Love's Cruel Contract, His Endless Regret

Not with a bullet, but with a tex

" My first thought was our sixteen-year-old son, Marco. But an anonymous online forum quickly pointed out the holes in my theory-

same brand I'd found in our son's room months ago. It wa

about my "episodes" and mocked me for being boring. Marco even told his fa

the walls of my own home, destr

la-is next week. It's the perfect stage. He thinks I'll be the supportive wife on his arm, but he'

pte

ssa

Not with a bullet, but with a tex

marble countertops of our sprawling, silent kitchen. It was my job to maintain this silen

, likely scrolling through h

er for a charity luncheon the next day. A green bubble popped up on the screen

op thinking about that hotel roo

age wasn

Marco. He was sixteen, the heir to this brutal empire, and a lia

ocating. I sank onto a barstool, m

nzo. I couldn't go to

men who lived "The Life." Anonymously, I typed out a vague version of the truth, framing it as a

, a mix of sympathy an

e: Why do you ass

ngers trembling. My husband was a pillar of

owe me round two" sounds transaction

-old even book a suite at The Ath

spending limit that wouldn't cover a bottle of their cheapest champagne, le

ent appeared, si

e another man

mpossible, treasonous thought. He was my

putation only, LegalEagle88, a Consigliere from an

in their 40s for performance enhancers.

my bones. Lorenz

s voice, deep and confident, boomed t

it with a broad smile. He held a box of expensi

sweetheart. Ev

t felt like cracking

my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. "I

e. I'm glad you're home." I pulled away gently, be

y. I was left alone with his briefcase. I needed to unpack for him, to

ushed against the front pocket, closing around a small, foi

s laundry basket months ago. I'd dismissed it then as ty

he wrapper clutched in my fist. The truth hit me li

rco. It was

s Lor

rivate message. It w

. My advice to you is this: Do not confront him. G

ed, replaced by a glacial calm. The

a single, b

l me