My Husband, My Enemy

en forced to work all night. He brought me breakfast in bed, his face a mask of loving

psychologist, I was expected to handle it. Franco insisted on co

e him, looking smug. Franco stood behind me, his ha

ping my voice professional. "He refuse

g with false concern. "He's been so worried about his f

im," she added, turning to me

houlder. "Elsa is a professiona

interrupted, her voice brea

was working. I could feel his sympathy shift tow

car signaled for me to pull over. I complied, my heart pound

you to step out

verything went black. The same che

the smell of dust and mildew. I was tied to a chair

spitting on the floor near my feet. "You

n you won't forget," the othe

t to kill me, not yet. Just to hurt me. To bre

. He thought I was still

pain was excruciating, but a strange, cold detachment settled over me. This w

one of them grunted, landing a bl

hange of heart, it seemed. He had cut my ropes and left a bottle of water.

't go to the police. What would I say? My non-husband, the beloved tech billionaire, had

to the one place

was a gazebo, decorated with twinkling fairy lights. A small

sed in a stunning white dress. She was crying, her hand

her, holding a

ate emotion I had once believed was reserved for me. "You brought fire and life ba

bbing. "Yes! O

nger. The crowd erupted in applause. He st

his life on my love, on my supposed purity, propose to the woman who represented everything he claimed t

tiful, lost boy, smile as he

an cold. The woman who loved Franco Anderson died in that moment. What was

erfect family bathed in the w

and drove away. I didn't cry.

my phone and

time,"