His Political Lie, My Shattered Love

ce

, placed on my bedside table before I even opened my eyes. I knew what it was without l

cial ingredient. She deserve

pset her delicate constitution. Just enough

mal wave of nausea hittin

tray with coffee and a croissant. "My love, you're awake! Happy

a beautiful, flaky pastry, dusted with powdered sugar. But I

ering, eyes alight with a crue

le," I managed, my voice thin.

our anniversary. I made this especially for you." He picked up the croissant,

mmanding. This wasn't affection; it was a test, a performance for his own twisted amusement. He expect

I chewed, a faint, bitter aftertaste bloomed, subtle yet unmistakable. It was there. The "special

orcing a bright smile. "Yo

me fooled. "I knew you'd love it. I'll just be in my study.

its contents with violent force. The bitter taste, the bile, the shaking. It wasn't just a

er. This wasn't just a little discomfort. This was agony. Did th

ce, then the wail of sirens. White lights, muffled voices. I remember his hand, c

ice distant. "Something you ate, perhaps?

d. "My poor Grace. I

my eyes half-open. Cole was beside my bed, leaning over his ph

bble. "Com

e drama queen?

the works. The doctor thinks it'

don't let it distract from the main objec

rozen shards. This wasn't just about humiliation anymore. The

am, to rage, to tear him limb from limb. But I

ut, pretending to be asleep. He stayed for a while l

all note was on the nightstand. "Had to run

g. He was with them.

s. The love, the hope, the dreams-they were all gone, consumed by the bitter

y lips, a dry, rasping sound. One last tear traced a path down my temple, disapp