"Are you ready to sin?" Her voice, delicate yet mischievous, hangs in the air, a playful grin adorning her beautiful, pouty lips. Impatiently, he responds, "I feel like an animal now. And animals don't know they can sin, do they?" Her laughter fills the room as she teases him further, "Can I pet you? Tie a leash around your neck and claim you're mine?" In response, he growls, "You are enough to bring a decent man to his knees and make him commit unspeakable sins." The tension between them crackles with desire and a hint of danger, and their words are laden with unspoken implications.
더 보기Stacey
Stepping out of the elevator, I glance around before heading left down the corridor. The echo of my high heels on the marble floor accompanies me as I confidently stride, my figure accentuated by the tight dress and my hair cascading in loose curls.
As I walk through the empty corridor of the exclusive fifty-seventh floor, reserved for the wealthy who have booked the entire level, I come across a security guard stationed in one corner. His gaze follows me as I make my way towards him. Clearing his throat, he addresses me, "Mrs. Williams..." but his voice falters, and I notice the color draining from his face.
Despite my escalating anger, I remind myself to maintain composure and not lash out at the security guard. That's not what ladies from rich societies do."Is Mr. Williams inside?" I inquire while standing outside the penthouse door, anticipating his response. However, he stutters, fueling my growing skepticism. "Uh, I -" Before he can continue, I raise my hand, signaling him to stop speaking.
"Open the door!" I assert firmly, my eyes fixed sharply on the door above me. My heart pounds in my chest as I impatiently anticipate the scene I am about to witness. Mentally and physically bracing myself, I prepare to confront my husband, expecting to catch him red-handed with another woman.
My suspicions began to grow as I frequently discovered hotel check-in slips, pricey restaurant bills, and shopping receipts among my husband's belongings. Occasionally, the bills for his shopping would arrive at our home, either through delivery or a personal visit from the store manager. One thing became clear to me - those lavish gifts were not intended for me, as I never once received them.
What made me silent all along? Because those were just accusations and I wasn't sure to confront him based on no strong evidence. So I wait, patiently, of course, spying on him. I wouldn't lie to admit that I hired a detective for my husband and he showed me the proofs of him being involved with certain women.
My husband is a cheap man with no caliber. Despite working for one of the most prestigious firms in New York, my husband's insatiable greed and lust for women have become apparent over the years. We've been married for nearly two years, but I've known him for over seven.
His unrelenting desire and insatiable nature have cast a shadow over the charm that initially drew me to him, leading me to agree to marry him quickly. His facade of charm has slowly faded, revealing a darker side that I can no longer ignore.
And him? He was undoubtedly after my wealth, as I am the sole heir of the substantial inheritance left to me by my grandparents. My husband persistently urged me to transfer it under my name until he learned the truth - that we must have a child together to inherit the wealth. And this bastard cannot become a father.
“Open the door!” I command once again, my tone remains firm, this time a little louder than before. “But, madam, Mr Williams is having a meeting inside.” A meeting? I scoff mentally. What kind of business meetings happen in the middle of the night? And that too in a penthouse of the hotel. He might fool everyone, but not me. I am aware of the blood that passes through his veins, and I know that he is cheating.
I just want to confirm it.
The security guard hesitates momentarily before pushing the door open, and I cautiously scan my surroundings before entering. As I step into the living room, everything appears normal at first glance. However, my gaze is drawn to the kitchen counter, where two glasses sit neatly with traces of red wine still lingering in them.
The sight raises a flicker of unease within me, hinting at a possible scenario that I had not anticipated. The lipstick smudge on one of the glasses is a clear sign that he's been with another woman. I pick up the glass, my frustration growing as I realize the truth. Suddenly, I hear noises coming from the other room, piquing my curiosity.
I cautiously approach the closed door and strain to listen. The sounds of a woman's screams and my husband's moans pierce through the silence, confirming my worst fears of his disloyalty.
I cautiously push the door open, the hinges creaking softly as I peer inside. My heart sinks as I witness the painful sight before me: my husband engaged in a passionate encounter with another woman on the bed. They are both undressed, lost in the moment as he thrusts into her from behind.
And I don't intend to confront him right here, so I silently turn to walk away, leaving the penthouse. As I step outside, the guard's guilty gaze meets mine, and I issue a warning with a threatening undertone. "Don't you dare breathe a word to him about my presence here. Understand?" The guard nods in response, clearly intimidated.
I grab a handful of dollar bills from my purse and toss them in his direction before I briskly turn and walk away, leaving the guard with a mix of relief and apprehension.
As I make my way down the empty corridor, the distressing images of the scene I just witnessed play on a loop in my mind, causing my heart to race uncontrollably. Despite expecting the betrayal, an overwhelming sense of unease and nausea washes over me, questioning why I feel so unwell.
Suddenly, my foot catches on something, causing me to stumble and barely catch myself from falling. A wave of dizziness engulfs me, and darkness begins to creep into my vision. The energy drains from my body, leaving me weak and unable to stand on my own two feet.
Despite my eagerness to leave the hotel quickly, I find myself getting caught up in the unknown. Suddenly, I stumble and fall to the ground, completely giving in to my exhaustion. "Help! Someone fainted!" I hear voices rushing towards me. "Are you okay?" a deep voice asks, but I'm too tired to even open my eyes to see who it is. I really hope it's not my husband, as I don't have the strength to face him right now.
Stacey The cold cuffs bite into my wrists, the metal pressing against skin already bruised by grief. I sit in the back of the police car, rain streaking across the window like the tears I can’t stop shedding. My body trembles, but not from the cold. This can’t be happening.They're accusing me of murdering Juan. My husband. My life. The only man I’ve ever truly loved. How could they even say such a thing? “I didn’t kill him,” I whisper to no one. “I could never...” The officers in the front say nothing. Their silence is louder than any accusation.My mind races with images—Juan smiling at me across our bed, his hand cupping my cheek as he promised to be back early. That soft kiss before he left for the office. His voice on the phone just before the line went dead.He told me he might be late. And then the storm. The crash site. The void.Please don’t be dead, I beg silently. Please, God, don’t take him from me. Not him too. The grief is so raw, I can't breathe through it. I raise my
TylerThe front door slams behind us just as the first pale light of morning creeps across the floorboards. I toss my soaked jacket on the back of a chair, fingers stiff from gripping the steering wheel all night. My bones ache from sitting too long. My eyes burn, but sleep isn’t an option right now. Not when adrenaline’s still in my veins.I head straight for the wine cabinet, pull out a bottle of Merlot, and pour two generous glasses. Six a.m. It feels like the middle of the night. Meg follows behind me, silent, her arms crossed.“Here.” I offer her the glass. “To new beginnings.” She takes it with a stiff nod. Doesn’t drink right away. “You talked to him,” I say, the words sharper than intended. She blinks at me. “Excuse me?”
JuanPain.That’s the first thing I register when my eyes crack open. The kind that doesn’t scream—it pulses. Deep. Bone-deep. I can’t breathe at first. Smoke, blood, and the sharp sting of twisted metal fill my lungs. Everything around me is dark. My head slams back against the seat, and when I try to move, pain explodes up my leg like someone’s lit it on fire.The airbag is deflated. The windshield—gone. The front of the car looks like it folded in half. I can hear the distant creak of metal, groaning with the weight of gravity and wreckage. I survived the fall.Barely.“Stacey…” I croak out, but my throat is dry. My lips are cracked.
Stacey“Take me there, Grandpa!” I exclaim, the words ripping out of me like a scream that’s been building in my chest for hours. My voice is raw, trembling. But it’s the only thing I can control right now—my voice, and my need to act.He doesn’t question me. He doesn’t ask for a moment to think. He just gives me a single, steady nod and strides forward, his hand reaching out toward mine. I grab it like a lifeline. His grip is warm, firm. Safe.I let him pull me to my feet, though my legs are shaky, like they could give out any second. My whole body feels like glass, on the edge of shattering with every breath, every step. But I keep moving. I slide on my warm coat, the sleeves catching briefly against my wrist. I can’t even get my arms in right the first time, m
StaceyThe sun is warm on my skin, filtering softly through the tall trees that surround my grandparents’ garden. I sit on a white iron bench next to Grandma, a knitted shawl draped over my shoulders, even though the afternoon breeze is gentle. My grandfather, always precise with his hands, tends to the roses in the corner with patient focus, humming some old tune I recognize but can’t name.I close my eyes for a moment and breathe it all in—fresh-cut grass, rosemary in the herb beds, the faint clink of a wind chime dangling from the arbor. It’s peaceful here, in a way I haven’t felt in weeks. Maybe months. I open my eyes again and glance at Grandma. She watches me with her usual warm smile, the kind that reaches her eyes, no matter how tired she is.“You’ve come a lon
JuanI wake to a soft breeze drifting through the window. Early morning light filters in, gentle and pale. Stacey is beside me, curled under the quilts, breathing easily. The miscarriage took everything from her—made her retreat into sleep for days—but now I watch her sleeping face and I feel hope stirring. She often jolts in her dreams, I believe she is having nightmares. I try to be there for her, to support her and make her feel protected.She looks so beautfiul when she is sleeping, carefree and relaxed. I brush a strand of hair from her forehead and let her rest. I don’t want to wake her. The grandparents’ house is quiet, safe. I feel like curling with her all day however I have to make sure that the business meetings doesn’t delayed anymore.I step out of bed, careful
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