Meets Her Doom

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

Xiao Xiaosu

I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray’s text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world.

Modern Revenge Divorce

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My dad told me that when my mom was still alive, she used to tell me both untold stories or unusual ones and renowned tales about myths of death and cycles of life even when I was still in her womb.

She greatly influenced my beliefs which piqued the interest of my young curious mind to be fond of reading mysterious hidden tales and mythology.

It was bed time, the cold looming moon shines brightly up at the starry night sky when I decided to spend my long night reading rather than sleeping.

I got up from my bed, heading to our manor's library holding a white long scented candle placed on the gold glass flickering brightly against the dark and a book on the other side which I had finished just 2 days ago.

As I reached my destination, I still can't help but to be amazed and fascinated by the beauty of the interiors of our very own house which was owned and expanded by our ancestors and has been passed down from generation to generation.

I scrunched my nose with the familiar scent of the painted paved archaic walls where the big old portraits were hanged and displayed grandly and the greek doric columns which exhibits minimalistic beauty in simplicity.

Bibliosmia...

The wooden smell coming from the old books mixed with the faint aroma of coffee that surrounds this marvelous room entices me every time and bewitches me to be indulged and unravel the implicit bareness of each wonderfully crafted books up until it's tiniest details.

I returned the book I brought to it's rightful own place and picked a new one to read at the same shelf.

I traced my fingers to the dusty old letters engraved on the hardbound cover.

Mythology...

In general, others referred it as a study and interpretation of often sacred tales or fables of a culture known as myths...

Some basically defines it as the collection of such classical old tales and mythical cultural stories which deal with various aspects of the human condition...

May it be good or evil.

I paused reading as I heard an indistinct rustling sounds in the surroundings of this large dark room.

I roamed my big doe eyes across the dark surroundings yet I can not find anything odd or strange except for the disarrayed arrangement of books on the gigantic shelves.

I just shrugged and continued reading the page where I last off.

It further elaborated that some of such tales give a story behind the meaning of suffering, others may be a conceptual or theoretical various explanations of human origins such as how life was created and how earth was formed.

It expresses the beliefs and values about these subjects held by a certain culture from all around the world.

All in all, there are millions of myths existing from different races and from different countries that tell the stories of ancestors and the origin of humans and the world, the gods, and the supernatural beings.

I read to my heart's content until the drowsiness engulfed me.

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