Semua Bab Off Limits: Playing With Fire (Short Stories Collection): Bab 41 - Bab 47

The glass tower of Smith Enterprises looked like a giant shard of ice cutting into the gray morning sky. Standing at the entrance, I felt incredibly small. Wealthy businessmen in tailored suits and elegant women in designer dresses pushed past me, flashing sleek security badges to get inside. They all belonged here. I didn't. I smoothed down the front of my only nice outfit—a simple, dark blue dress I usually saved for funerals or job interviews. In my hand, I clutched my handbag like a shield. Inside it, folded neatly, was the marriage certificate. "You can do this, Amelia," I whispered to myself, taking a deep, shaky breath. "He doesn't get to erase you." I walked through the spinning glass doors and into the lobby. The floor was made of polished white marble so clean I could see my own nervous reflection. In the center of the room stood a massive, curved black desk. Behind it sat a receptionist with perfectly styled hair and a headset. "Good morning. Welcome to Smith Ente

The morning after the kiss, the mansion felt even colder, filled with an awkward, heavy silence. I spent most of the day hiding in my guest room, staring out at the manicured gardens and playing the memory over and over in my head. His lips had been so desperate. He had kissed me like a man drowning, reaching for a lifeline he couldn’t see. But when he ran away, he had locked himself right back behind his walls. By the time night fell, a heavy storm had rolled in over the city. Thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the large glass windows of the estate. Unable to sleep, I wrapped a soft knit cardigan around myself and slipped out of my room. The house was dark, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning from outside. I made my way down the grand staircase, hoping to find a glass of water or a book to distract my racing mind. As I passed the downstairs living room, I noticed the double doors were slightly ajar. A single, dim lamp cast long shadows across the floor. Fro

The morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains, casting long, golden lines across the master bedroom. I woke up slowly, feeling a deep, comforting warmth wrapped around me. Ethan was still asleep, one of his heavy, muscled arms draped possessively over my waist, pulling my back flush against his bare chest. I listened to the steady, calm rhythm of his breathing. For a few minutes, I just lay there, letting myself believe that the nightmare was finally over. The phantom ache that had lived in my chest for five long years was gone, replaced by the reality of his skin against mine. Slowly, trying not to disturb him, I lifted his arm and slipped out of bed. I pulled on one of Ethan’s oversized white button-down shirts, the cotton smelling wonderfully of his cologne, and walked out into the quiet hallway. He looked so peaceful asleep, the hard, stressed lines completely erased from his face. I wanted to let him rest. After the public explosion at the gala last night, to