Love's Betrayal, Fortune's Irony

gh law school. I worked three jobs and even took a knife for hi

awyer, I found him kissing his

ied to end my life, he brought his mistre

me, forcing me to play the perfect

to his power. He had the career I funded, the wo

ld me at knifepoint on a skyscra

ed the knife into Ar

l wife, I inher

pte

ie

an event planner meant I was always in the thick of it, orchestrating elegance from chaos. Tonight, the annual charity gala wa

she whispered, her eyes wide with admiratio

d four since I last truly looked at him. He was laughing, a rich, confident sound that tasted like ash i

nodded.

tation, instructing the chef on the placement of the miniature tarts. There was no p

inal cleanup, I felt a familiar presence behind me. I didn

ll

y, but still the same undertone of calculated charm. I ke

my voice as neutral

, a question that felt

e as ever, but something flickered there I couldn't qui

tured to the half-dismantled b

closer. "

imperceptibly. "Y

insisted, his

e. Every movement was precise, every instruction clear. When the last vendor truck pulled away,

ollo

ned the passenger door for me. I paused, then walked around to the back. Muscle memory, a

ine and the soft drumming of rain starting to fall on the roof. He star

mirror, meeting mine. "It was a client meeting. A potent

His words meant nothing to me. They were ju

r, Armand," I sai

probably expected a reaction, a flicker of pain, a

bruised plum, lay draped over the headrest. It smelled faintly of expensive perfume and so

en back to me through the mirror, a question in their depth

uptly changing the subject. "I was th

d in my stomach. My parent

n before. "But they' ve been a little under

w passing over his features. He sighed, a deep, weary sound that

emotions I refused to acknowledge. Once, his presence would have shattered

rred into streaks of color. My neighborhood, then my street. His car pulled up t

uilding. The one h

a silent question in my eyes. He

ing was okay," he mumbled, a rare tre

of me, the old, naive Ellie, wanted to believe this was a gesture

scanner, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, as if expecting it to magically open

with increasing frustrati

one. He typed something, then pressed it back to the sc

vy, thick with the scent of mold and rust. He stepped inside, reaching for the light s

lization dawning on him.

a sudden, dawning horror. "Ellie?

. A few taps, a quick transfer. The overh

otos lay scattered across the floor, their smiling faces grotesque in their ruin. The sofa, once a place of comfort, was stained wi

where I had laid, bleeding, after I lost everything. After I lost our baby. After I

was a mask of shock, his eyes darting from the shredded

manager," I said, my voice cold and st

s of this place, this past. But his hand shot out, grabbing my ar

ent sent a jolt of pain up my arm, but it was nothing compared to the elect

istance between us as possible. My heart hammered a

ill suspended in the air. "Ell

oice sharp, final.

didn't wait for his reply, didn't look back. I just fled. Down the stairs, not daring to use the el

lly reached my actual home, the lights were off. My parents and Barton, my

mother, her hair still disheveled fro

d, her voice soft with relief

rying to sound normal, tho

ce. She simply walked to the stove, a small pot on the bu

ay of the shower, I scrubbed away the lingering scent of that old apartment, that old life. But the scars on my wri

the apartment, the quiet hum of the refrigerator, the dista

knock echoed through the

ront

rooms, drawn by the unexpected noise. My mother, eyes wide with alarm, clung t

lowly opene

suit was still perfect, his expression unreadable, a cool, calculating mask. He looked

voice calm, almost cord

en and kind, contorted into a ma