Falling at Her Feet

After surviving a harrowing accident, the protagonist of Falling at Her Feet notices a disturbing change in Zachary Quinn. He becomes fixated on a local massage parlor, praising its services and amenities while ignoring her deep-seated trauma regarding such establishments. Though he claims to use the space for work and relaxation, his enthusiasm masks a darker reality. As the mystery deepens, she discovers that Zachary has fundamentally changed, hiding secrets that threaten their relationship.

Chapters

Chapter 2

I completely lost my appetite. After forcing down a couple of bites, I limped back to bed and curled up under the covers, hoping to sleep.

Zachary didn't notice anything was off. Just like always, he scooted close and tucked his head into the curve of my neck. His stubble grazed my skin, sending an uncomfortable prickling sensation down my spine.

He rubbed his hands together to warm them before holding my hands under the blanket.

He always paid attention to these little details—so much so that he made me believe that we had always loved each other this deeply.

But only I knew the truth. There was already an insurmountable wall between us.

He pressed his forehead lightly against mine while gently rubbing my calf. "Is your leg hurting again? Just rest, okay? Get some sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up."

I kept my expression blank with my lips pressed into a tight line, refusing to say a word.

Zachary didn't notice anything strange. He just kissed my forehead, grabbed his jacket, and stood up.

"I've got work," he said. "Need to head out for a bit. Be good and wait for me, alright?"

An uncontrollable tremor ran through me as my chest tightened with a sharp sting of something I couldn't quite name.

I bit down hard on my lip to swallow the lump in my throat. "Work? On a Sunday?"

For a brief second, his face stiffened, but then he quickly smoothed it over, answering in that same patient tone. "Yeah. This project is important. The client's priority comes first, so I have to work around their schedule."

My nails dug into my palm, leaving behind deep, crescent-shaped indents. I forced a smile and nodded approvingly. "Alright. Go, then."

Before I could say anything else, the door clicked shut behind him.

He was… in such a hurry, as if staying even a second longer and listening to me might make a difference.

He didn't even pause to wonder why I was so understanding today—when, in the past, I never let him get away with working on weekends.

How ridiculous. We spent nine, almost ten years together—since we were 17 and till now, 27.

And in the end, he still cheated on me with a woman from a massage parlor.

Continue to next part