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Chapter 4–The Slow Drift
Last Updated:
2025-12-02 02:02:30
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Until You Chapter 4–The Slow Drift
🌿 Dan's Point of View Approximately a month ago Comfort, I believed, was like a clock that never failed, a steady rhythm composed of the familiar rituals of morning coffee, the daily commute, and warm kisses exchanged at the door. It felt safe, predictable, and reliable, wrapping around me like a cosy blanket. But then, the clock began to falter, its once-constant tick becoming irregular, and I realised that routine, while soothing, could also become a choking vine, stifling growth and spontaneity. I used to think routine was comfort. Coffee at seven, work by eight-thirty, home by six. Dinner with Layla. Her laugh was soft, coming from the kitchen, where the smell of rosemary chicken filled the air, and the way she'd reach up to kiss me when I walked through the door. For the last three years, that rhythm had been enough. More than enough. Lately, though, it felt like a suit shrinking while I wore it, seams whispering that they'd split. It started slowly. A sideways glance. A
Until You Chapter 3–The Fundraiser Night
🌿 Rider's Point of ViewApproximately six months agoCrowds have a sound all their own. Not laughter, not applause, just a static that grates like sand between gears. I'd learned long ago that noise was camouflage. Betrayal, ambition, and desperation all hide best in ballrooms.The fundraiser had been my assistant Rhea's idea."Brand visibility," she'd said, sliding the folder across my desk with that sharp, efficient smile. "A chance to put a face to the name. You can't hide behind spreadsheets forever, Rider."I hadn't bothered explaining that I preferred spreadsheets to small talk, or that shaking hands with half the city didn't interest me. Public events were noisy, shallow, draining. But the foundation we were backing did good work. It was a cause worth supporting, and that had been enough to make me show up.So I traded spreadsheets for chandeliers. The ballroom reeked of roses and money; floral arrangements towered over most guests, and the perfume was sharp enough to sting. C
Until You Chapter 2–New Girl, Old Scars
🌿 Rider's Point of ViewI've always believed the most dangerous cracks don't shout. They hum like a light about to burn out, or the silence in a room that feels too sharp around the edges.The office burned too brightly that morning.Not sunlight, as the city had woken to a curtain of low, grey cloud, but the harsh overhead fluorescents buzzing against the hum of conversation and the clatter of keyboards. I didn't like mornings like this. They reminded me of the numerous early meetings and the days when my first marriage was coming apart in quiet, invisible ways.From my corner office, I had a perfect view of the bullpen. The glass walls gave the illusion of distance, but not much escaped me in this place: numbers, performance, and morale. People are patterns; I've built a life on spotting fractures before they splinter.That's why I noticed Dan Callaghan the moment he walked in.Pressed navy suit. Crisp shirt, this one a shade too sharp for the role he held. New shirt, new shoes, n
Until You Chapter 1–The Picture-Perfect Frame
Author's Note:I hope you enjoy my latest novel. This is a story of love and betrayal. I warn you now, it doesn't contain explicit sex scenes. My spelling is NZ spelling, so you will find words spelt differently (s instead of z, u in words like colour).🌿 Layla's Point of ViewHappiness, I thought, was what stayed when the noise left. Not fireworks, but settling. Not applause, but the hum that follows when the dishes are done. The kind of quiet that keeps a house stitched together.I used to think happiness was quiet.Not the loud, champagne-popping kind that filled engagement parties or milestone anniversaries, but the still sort, the hum of the dishwasher after dinner, the soft weight of my husband's arm draped over me in sleep, the rhythm of two people who had built a life together brick by brick.That morning was one of those quiet ones. The sun had barely crept over the treeline when I stepped barefoot into the kitchen, the cool tile biting gently at my soles. My phone rested on
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