His Wife, His Enemy

There was something about birthdays that made Arabella Quinn feel sick. Not just a little queasy or awkward feeling like what if Im not celebrated. No, it was a deep felt anger and self constricting type of pain. The kind of sick that made her hands tremble when she saw balloons or flinched at the sound of party poppers. It had been six years since her sixteenth birthday. And she remembered every second of it like it had just happened. The music had been loud-too loud, actually. Pop songs blaring through expensive speakers her dad had installed for the occasion.

The ballroom had been filled with roses, champagne fountains (none for her, obviously), and a literal ice sculpture of her initials. A princess-themed sweet sixteen, because apparently Arabella had once told her mom she loved Cinderella-when she was ten. Her mom had run with that. "Smile, baby! Look at all this for you," her mother had said, cupping Arabella's cheeks, dressed in a floor-length silver gown that sparkled with every step she took. Arabella had smiled. But she hadn't meant it. She doesn't like the big puffy dress she was in. It made her look like a baby.But she never knew that was the last time she would ever see her mom smile back. She was standing under a chandelier the size of a Mini Cooper, pretending to listen to a classmate talk about TikTok trends when it happened. A scream. Short. Sharp. Followed by a sound she would never forget. Bang. Just like that, the music died. Everyone turned. Her mother had collapsed in the middle of the dance floor, blood soaking the sequins of her silver dress. There was silence-like the entire party was holding its breath. Then came the second shot. Her father didn't scream, he just groaned in pain and fell. Arabella's mouth opened, but no sound came out. She couldn't move, Couldn't breathe. That's when she felt an arm grab her waist and shove her backward. Her brother-Ramon. Nineteen. Protective. Annoying. Everything a big brother should be. He threw her behind him and screamed, "Run!" Arabella didn't and legs became stiff all of a sudden. The guy in black turned toward them. He had a mask, but his eyes... oh God, his eyes. One sea-blue. The other emerald green. As if he were made of both ocean and forest-hauntingly unforgettable. Bang. Bang. Bang. She counted six shots. Each one punching into Ramon's body like thunder. He didn't scream either. Just crumpled to the floor in front of her, eyes still open, blood leaking from his mouth but still he muttered, "Run Bella, Run" Then the man looked at her, directly at her. His gun was raised, his mismatched eyes fixed on hers. She stared back. And he ran. Just like that. Like none of it mattered. Like her life wasn't just shattered in under a minute. Arabella dropped to her knees, screaming, clutching her brother's body like she could piece him back together if she just tried hard enough. No one helped. Everyone was gone-vanished, vanished into luxury cars and fake concern. That was the night Arabella Quinn stopped believing in fairy tales or happily ever afters. PRESENT DAY Arabella sat cross-legged on the worn couch of her and Allison's tiny apartment in Queens, a bowl of soggy cereal on her lap and Netflix asking if she was still watching. She wasn't. Her eyes were distant, her spoon frozen midair, milk dripping onto her sweatpants. "Let me guess," Allison called from the kitchen. "You're watching The Crown and thinking about that damn party again?" Arabella blinked. "What gave it away?" "The tears, babe. And the fact that you only eat cereal when you're spiraling." Arabella managed a weak smile. "It's a good cereal." "It's fruit flakes without the fruit. Literally just flakes." She didn't respond. Allison came into the room, her red hair tied up in a messy bun, holding two mugs of instant coffee that tasted like battery acid but worked miracles. "Here," she said, handing one over. "Drink and pretend you're functional. We've got bills." "Yay," Arabella said flatly. "Adulting is so fun." Allison plopped beside her, tugging a blanket over their legs. "Hey. It's been six years." Arabella didn't move. "I know," Allison continued, softer now. "I know it still hurts. But you survived. You survived, Arabella. Not everyone gets to say that." "I didn't want to survive," Arabella whispered. "Not like this." The room fell quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional honk from the street below. "Do you want to talk about it?" Allison asked. Arabella shook her head. Talking didn't fix things. It didn't bring back her parents. Or Ramon. Or the feeling of safety. "I just..." She trailed off, staring down at her hands. "I feel like I'm waiting for something, you know? Like my life paused that night and I've just been stuck ever since." Allison nodded. "Then maybe it's time to hit play again." Arabella snorted. "With what money?" "Oh, I don't know," Allison said with a grin. "How about a glamorous career in professional toilet scrubbing?" Arabella rolled her eyes. "You're talking about X Enterprises again, aren't you?" "Come on, you said you wanted a fresh start. What better place than one of the most elite companies in the city? I work there. I could get you in. Janitorial crew is understaffed." "Cleaning rich people's messes. Sounds like a dream." Allison nudged her. "It's better than this." Arabella looked around their tiny apartment. Paint peeling. Sink dripping. Neighbors fighting upstairs again. Yeah. It was better than this. "Okay," she said finally. "I'll do it. But if your boss is some creepy, sweaty old man, I'm quitting on the spot." Allison grinned. "Oh, he's definitely not old." Arabella raised a brow. "That's a weird way to put it." "You'll see," Allison said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Just... try not to fall in love with him, alright?" Arabella laughed. "As if. I don't fall in love. I fall in trouble." They both laughed out loud, although Arabella's weren't entirely genuine