In the next few days, the hospital ward was filled with a quiet hum as Delilah's doctor and nurse stood before her, reviewing her chart. Marco sat nearby, observing every movement. Delilah, perched on the edge of the hospital bed, fidgeted slightly, her bandaged hand resting in her lap.The doctor adjusted his glasses. "Alright, Miss Flynn, letâs assess how youâre healing. Shall we?"Delilah nodded. "Go ahead."The nurse handed the doctor a pair of gloves, which he snapped on with accuracy. Delilah stole a glance at Marco. He offered her a small, encouraging smile, but his gaze was sharp, focused.As the doctor carefully removed the old bandage, Delilah winced slightly. Marco straightened, his hands resting on his knees as if ready to intervene."Sorry about that," the doctor said, inspecting her hand. The skin, once marred by cuts and burns, was now showing signs of recovery. "Youâre healing well. The granulation tissue looks healthy."The nurse leaned closer with antiseptic sol
Marco looked away from Delilah's phone, his mind a whirlpool of confusion. He rubbed his temple, attempting to regain his composure. His chest felt tight, but he took a deep breath, trying to rationalize."That can't be true," he muttered under his breath. "I'm justâŠ" He sighed, shaking his head as if to clear away the unwanted thoughts. "I'm just jumping to conclusions."The swishing sound of the ward door opening snapped him out of his internal struggle. Turning around, he saw Delilah standing at the doorway. Her expression carried a hint of annoyance, but when her eyes met Marco's, she forced a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes."You came back quickly," she said, her voice carrying a slight hint of surprise.Marco studied her carefully, noting the fake nature of her smile. "Yes," he replied simply.Delilah stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "I thought it would take you a bit more time before you got back, so I took a stroll to the lounge," she explained. "I ho
Delilah quickly got ready, then headed downstairs to start cooking. She tied her hair up and hummed a tune as she mixed the soft dough for homemade pasta. The kitchen felt cozy and smelled delicious from the fresh ingredients she'd prepared.The stand mixer whirred beside her, spinning the dough hook with ease. She smiled, wiping flour off her cheek with the back of her hand, completely unaware of the faint hissing sound coming from the gas pipe beneath the counter.As she reached for the next ingredient, a small spark from the mixer shot out unexpectedly. "What theâ?" Delilah started, but her words were cut short.In an instant, the spark connected with the gas building up in the kitchen.The explosion was deafening. A rush of fire and heat erupted, engulfing the room. Delilah screamed as her right hand caught the flames, the pain searing and unbearable. The force of the blast threw her backward; her head struck the hard floor. Everything blurred, her senses overwhelmed by the
Delilah entered Shh⊠CafĂ© with her usual grace, the black bag slung casually over her shoulder. The bustling cafĂ© smelled of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked pastries, blending seamlessly with the cheerful chatter of customers. Ruby and Helen greeted her warmly, their voices carrying over the hum of activity."Morning, Delilah!" Ruby called out, balancing a tray of cappuccinos.Helen waved briefly, busy stacking freshly baked croissants on the display. "Hey, boss!"Delilah offered her usual smile. "Good morning, ladies," she said, her voice light but firm, as she headed straight to her office.Once inside, she placed the black bag carefully on her desk and muttered to herself, "Iâll return this to the hidden room once the customers leave." With ease, she opened the safe hidden behind a discreet wooden panel on the wall and slid the bag inside. Closing it securely, she allowed herself a small, satisfied smile before returning to the cafĂ© floor.---Ruby was at the counter, fr
The restaurantâs dim lighting cast a warm glow over the polished wooden furniture, and the gentle hum of conversation filled the air as Marco stepped inside. His sharp eyes scanned the room, settling on a blonde-haired man seated near the corner. Marcoâs lips curved into a faint smile. There was no mistaking himâTristan.Without hesitation, Marco crossed the room. As he approached, Tristan glanced up, their eyes locking in a moment of recognition. Tristanâs face lit up with a wide grin, and he stood to greet his old friend."Marco! Great to see you, buddy!" Tristanâs voice carried a warmth that seemed to cut through the slight chill of the restaurantâs air.Marco extended his hand, his own smile growing broader. "Tristan! Itâs been too long, man," he replied, shaking Tristanâs hand firmly and pulling him in for a friendly clap on the back."Way too long," Tristan agreed as they both sat down. "Howâve you been? Still running the family empire, I assume?"Marco chuckled, signaling a
Delilahâs heart raced, but she managed to keep her expression neutral. "What would I even have to hide?"Marco's expression remained neutral, but his eyes held a hint of knowing. "I donât know. Youâve been acting strange lately."She shrugged, forcing a playful edge to her voice. "Strange how?""Strange like you have secrets," he said, his gaze sharp now, pinning her in place.Delilah swallowed hard, her lips parting as if to respond, but the words wouldnât come. Marcoâs hand lifted, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle but firm."If you ever want to talk, I'm here for you," he murmured, his voice softer now. Her heart ached at his words, but she couldnât let herself be swayed. Not when so much was at stake. She forced a smile, placing her hand over his. "Itâs nothing, Marco... I promise."He studied her for a long moment before finally nodding. "Alright," he said, though his tone suggested he wasnât entirely convinced. "But if you ever want to talk about
Delilahâs heart raced, the gravity of the situation pressing down on her. She grabbed the black bag from the ground, tossed her heels inside, and took off, her bare feet making soft crunching sounds against the grass as she sprinted. She zigzagged through the darkened outskirts, her movements swift and purposeful. She had planned this route carefully.When she reached the street, Delilah pulled off her mask and shoved it into her black bag. Then, she frantically waved her arms at the first cab that appeared. The yellow car screeched to a halt, its driver rolling down the window. He was a middle-aged man with a skeptical expression, his brows creased as he eyed her dark clothes and the bag slung over her shoulder."Where to?" he asked, his voice rough.She blurted out Marcoâs mansion location, throwing herself into the backseat and slamming the door. "Now. Fast."The man hesitated, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. "You in trouble or something?""Just drive!" she snapped
Delilah tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes beneath the mask. "Do I look like Iâm in need of money?" Her voice was low, carrying a sharp edge that made Michaelâs throat go dry."No⊠no," Michael quickly replied, his words stumbling over one another. "Iâm just saying⊠just in case."Delilahâs silence unsettled him, her firm gaze slicing through his pathetic attempts at bargaining. Michael noticed a faint calmness in her demeanor, a silence that gave him a sliver of hope."Iâll give you any amount," he blurted out, desperation dripping from every syllable. "Any amount, just mention it."Delilah stepped back, letting out a soft laugh that carried no humor. "I donât need your money," she replied, her voice steady. "I have about ninety-nine million dollars saved from jobs like thisâexecuting monsters like you."Michaelâs eyes widened, his jaw slack. "But⊠what would you gain by killing me now?" His tone was pleading, as if clinging to some imaginary lifeline.Delilah raised her a
Michaelâs eyes darted between the gun in Delilahâs hand and her cool, firm expression. The sleek, black metal gleamed under the dim light of the bedroom, and the realization hit him like a brick: it was real.His throat tightened as he imagined her pulling the trigger, and his body felt heavier, his carefully constructed world still cracking like glass."The person Iâm talking about," Delilah said, her voice smooth but edged with something darker, "the one who needs justice, is your wife."Michael froze, his breath hitching. His wife.Delilah took a slow step back, her gaze lingering on him before she turned toward the wall. Mounted there was a photo of Mrs. Madison, smiling wide, her eyes lit with a happiness Michael remembered only too well. The very image of the perfect wife.Delilah clicked her tongue and tilted her head slightly. "Such a poor soul," she said, her voice almost pitying. "She was so happy in public, wasnât she? But deep inside... oh, the pain she carried."Michae