I stand in the center of the room that used to be a sanctuary. This place where Santino and I shared breaths, whispers, and a passion that I now realize was laced with poison. I am dressed simply in a black tank top that clings to my skin and a pair of worn jeans. I feel light, almost weightless, as if the person who lived in this room before has already evaporated into the air.I take a slow, deliberate breath. The room is perfect. It is hauntingly clean. The beds are made with sharp, hospital-like precision. The mahogany floors are polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the dim light from the hallway. There isn't a single speck of dust. It is a museum dedicated to a lie.My eyes drift to the right bedside table. There, sitting exactly where I left it, is a rose. But it is no longer the flower I remember. The petals have wilted so completely they have turned to a fine, gray dust. Even the stem is a brittle, blackened stick. Yet, miraculously, it has kept the exact shape it had the da
Last Updated : 2026-02-20 Read more