All Chapters of Flames of desire. : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Mona’s POVI sit on the edge of the hotel bed, the small-town lights from Willowcreek flickering faintly through the half-open curtains, throwing streaks of gold and silver across the room, and I cradle a glass of wine in my hand, but I do not sip, do not let the liquid calm me, because there is no calm to be had tonight, not after what I saw, not after the way Damon moved, the way he looked, the way he allowed Claire to occupy a space that once, undeniably, belonged to me. Every detail of the evening presses into my mind like a recording I cannot stop, the polished floors of the Community Hall reflecting chandelier light in perfect symmetry while I maneuvered through the crowd, every eye on me, every whisper following my name, yet all my effort, all my careful planning, all the rehearsed charm I wielded like a blade, could not make him notice me in the way I believed he should, could not make him bend, could not make him falter, and the memory burns sharp in my chest, hot and infuria

Mona’s POVMorning in Willowcreek is deceptively calm, the kind of calm that makes the whole town look like a painting, streets swept clean, shopkeepers unlocking their doors, the smell of fresh bread drifting from the bakery on Main Street, sunlight sliding over the rooftops like honey poured slowly across the small town. But I feel none of that peace. Not today.I sit on the edge of the hotel bed, my robe loose around my shoulders, a cold cup of coffee untouched on the nightstand, and my mind is loud with every look Damon gave her last night, every glance, every stolen smile, every silent exchange between him and Claire. It burns me from the inside out. He looked at her in a way he never looked at me, not once, not even when I was his wife. I can still see it as clearly as if it were happening in front of me again: the steadiness in his gaze, the quiet pride in the way he stood beside her, the protective grip of his hand over hers.The worst part, the part that keeps me awake long a

Mona’s POVI leave Damon’s office with my heart hammering so violently I can feel the pulse in my throat, my cheeks burning with the humiliation of being dismissed like some cheap distraction, as though the history between us, the years I gave him, the memories we shared, mean absolutely nothing, and worse than that, he pushed me away as if I were poison, as if my touch were unworthy, and I can already hear the whispers in this small-town office, the quiet shifting of papers, the low coughs, the suppressed smirks, because everyone here lives for gossip, and I will not be their silent victim, not when Claire sits smugly in her little chair inside her office opposite Damon’s office, pretending she has earned a place by his side.Her head is bent over her desk, her fingers moving across papers like she has any authority, her expression calm, too calm, as though she already knows she has won, as though my pain is a crown she wears proudly, and something inside me snaps so quickly that I d

Sienna’s POVThe small streets of Willowcreek are alive with whispers even before I step outside my apartment, the scent of early morning coffee mingling with the chatter of women leaning on shop counters, men tipping hats as they exchange the latest news, and I can already hear it before I even turn the corner: “Did you hear what happened at Damon Whitfield’s office?” … “Mona Whitfield stormed in, and he threw her out!” … “Claire, of course, was the reason!”I pause mid-step, letting the words curl around me like smoke, letting the shock and admiration of the town feed the fire coiling tight in my chest, because this isn’t just gossip, it’s a confirmation, a flashing neon sign in the quiet town that Claire has triumphed yet again, that my carefully laid plans, my subtle manipulations, my guidance of Mona to unsettle Damon, have somehow faltered, leaving Claire unshaken, untouchable, untarnished, and I hate it with every fibre of my being.I march faster, the heels of my boots clickin

Claire’s POVThe afternoon sun spills through the wide windows of my office, painting the walls with shifting shades of gold, but the warmth does little to ease the chill that lingers after the morning’s chaos. I sit at my desk, papers neatly stacked before me, numbers and figures waiting for my attention, yet my eyes keep sliding to the clock, watching the seconds crawl, every tick a reminder that the world outside these walls has already taken hold of what happened, twisted it into stories, handed it over to Willowcreek’s eager tongues.I know them, the way they thrive on scandal, how every whisper grows sharper with each retelling. By now, the shopkeepers have woven Mona’s fury into something bigger than it was, and Claire, the quiet woman who dared to stay by Damon Whitfield’s side, is at the centre of it all. Me. I don’t need to hear the gossip to know what they’re saying. That I’m too young for him. That I’m reckless for staying. That I’ll never truly belong in his world. That D