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Fiona’s POV
When I was like this, in my husband’s arms making such good love, it felt like the rest of the world vanished before our eyes, and it was just him and me and the magic of our love. But that magic always shattered soon after the passion and desire faded, and we went back to acting like two strangers sharing the same bed. I saw Sebastian coming back from the bathroom, already wearing his pajamas, and the mattress sank beside me when he lay down. As always, he turned his back to me, as if the fiery, passionate love we’d just made minutes ago meant nothing to him; just a need, not because he truly loved me, and that hurt so much. I stared at his broad back for a moment as my heart sank deeper into sadness, then turned my back to him too, already realizing there wasn’t much I could do to change it. But in that moment, something so unusual happened that I thought I was dreaming. Sebastian hugged me. I felt his heavy arm over me, his large hand gripping my waist and pulling me toward him, then my back pressed against his body. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. I mean, like any wife, of course, all I wanted was to cuddle with my husband, especially after passionate sex. I wanted to lie there quietly, feeling the warmth of his body as his arms enveloped me, but that never happened, so I had to settle for its absence. But today… today was different. My eyes darted around as I tried to figure out what I might have done differently to earn this, but nothing came to mind, especially since I always tried my hardest to please him. Could he finally be realizing that he loved me and wanted to make us work? He was holding me tightly with both arms, caressing my body as if he wanted to map it out. His heart beat strong and steady, and I nearly melted in his embrace. Sebastian I rubbed my forehead against his stubbled chin, feeling that sensation of pleasure spreading through my entire body. He finally wanted to give us a chance... Things could start to change; we could start being a real couple from now on, doing couple things like holding hands, walking our dog, or even having babies… “I needed to do this,” he confessed, his voice so low it was almost a whisper, still holding me tightly in his arms. I smiled widely My chest bursted with excitement. Then he said, “Fiona, I’m sorry. But I want a divorce.” I lifted my face to look at him, shocked. “What did you say?” “It’s time to end this,” he replied. I was frozen, my throat dry. It was as if time had stopped. “What happened?” “It’s Ross. She’s back.” Ross. That name was my worst nightmare, lingering in my mind like a ghost. She was Sebastian’s ex-girlfriend. And she was back… “She reached out to me recently. And you know she needs me,” he explained, but it wasn’t like he owed me any explanation, did he? I had always been the surrogate wife… “Yes, I understand,” I replied, then pulled away from his arms and lay back down with my back to him. He was also settling in to sleep as if nothing major had just happened. I suppressed the moan and sob that were about to escape and forced myself to close my eyes to hide the tears. But the tears couldn’t be controlled, streaming quickly and soaking the pillow. I was thankful we were facing away from each other so he couldn’t see me crying like the idiot I was. I always knew his heart never belonged to me, because throughout this marriage, all three years of it, he made it clear how much he loved her, his ex-girlfriend, his first love. Ross. The next morning when I woke up, I saw that my husband’s side of the bed was empty, indicating he’d already been up for a while. I sighed. Calling Sebastian my husband, knowing his rejection, was painful now. Still shaken, I got out of bed and went to the bathroom to try to wash my face. I groaned when I noticed my eyes were swollen from crying so much, and my blonde hair was all disheveled. That would definitely give me away. I didn’t want him to see that I’d been crying, not at all; I didn’t want him to see my weakness. So after a shower, I put on makeup to hide the puffiness and did everything to look presentable, to act like none of this was affecting me. “Fiona, come down for breakfast. I heard you wake up,” he called from downstairs. “I’m coming.” When I went down the stairs, I saw he’d already prepared breakfast, my favorites: eggs Benedict with smoked salmon on an English muffin, with creamy hollandaise sauce and a sprinkle of fresh chives. “The table looks beautiful,” I commented as I sat at the large table. “Thanks. I wanted you to feel better,” he replied as he sat down too. It was just the two of us, as always. This house had always been too big for just the two of us, but I didn’t mind because I was with my husband. But now, knowing he wanted me gone, it felt strange to even share a meal with him. It was like we’d become strangers overnight, and that only broke my heart more. After that somber breakfast where I couldn’t manage to exchange a single word with him, I went back to the bedroom to pack my bags. There was no reason to stay since he didn’t want me anymore. When I came downstairs with my suitcase ready, Sebastian was already waiting for me. “Did you cry?” His gaze was oddly concerned. Not because he was showing concern for me—Sebastian had always been kind to me—but I never wanted just his kindness; I wanted his love… “No,” I shook my head, my voice a bit hoarse. He looked at my suitcase. “Fiona, you… don’t have to leave so quickly.” I had no reason to stay. He asked for a divorce, showing that no matter how hard I tried, I’d never be the most important person in his heart. I couldn’t fool myself anymore. Even though Sebastian was kind, thoughtful, and caring toward me, he didn’t love me. His true heart was always reserved for his first love. I had to go now. I was afraid that if I stayed longer, I’d break down and ask Sebastian why he couldn’t see my love and treat me as his wife. “I already called my mom; she’s waiting for me at home,” I said. He didn’t try to hold me back, just let me go. Since the Uber I’d called was already waiting outside, I realized I was really leaving. The moment I stepped out of the house, my heart ached even more. Three years were, after all, just a dream. The joyful times we spent together and the happy moments we created vanished. I walked to the taxi with Sebastian by my side, and he helped me put my suitcase in the trunk. I could barely look at his face, afraid that if our eyes met, I’d collapse in tears right there and beg him not to let me go. As I was about to open the door and get in the car, he asked a question, looking into my eyes. “By the way, who’s Eli? I’m sorry for wasting your three years. He must be very important to you.”The late afternoon sun bathed the elegant garden venue in a warm, golden light, filtering through the leaves of ancient oak trees and casting soft patterns across the white aisle runner. White and blush roses intertwined with delicate greenery along the wooden arch at the end of the path, creating a romantic backdrop that felt both timeless and deeply personal. Fiona stood at the beginning of the aisle, her heart fluttering with a mixture of nerves and overwhelming joy. Her wedding dress was a vision of understated elegance, a flowing A-line gown in soft ivory silk with subtle lace details across the bodice and sleeves that caught the light with every movement. Her hair was styled in loose waves, adorned with small pearl pins that had once belonged to her mother.At her side, three-year-old Colin and Edward bounced with excitement, their tiny tuxedos looking impossibly adorable on their energetic frames. The twins clutched small wicker baskets filled with pink and white rose petals,
Third POVA full year had slipped by behind the cold concrete walls of the state penitentiary, each day blending into the next with a rigid routine that forced Sebastian Blackwood to confront parts of himself he had long avoided. Life inside was harsh but strangely clarifying. The clang of metal doors, the constant hum of voices, and the limited freedoms shaped a new reality for him. Every week without fail, he sat at a small metal desk in the common area and wrote letters to Irene. At first, they were short and hesitant, simple notes asking how she was doing and offering awkward apologies that never quite captured the depth of his regret. Over time, however, the words began to flow more freely. He described the monotonous days: early mornings in the prison yard, the library hours where he read everything from philosophy to self-help books, and the small circle of unlikely friends he had made among the other inmates. Some were men serving time for white-collar crimes, others carri
Third POVThe months slipped by quietly, weaving themselves into a new rhythm that felt both familiar and refreshingly balanced. Fiona Blackwood’s life had settled into a steady, satisfying groove she could never have imagined during the chaotic years that came before. As CEO of Empowear, she arrived at the sleek headquarters most mornings with a clear mind and a sense of purpose that energized her. Board meetings, design reviews, and strategy sessions filled her days, but she had learned to delegate effectively and protect her time with the same fierce determination her mother had shown before her. The company continued to thrive under her leadership, with new sustainable collections receiving glowing reviews and strong sales figures that made her proud.Evenings belonged first to her twins. Colin and Edward, now energetic toddlers with matching mischievous grins, kept her on her toes with their endless curiosity and sudden bursts of laughter. She cherished the chaotic bedtime rou
Third POVThe ICU room was bathed in soft, clinical light, the steady rhythm of machines creating a mechanical lullaby that filled the space with both hope and dread. Sebastian Blackwood stood just outside the glass partition, his tall frame motionless as he watched Irene lie motionless in the hospital bed. Tubes and wires connected her to monitors that tracked every heartbeat, every breath. Bandages covered parts of her arms and torso, and her face, though peaceful in unconsciousness, still bore faint traces of soot and healing bruises from the explosion. He knew this scene was his punishment, a living hell he had created with his own hands. The woman he loved more than anything was fighting for her life because of his choices, and there was nothing he could do but stand there, powerless, bearing witness to the consequences.He had barely left the hospital since the night of the explosion. Days blurred together in a haze of guilt and quiet desperation. The sterile smell of antisept
Third POVThe afternoon traffic in Manhattan moved at its usual frustrating crawl, but Amber Morton barely noticed. She had promised herself she would check on Irene again today, bringing a fresh batch of her favorite herbal tea and some magazines to help distract her friend from the emotional wreckage of the past week. The model had been worried since their last long conversation. Irene was trying to appear stronger, but the betrayal still cut deep, and Amber knew how dangerous it was to let someone sit alone with that kind of pain for too long.As her taxi turned onto Irene’s street, Amber’s heart suddenly lurched. Thick black smoke poured from the upper floors of the elegant pre-war building where her friend lived. Flames licked visibly from what looked like Irene’s apartment windows. People on the sidewalk were already pointing and shouting, some recording with their phones while others backed away in panic. Without thinking, Amber shoved a handful of bills at the driver and bol
Third POVThe days following Irene’s abrupt return from the Maldives blurred into a haze of quiet grief and cautious rebuilding. She spent most of her time inside her Upper East Side apartment, surrounded by the familiar comforts she had once taken for granted: soft throw blankets, half-read novels stacked on the coffee table, and the faint scent of her favorite lavender candle. Amber had been a constant presence, bringing takeout meals, forcing her to shower when she forgot, and simply sitting with her in silence when words felt too heavy. Slowly, very slowly, Irene began to feel a fragile sense of stability returning. The raw shock had dulled into a persistent ache, but at least she could breathe without every inhale feeling like broken glass in her lungs.On the afternoon of the fifth day back, Irene sat curled on her couch with a cup of chamomile tea cooling in her hands. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting gentle patterns across the hardwood floor. She stared
Third-Person POVBut Sebastian’s smug smile began to crack the moment Elijah’s voice filled the bar.He’d expected a half-decent croon, maybe a little off-key charm to draw a giggle or two from the crowd. What he got was something else entirely. Elijah didn’t just sing, he commanded. The first not
Third-Person POVThe morning after the date, Fiona woke up to a nightmare that refused to end.Her phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with more notifications than she’d ever seen in her life. She didn’t want to look. She knew what she’d find. But the compulsion was
Third POV Sebastian drove to the detention center on a gray Tuesday morning. The sky looked heavy with rain that never fell. He parked in the visitor lot and sat in the car for ten minutes, hands on the wheel, staring at the brick building.His stomach felt tight. Not from nerves exactly. From som
Fiona POV I slipped Maverick's tuxedo jacket over my shoulders the moment we stepped out of the car in front of my mother's brownstone in Brooklyn. The January wind cut through the thin velvet of my gown, but his jacket carried his warmth and the faint scent of cedar and bergamot that always calm







