#Rico’s POV#Fuck Joel.Like really—fuck that entitled, manipulative, pathetic-ass bastard.I’m pacing the hallway now, barefoot, heart punching my chest like it’s got something to prove. I can still hear the echo of his voice in my head, still feel the tension in my arms from where I yanked him off her. If I stayed there another second, I would’ve broken something. Probably his jaw. Or maybe his whole fucking neck.What the hell would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there? Would Joel have actually forced himself on her? Is that what he’s been doing this whole time? For two goddamn years?And the way he grabbed her? Held her like… like she was property. His thing. He looked her in the eye like she owed him something. Like that wedding band meant ownership. Like if he shouted long enough, she’d lie back and open her legs out of loyalty or fear. And the fact that this isn’t new to her? That this wasn’t a surprise? That’s what guts me.If I hadn’t been there—I swallow hard.If I hadn’t be
#Dorothy’s POV#He hasn’t called.He hasn’t texted.He hasn’t knocked or poked his head in or even sent a goddamn maid to ask if I’m still alive.And that doesn’t surprise me. Not anymore.I’m on the couch, curled up with a blanket even though the air conditioner is off, and the living room’s a quiet, hot box. There’s something about loneliness that makes every room feel warmer than it is. Or maybe it’s the ache behind my neck that hasn’t left since I fainted. Either way, I can’t sit still anymore.I drag myself to the kitchen. It’s past nine. I boil water, toss in two cheap tea bags, and pace. I sip. Too hot. Still sip. The bitter taste coats my tongue like punishment, and I swallow it anyway. Something about this moment is both calming and chaotic.The click of the glass sliding door catches my ear.I look up.Rico.He’s standing outside the villa, by the railing, his back to me. The orange ember of his cigarette glows, dims, glows again. There’s a pizza box balanced beside him on t
#Rico’s POV#She’s quiet.Like… scary quiet.And that’s how I know something went down yesterday.She was already at the breakfast table this morning when I came down. Still in my shirt, arms folded across her chest like she didn’t want anyone or anything touching her. Joel walked right past us. Didn’t even glance at her. Just grabbed his keys, told the maid to call his driver, and left the villa like she was air.When I sat beside her and asked how she slept, she just said fine.When I joked about the ugly hairstyle I left her with in the garden, she barely even smirked.When I asked if Joel had come into her room again, she didn’t even answer.And I didn’t want to push.But now, as I drive her to the clinic, both hands on the steering, my right palm keeps itching to just reach over and grab hers.She’s looking out the window, legs curled beneath her, head leaning on the glass like she wants the outside world to swallow her whole. She hasn’t said a single word since we left the house
#Dorothy’s POV#I’m still wearing his shirt.Still calling Joel.Still wondering what the hell this man wants.And yet… I can’t help smiling a little as I sit on my bed, legs crossed under me, playing with the hem of Rico’s oversized shirt while my phone rings endlessly with no answer. He didn’t say a thing about it earlier when he saw me in it—just flashed that small smile like he always does when he doesn’t want to bring attention to something he notices but wants you to know he noticed.He came early. I wasn’t even expecting him this morning. I’d already concluded Joel’s stupid ban would last another week, at least. But when Rico showed up and said Joel called him over last night, I didn’t even know what to make of it. Since when did Joel start remembering our arrangement on his own without me having to nag?But whatever.Rico didn’t stay long, but he stayed long enough to help me settle in the garden. He asked about my symptoms, made a few jokes about a mechanic he met yesterday w
#Joel’s POV#If the week wasn’t already messy enough, the call from Languini had to land like a stray bullet to the back of my head. It’s not even noon, and I’ve had three board complaints from two of our major estate projects in Queens and Pasadena, a delay on a Seychelles offshore inspection, and now this meeting my father’s oldest lawyer insists must happen today. Like we’re running out of time for something.I step out of the company building, jacket already over my shoulder, loosened tie hanging against my chest. The heat isn’t helping. The moment I enter the backseat of my car, I exhale deeply and let my head fall back. I tell the driver to take me to Vespero's, the exclusive café by the waterfront where only men like me, or men trying to become like me, gather to talk power over pastries and bitter coffee.Languini D.T is already seated when I arrive. Black suit. Pinstripe. Gold-rimmed glasses. Looks like he never ages past sixty even though he’s been around since my grandfathe
#Dorothy’s POV#Is this how it’s going to end? Is this how I go? Just like that?I’m lying on my bed, curled up into myself like I can shrink enough to disappear, staring at the faint light strip from the hallway that bleeds in under my door. My thoughts won’t shut up. My mind has its own mouth, and it's loud and bitter, with teeth. I’m so tired. God, I’m tired.My fingers hold my phone up in front of my face and I tap it until the Talking Angela app opens. The little white cat on the screen beams at me, blinking sweetly. I smile a bit and sit up on my elbow, watching her stretch.“Hi Angela,” I whisper.“Hi Dorothy,” she says in that chirpy voice.“You good?” I ask, as if I haven’t already said that exact thing to this app like fifty times before.“I’m always good!” she replies, dancing.I chuckle a little. “Good for you.”I touch her head. She purrs. I change her outfit to a tiny pink hoodie and click through her accessories till she’s wearing little glasses. She looks so happy. S