive. While I'm trying to close deals with investors." "It was just a colleague from—" "You're always so defensive. You know who gets defensive? Guilty people." My hands shook in my lap. Every word I said became evidence against me. Every explanation twisted into confession. There was no right answer. There never was. The car pulled into our building's parking garage. Concrete and fluorescent lights and nowhere left to run. "Give me your phone," Alexander said. My stomach dropped. "What? Why?" "If you have nothing to hide, it shouldn't be a problem." I handed it over with trembling fingers. Resistance only made things worse. I'd learnt that lesson too many times. He scrolled through my messages, his face illuminated by the screen's glow. I watched him search for crimes I hadn't committed, for evidence of betrayals that existed only in his mind. "Who's 'M'?" he asked, his voice sharp. "That's Marcus. Your brother." "Why is he texting you?" He held up the phone, showing me the innocent message: Coffee soon? "He was inviting both of us. For coffee with him and Jenna—" "When did this start? You and my brother texting?"
Pinakabagong kabanata
She was never his to own The guest list
---The living room was warm, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. Sofia and Chloe were on the floor, coloring, their tongues poking out in concentration. Mr. Fluffy and Bunny were between them, serving as both inspiration and audience. The apartment smelled like the cookies Rosa had baked and brought over, still warm in a basket on the coffee table.Elena sat on the couch, a notebook in her lap, a pen in her hand. Alexander sat beside her, close enough to touch, far enough to breathe. Across from them, Rosa was in the armchair, a cup of tea in her hands, watching her daughter with soft eyes."The guest list," Elena said. "We need to decide who's coming."Sofia looked up. "I'm coming."Elena smiled. "Of course, baby. You're the flower girl.""I'm coming too," Chloe said quietly."You're standing with us, sweetheart. Right next to Sofia."Chloe's face softened. "Okay."Elena wrote their names at the top of the list. Sofia. Chloe.---"Rosa," Elena said. "You're walking me d
She was never his to own The words he left behind
The studio was quiet. The afternoon light was soft, filtered through the sheer curtains Elena had hung years ago, when this space was just hers. Now it was theirs—her paintings on the walls, Alexander's books on the shelf, the girls' drawings taped to the edges of canvases. But today, she was alone.Sofia was at school. Chloe was with a grief counselor, her first appointment since Isabelle died. Alexander had taken her, promising to be back by noon. The apartment was empty, silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic.Elena sat on the floor of her studio, her back against the wall, the letter in her hands. She had been carrying it for three days, unopened. It sat in her purse, then on her nightstand, then tucked between the pages of a sketchbook. She had picked it up a dozen times, turned it over, traced her name in her father's shaky handwriting.Elena.She had not been ready. She was still not ready. But the letter had been waiting long enough.She
She was never his to own The stranger who shared her blood
The coffee shop was small, tucked between a laundromat and a pawnshop on the edge of Portland. Elena had driven two hours to get here, alone, the morning gray and cold. She had not told Alexander where she was going. She had said she needed to run errands, needed space, needed to think. He had not pushed. He never pushed anymore.Now she sat at a table by the window, a cup of coffee growing cold in her hands, watching the door. Her heart was pounding. She had not seen her father in twenty-five years. She barely remembered him—a shadow, a voice, the smell of cigarettes and something sweet. She had built him into a myth, a ghost, a story her mother told to explain his absence.Now he was real.The door opened. A man walked in.He was older than she expected—gray hair, deep lines around his eyes, a slight stoop to his shoulders. He was thin, too thin, his clothes hanging loose on his frame. He held a cane in one hand, and he moved slowly, carefully, as if each step cost him something.Th
She was never his to own The father she never knew
Rosa's living room was dim, the only light coming from a single lamp in the corner. The curtains were drawn. The house was quiet. Sofia and Chloe were in the backyard, playing on the swing set, their laughter drifting through the closed window. Alexander had taken them outside to give Elena and Rosa space. He knew something was wrong. He hadn't asked. He just acted.Elena sat on the couch, her hands in her lap, her heart pounding. Rosa sat across from her in the armchair, her face pale, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had gone cold."You said he's alive," Elena said. Her voice was flat. "You said he wants to meet me."Rosa nodded. "His name is Diego. He lives in Portland. He has a wife, two sons. He's been there for twenty-five years."Elena felt nothing. Then she felt everything."Twenty-five years," she repeated. "He left when I was five. He didn't come to my birthday parties. He didn't watch me graduate. He didn't walk me down the aisle. He didn't meet Sofia."Rosa's eye
She was never his to own The secret Rosa carried
Rosa's kitchen smelled like garlic and oregano. It always smelled like garlic and oregano. The same smells that had filled Elena's childhood, that had carried her through every hard thing, that had been the backdrop to every important conversation she'd ever had. The sauce was simmering on the stove, the way it had simmered for as long as Elena could remember. Rosa was at the counter, chopping vegetables, her hands moving with the ease of decades.Elena sat at the small table where she'd sat her whole life. As a girl doing homework. As a teenager fighting with her mother. As a young woman trying to figure out who she was. As a survivor, rebuilding. Now, as someone planning a wedding.Sofia and Chloe were in the living room, watching cartoons, their laughter drifting through the house. The afternoon light was golden, the kind of light that made everything feel soft, possible."I've been thinking about the wedding," Elena said.Rosa glanced over. "Small?""Small. Rosa's garden. Just fam
She was never his to own Proposal without a ring
Elena's studio smelled like oil paint and turpentine, the familiar scent that always settled her nerves. The afternoon light was soft, filtered through the sheer curtains she had hung years ago, when this space was just hers. Now it was theirs—her paintings on the walls, Alexander's books on the shelf, the girls' drawings taped to the edges of canvases.The "Horizons" series surrounded them. Women standing at the edge of the sea, faces turned toward the distance. Elena had painted them in the years after the date test, after the first cracks appeared, after she learned to hope again. They were her best work.She stood in front of the largest canvas, the one she had started the morning after the warehouse. A woman in a field of flowers, light all around her, chains broken at her feet. She had titled it Freedom.The door opened. Alexander walked in.He was dressed simply—jeans, a soft gray sweater, the one she liked. His hair was messy, his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked nervous
She was never his to own The weight of words
I should have said no. I should have protected myself, maintained my boundaries, and remembered every reason I had to stay far away from this man.But looking at him now—lost and scared and reaching for me like I was a lifeline—I found myself nodding."Maybe," I heard myself say. "I'll think about
Huling Na-update : 2026-03-20She was never his to own The coma decision
My stomach dropped. "What?""The doctors think it's his brain trying to process the missing memories. They're saying the stress is making things worse.""What stress? He doesn't even know about the custody battle—""They think he's sensing it somehow. Or maybe it's just the trauma of losing six yea
Huling Na-update : 2026-03-19She was never his to own Fragments of truth
"It's not life or death. It's about treatment options—""Isn't it, though?" I stood, pacing the small chapel. "If I refuse the procedure and he doesn't recover, he could have permanent brain damage. He could die. If I approve it and his memories come back, he could become that person again. Either
Huling Na-update : 2026-03-19She was never his to own Beyond Reason
I looked at Rosa, then at Jessica. Both of their faces showed concern and support in equal measure."No," I said honestly. "But let's do it anyway."---The therapy room was nothing like the ICU. It was designed to be comfortable—soft lighting, upholstered chairs in soothing blues and greys, plants
Huling Na-update : 2026-03-19
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