Flew Novels & Stories

It's Byenn and Alaric's 5th wedding anniversary when Alaric's first love came back. At noong gabing iyon, aksidenteng nahuli ni Byenn si Alaric sa loob ng banyo, minamasturbate ang sarili habang binabanggit ang pangalan ng ibang babae. "Byenn, nakakaawa si Reia ngayong bumalik siyang mag-isa," paliwanag ni Alaric. "Tinutulungan ko lang siya bilang kaibigan." Tumango lang si Byenn at tipid na ngumiti. "Naiintindihan ko," maikli niyang sagot. Makalipas ang ilang araw, muling nagpaalam ang lalaki habang nag-eempake ng gamit. “Byenn, nangako ako kay Reia na ice-celebrate ko ang birthday niya sa isla. Tinutupad ko lang ang pangako ko noon.” "Okay.” "Byenn, this party needs a capable assistant," hirit ulit ni Alaric bago ang isang malaking event, tila minamaliit ang kakayahan ng asawa. "Mas bagay si Reia kaysa sa iyo para sa role na ito." "Okay, go ahead." Nang mapansin ni Alaric na hindi na siya nagagalit, hindi na umiiyak, at hindi na naggagawa ng eksena, naguluhan ito. Lumapit ito sa kaniya at nagtatakang nagtanong, "Byenn, bakit hindi ka na nagagalit?" Of course, hindi na siya galit dahil aalis na rin siya. Pagod na siya sa stagnant nilang kasal. Habang abala si Alaric kay Reia ay palihim siyang nag-aral ng English saka kumuha ng IELTS, at pasimpleng nag-submit ng applications para mag-aral abroad. On the day her visa was approved, she threw out the divorce papers. "Huwag kang magbiro nang ganyan," sarkastikong tawa ni Alaric habang tinitingnan ang papel. "Paano ka mabubuhay nang wala ako?" Hindi na nag-abalang sumagot si Byenn. She just turned around, bought a plane ticket, and flew straight to Europe. The next time Alaric saw news about her, it was through a viral video online. Kitang-kita ang ganda ni Byenn habang naka-red dress, dancing freely in the sky above a foreign land. She looked so alive.

I was born with a built-in fortune system. Whenever I'm happy, everyone around me makes money. To keep me in a good mood, my billionaire father takes me out on adventures every single day, showering me with limited-edition sneakers, private yacht charters, and one-of-a-kind luxury items. It all comes down to one thing: the Connolly Group's luck is tied directly to my emotional state. As long as I'm laughing hard enough to snort, the stock price climbs and the money pours in. The moment my mood tanks, the losses start. At worst, the whole thing goes bankrupt. Take last month. One of the cleaning staff accidentally tossed out half a macaron I'd left sitting on the counter, and I was mildly annoyed for about a second. The next day, the Connolly Group's West Coast division posted a hundred-million-dollar loss. Dad spent the entire night buying up ten gourmet bakeries and terminating the cleaning company's contract just to smooth things over. After that, nobody in Manhattan's upper-crust social scene dared so much as look at me sideways. That was, until Dad flew out to Los Angeles on business, and Isabella, the long-lost biological daughter who'd just been found, walked into my room. "You've been leeching off this family for years," she said, looking down at me with pure contempt. "Did you actually think draining the Connolly name dry made you the real heiress? I'm the one with Connolly blood. Now that I'm back, it's time for you to crawl out of my house." I didn't react. She picked up the black coffee sitting nearby and poured it straight onto my keyboard. I watched the screen go dark, and something hollow opened up in my chest. "Get on your knees and clean it up." I wiped the coffee off my face. The air had gone cold. The Connolly Group was about to implode, and I found myself wondering whether Dad, thousands of miles away in LA, was already reaching for his heart medication as he watched billions evaporate off the ticker.

My husband, Luca, had a childhood sweetheart named Sophia. Years ago, during a brutal gang shootout, Sophia shielded him from the worst of the bloodshed, and since then, she had suffered from severe PTSD. Because of that, Luca would push aside family business every year and fly to our estate on a secluded island off the coast of Sicily to spend three months “helping her recover.” “Victoria, she lost her mind because of me,” he told me. “I’m responsible for her. I hope you can be magnanimous.” So, I nodded. And eventually, I got used to the fact that every year, my husband would disappear for three months to fulfill what he called a moral obligation. That was until the day I flew in without warning to inspect the family’s money-laundering network on that island and saw him. In the town square, under the bright Mediterranean sun, Luca was standing there with a five-year-old boy by his side. “Papa, how long do we have to hide on this island?” the child asked. “I want to go to New York. I want to see the Empire State Building.” Luca laughed gently and scooped him up in his arms. With his other hand, he held Sophia’s. “Antonio, be good,” he said affectionately. “Papa’s position is… complicated. When you turn eighteen and pass the family’s initiation ceremony, I’ll kill that woman and her dead old man. Then, I’ll take you back to New York to inherit the entire Corleone family.” I stood in the shadows, unseen. Slowly, I lit a cigarette. The smoke curled around me as their voices drifted over, the conversation getting more vicious as it went. Sophia leaned into his chest, her tone sweet and coy. “Luca, I’ve been with you for seven years without a name or a title. How much longer are our son and I supposed to live like ghosts?” Luca sighed. “I don’t have a choice. The old man in the Corleone family is still alive. I married Victoria just to get her territory. Don’t worry. I’ve been adding something to her milk every day. She’ll never get pregnant in this lifetime. My family bloodline will only continue through you.” The last thread of reason in my mind snapped. In the six years of marriage we shared, I had been infertile. I’d taken countless hormone injections to stimulate ovulation. I’d knelt in church and prayed more times than I could count. Yet, all along, the devil poisoning me was my own husband. The initial shock faded quickly into rage. I crushed out my cigarette and pulled out my phone. Then, I dialed my uncle, the family’s clean-up man. “Uncle Rocco,” I said calmly, “Luca betrayed me. He betrayed the family. Order a coffin in the finest black walnut for me, and make it large, large enough to fit a family of three.”