LOGINThe Grandview Estate looked like something pulled straight from a magazine. White roses everywhere. Crystal chandeliers overhead. Silk draping every wall. Tables set with china that cost more than most people's cars. Two hundred guests, all dressed in designer clothes, jewels glittering under the lights. Lawrence stood at the altar in a navy suit, custom tailored, thirty thousand dollars, worth every penny of it. He looked good. Felt good too. The wedding march began. Rose appeared at the back of the ballroom. White dress, thousands of crystals sewn straight into the fabric, the train stretching fifteen feet behind her. Josh walked beside her, uncomfortable in his rented tux, but beaming with pride anyway. Lawrence watched her approach. She looked perfect. Young. Beautiful. Everything Emma hadn't been in years, at least in his eyes. The tiara on her head caught the light. Antique, set with diamonds and sapphires, it had belonged to Emma's grandmother once, passed down through gen
The clock on Emma's laptop read 4:47 when the words finally blurred together into meaningless shapes. She blinked, rubbed her eyes. The financial reports still made no sense at all. How long had she been awake? Twenty hours? Twenty two? She'd started yesterday morning at five. Training with James. Then lessons with Voss. Then dinner with Simeon and Sara. Then back to her room. To study more. Because she wasn't good enough yet. Wasn't smart enough. Wasn't ready. Her phone alarm would go off in forty three minutes. Time for another training session already. She stood up. Her legs wobbled. When had she last eaten? Dinner. Yesterday. Whatever yesterday even was at this point. The room tilted slightly. She grabbed the desk for balance. Just tired. That's all this was. She changed into workout clothes, hands shaking as she tied her shoes. James would be waiting by the lake. Like always. Five thirty. Rain or shine. Emma splashed water on her face and looked in the mirror. Dark cir
Dinner that evening was an education for Samuel. The Lowes made no attempt to hide their amazement at the food, the wine, the service. Josh photographed each course with his outdated phone, narrating enthusiastically the whole time. "This here's some kind of steak with a sauce I can't even pronounce. Costs more than our monthly electric bill, I'd bet. And the wine, Carol, what was that called again?" "Something French, dear. From nineteen ninety-something." "Château Lafite," Lawrence supplied. "A good year." "Good? It's miracle juice." Josh held his glass up to the light. "And to think our Rose drinks this stuff every day now. Our girl who grew up on powdered drink mix and tap water." Rose winced visibly. "Daddy, please." "What? I'm proud of you, princess. You set your sights high and got exactly what you wanted." Josh winked at Lawrence. "She always said she'd marry successful. Had it planned since she was twelve. Cut pictures of fancy houses right out of magazines and stuck the
"Lawrence! Where are the imported cigars I asked for? Daddy loves them after dinner!" Rose's voice echoed through the house, sharp with urgency. Lawrence Carter stood in the kitchen, tie loosened, hair disheveled from running his hands through it too many times. The counter in front of him was covered with shopping bags, proof of his fourth emergency trip to the store that day. Cigars. A specific whiskey. Aged cheese. Everything Rose insisted was essential for her parents' visit. "Check the brown bag," he called back, voice tight with restraint. The financial report he'd meant to review that evening sat unopened on his desk. Another day, another distraction pulling him away from it. Marie, the housekeeper who had worked for him and Emma for twelve years, hurried past with an armful of fresh towels. Her salary was modest next to Lawrence's wealth, but Rose had been hinting about hiring extra staff lately, full time help instead of the weekly service. Another expense he didn't need.
That afternoon, Emma went back to the gym on her own. Katya had already left for the day, but the equipment still sat waiting. Emma wrapped her hands carefully with the protective tape Katya had taught her, then walked over to the heavy bag hanging in the corner. The first punch landed tentative, her form correct but lacking any real commitment behind it. The second hit harder. By the fifth, she was putting her whole body into every strike, exactly the way Katya had shown her. Right cross. Left hook. Knee strike. Elbow. With every impact, Emma pulled up a specific memory. The way Lawrence had dismissed her interest in going back to law school. The times he'd cut her off at dinner parties to "clarify" something she'd already said perfectly well. The conversations he'd had with their children about important things, never once including her. The moment he had introduced Rose as "the love of my life" while she stood frozen in her own living room, shopping bags still slipping from her
The blow caught Emma in the stomach, driving the air straight out of her lungs. She doubled over, gasping, black spots dancing at the edges of her vision. "Again," her instructor said, not unkindly but without any sympathy either. "You dropped your guard." Emma straightened, fighting to control her breathing. Sweat trickled down her back, soaking through the gray tank top she wore. Her muscles screamed in protest as she raised her hands into the defensive position she'd been taught. "Ready," she managed between breaths. Katya nodded, sharp features giving nothing away. The former military specialist circled Emma on the training mat, hunting for weaknesses, openings, any sign of vulnerability. Exactly what a real attacker would look for. "Remember," Katya said, her accent making every word land harder, "in real fight, no one waits for you to be ready. No one plays fair. You must be prepared always." The next attack came without warning, a sweeping kick aimed at her legs. This time
SARA’S POINT OF VIEWThe drive home felt longer than twenty minutes.It should not have.I had taken that road too many times to count. I knew every turn, every traffic light, every stretch where the streetlights flickered a little before settling. It was a familiar path. A simple one.But tonight
LUNA'S POINT OF VIEWI almost did not go.I stood in front of the wardrobe for a long time, longer than I should have, my fingers brushing against dresses I had not worn in months. Some still had tags. Some still smelled new. Some smelled like memories I did not want to touch.I was not really seei
**LUNA'S POINT OF VIEW**I had not slept.Not really. I had layed on my side of the bed in the dark and listened to the house settle around me, staring at the wall, at the patch of ceiling above the wardrobe, at nothing. My mind would not stop. It kept circling back to the same moments, the papers
SARA'S POINT OF VIEWI gripped the steering wheel so hard my fingers started to hurt.I did not loosen my hold. Not once.The whole drive home felt too long. Every second dragged. My head would not stop replaying it. Her voice. That calm voice that did not need to rise. The way she walked in and ev







