All Chapters of Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Viola McCoy The door’s open now. I heard the click around 4 a.m.—not because I was waiting for it, but because I hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. My eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling while my thoughts clawed at the inside of my skull. I must’ve blinked a thousand times, hoping one of them would carry me into sleep, into some kind of dream where things didn’t feel this fractured. But it never came.And now, the door is just... open. Like last night never happened. Like the anger, the dragging, the yelling, the fear—I’m supposed to just erase it. Just walk out and go back to normal.I finally shift. My legs are stiff, my back sore. I’ve been curled up in the same position for hours. The wooden floor beneath me has left a dull ache in my hips, but it’s the numbness that gets me—the way I don’t even flinch at it. Today’s Sunday. No office. Not that it would’ve mattered. I don’t have the strength to sit behind a desk, smile at coworkers, pretend everything’s fine. I barely have the strength

Viola McCoy I’ve been extra careful since the creeper incident a few days ago, locking every door twice, double-checking the windows, sleeping with the hallway light on even though I hate the glow it casts across the wall like shadows trying to crawl in. And hopefully—God, hopefully—Julian is finally coming back from his triptonight. I told myself I’d tell him about the man lurking outside the last time. Even though deep down, I suspected... no, I feared he had something to do with it. But I couldn’t doubt him. He’s my husband. Still is. And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe that’s why the thought ever entered my head at all—that he could be behind something like that. What kind of marriage do you have when you’re afraid of your own partner?A honk blares outside, sharp and sudden, and my spine stiffens.I glance at the clock. 8:02 PM. Of course. Julian. It’s got to be him. I rise from the couch, feeling the soreness still lingering in my back from being locked in that dam

Viola McCoy The spoon slips from my fingers the moment I see him.Julian.Standing at the door. The warm laughter that had just filled the room with Bonnie and Logan dies. A coldness slips into the space between us. I can feel Logan’s body shift beside me, subtle but tense.“Vi?” Julian says softly. He takes a step forward.I don’t say a word.Because I’m not sure what version of him I’m getting today. The one who kisses me on the forehead and calls me darling? Or the one who locks doors and drags me by the wrist until my ankles feel like it’d crack?My body instinctively leans closer to Logan. I don’t mean to—it’s not intentional, not performative—but it’s like my ribs remember who was there when I passed out cold in the street. My skin still burns from where the masked man grabbed me, and all I can think is Julian didn’t save me. Logan did.“I didn’t know you were here,” Julian says, eyes scanning the room now. The flowers on the nightstand. The extra chair pulled beside

Viola McCoy The hospital room smells like antiseptic and wilted flowers, even though the nurses try their best to swap them out every few days. I shift my weight against the stiff mattress, wincing slightly as the gauze on my arm brushes the fabric of my sleeve. Julian is here, again. For the past few days, he’s been coming by, sitting quietly in the chair by my bed, pretending to read emails or flipping aimlessly through magazines he doesn’t care about. He hasn’t pushed. He hasn’t yelled. He’s just... been here. A presence. Not a comfort. Today, I’m being discharged. He moves around the room with a tense sort of energy, gathering my things with quick movements. The bouquet Logan brought me is still on the nightstand, a little droopy now, but I can’t bring myself to throw it away. Julian pretends not to see it. I watch him pick up my overnight bag from the bed and sling it over his shoulder. I slip off the bed carefully, my ankle still tender as it touches the floor. I don’t

Viola McCoyI just stand there.Frozen.Watching Logan step fully into the hallway like a ghost I wasn’t ready to see.For a second, I think he might notice me—might catch the way my hand tightens around the strap of my bag, the way my breath stutters in my throat.But before he can lift his eyes fully, I turn sharply on my heel and walk away.Fast.Head down.Pretending like he’s just another stranger at the hotel and not the man who’s been haunting my dreams.My sandals slap softly against the thick carpet as I rush back toward my room. My heart beats louder than my footsteps, thudding wildly in my ears.What is he doing here? I’m not ready to face him or face my feelings right now.I reach the door and fumble with the key card, almost dropping it. When it finally clicks open, I slip inside and lean back against the door, squeezing my eyes shut.Breathe, Viola. Just breathe.Before I can gather myself fully, my phone buzzes violently against the nightstand, rattling the empty wat