The Architect of His Own Downfall

Jense

eart breaking. My movements were sharp, jerky, a stranger operating my own limbs.

re of the charismatic politician. His tie was loosened, h

voice a low, intimate murmur

en my parents died. The man whose ambition I had championed, whose dreams I had

of shock, because his smile faltered

ching for my cheek. I flinched b

lickered in his eyes, a masterfu

seared onto the back of my eyelids, the audio of his cold calculations

ala tonight? I know you hate these things, but it'

d, or not supportive enough of the greater good he was supposedly serving. Gaslight

ged to choke out. The

to his features as if on cue. "No, you' re not. You

p I now found repulsive. In the kitchen, he started pulling out ingredients for my favorite pasta, chatter

h horrifying clarity. His life was a stage, and I was just a

of wine. "A toast? To us. To

my lips was a strangled

"What' s

my features into a mask of neut

gs, easily explained away by fatigue or stress. They were not complex reactions to an e

the ceiling. His phone, which he' d carelessly left on the nigh

contact saved as '

ctures from the jewelry launch. Can' t wait for it to be mine f

ch party I' d attended last week. In the photo, I was wearing the engagement ring Carter h

ly heirloom. A heavy, antique gold ring meant for the wife of the eldest Hart son. Carter had told me

he hand of a socialite at a party. No, wait. I zoomed in. Corinne'

er woman. He had given her my place. He had given her the ring that

ling, wearing the pretty, meaningless