로그인Elena "I’ll have the revised budget proposals on your desk by Monday morning, Janet. And make sure the fabric samples from the Milan supplier are overnighted." I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, my voice steady despite the way my heart is hammering against my ribs. Working on the drive back to the house is the only thing keeping the panic at bay. I’ve been living in a curated reality for seven years, and today, that reality feels like it’s made of thin glass. "Of course, Elena," Janet says, her voice sounding small over the Bluetooth. "Will you be in the office later?" "I have some personal errands to run first," I reply, my eyes locking onto the familiar iron gates of the driveway. "I’ll call you if anything changes." I end the call just as I pull into the circular drive. My breath hitches. Marcus’s silver Mercedes is parked right in front of the fountain. I squeeze the leather of the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. I had hoped he’d be at the firm. I had p
Elena"The coffee is strong, Elena. Don't let it go cold while you're staring a hole through the floor." I look up from the kitchen island, the steam from the mug curling into the air between Maya and me. She’s sliding a plate of eggs and thick-cut bacon toward me, her eyes tracking my every move with a mixture of pity and concern. My head feels like it’s being squeezed in a vise, a dull, throbbing reminder of the three sleep aids I swallowed last night to drown out the sound of my own thoughts. "I don't think I can eat," I whisper, my voice sounding like it’s been dragged over gravel. "My head is killing me." "You need the fuel. You cried for hours straight, El," Maya says, leaning against the counter. She hesitates for a second, tapping her manicured nails against the marble. "Your husband was here last night. After you slept."The fork in my hand stops midway to the plate. A traitorous spark of hope flares in my chest, a desperate, pathetic part of me wondering if he came here t
Elena"I need to leave, Maya. I can't stay in that house another second."My voice is a jagged, unrecognizable wreck as I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles ghostly white. I’m pulled over on a side street three blocks from Avery’s, the engine idling, the air conditioning blasting cold air that does nothing to soothe the fever of my skin. On the passenger seat, the screen of my phone is still glowing with Kristen’s latest slideshow post."Elena? Hey, breathe. Just breathe," Maya’s voice is a sharp anchor through the car's speakers. "Where are you? Are you safe? Did you confront him?""No," I choke out, a sob racking my chest. "I couldn't. I saw the pictures. She posted them. He’s with her, Maya. He’s at the restaurant with her. Our favorite restaurant together!”"Get over here. Right now," Maya commands, her tone brookng no argument. "The gate is open. I’m canceling my afternoon appointments. Just drive to me, El." I don't remember the drive. I move through the city like a ghost,
ElenaI’m preparing for work when the sharp ringing of my phone interrupts my thoughts. I glance at the caller ID, the urge to ignore the call strong. "Is Marcus there? I’ve been ringing his mobile for twenty minutes and he isn't picking up."Greta’s voice is a sharp, jagged intrusion into my morning, vibrating through my phone with the same sense of entitlement she carries into a room. I’m standing in front of my vanity, trying to use concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes—the physical evidence of a night spent staring at a silent front door. My hands are shaking as I blend the cream into my skin."Good morning to you too, Greta," I say, my voice sounding tight and hollow. I don't have the energy to play the dutiful daughter-in-law today. It’s not like she ever appreciates anything I do. I’m still wearing the silk robe I threw on after waking up in an empty bed. "I’m not your son’s keeper. I haven't seen Marcus since he stood me up for our date last night."Greta lets out
ElenaThe silk of my lace dress is starting to feel like a shroud. I’m pacing the length of our bedroom, the heels of my designer pumps digging into the plush cream rug. It’s 7:15 PM. The reservation was for seven. I’ve called him three times in the last ten minutes, and each time the mechanical chime of his voicemail has felt like a door slamming in my face. On the fourth attempt, the ringing stops. "Elena? What is it?" Marcus’s voice is a jagged edge, rushed and breathless. I can hear the muffled roar of a city street in the background—or perhaps a crowded restaurant. "Marcus? You’re late," I say, forcing my voice to remain soft, layering it with a patience I don't truly feel. "I’m all ready. I’m wearing the dress you asked for. I thought we were heading to Avery’s? It’s our favorite, remember? You said we needed this." "I know what I said, Elena!" he snaps, the volume of his voice jumping an octave. I flinch, pulling the phone an inch away from my ear. "Something came up at the
Jaxon "The homework is simple, David. Stop looking at her like a problem to be solved and start looking at her like a woman you just met." I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight as I watch the couple across from me. David looks at the floor, his jaw tight, while his wife, Sarah, finally lets out a breath she’s been holding for forty-five minutes. They’re my last appointment of the day—a high-power architect and a surgeon who forgot how to touch each other without it feeling like a…. clinical procedure. As the wife had put it. "And for you, Sarah," I continue, my voice dropping into that calm, low register that usually settles the room. "No more performing. If you aren't feeling it, don't faked it. Authenticity is the only thing that's going to bridge this gap. We'll pick this up next Tuesday."They stand, shaking my hand with a tentative sense of hope that usually marks the end of a third session. I watch them leave, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind
ElenaThe smell of nutmeg and vanilla shouldn't be this loud at seven in the morning.I sit up in bed, the silk sheets rustling against my skin as I blink away the remnants of a dream involving grey eyes and charcoal suit. The house is usually silent until the coffee maker hisses. Today, the air is
"Close the door, Elena."His voice is a low, vibrating command that settles deep in my marrow. I don't breathe as I reach back, my fingers trembling as they find the heavy oak handle. The click of the latch sounds like a gavel in the silence of the room. I stay turned toward the wood for a second t







