Stillwater Departure

"You’re late again." The words left my mouth before I could soften them. Not accusing, not yet—but sharper than I'd meant. Ferdinand froze in the doorway, one hand still on the keys dangling from the lock. His coat hung awkwardly on his frame, the collar askew, like he’d thrown it on in a rush. His smile flickered. “Traffic was a nightmare,” he said, brushing a damp curl from his forehead. “I came straight from the office.” The lie was subtle, expertly delivered. He didn’t know I noticed how his shoes were dry—bone dry—on a rainy day. I turned back to the stove, stirring the sauce so fiercely it splattered red across the tile. “I made your favorite. Marinara with the San Marzanos you like.” Behind me, the sound of him setting his keys in the ceramic dish. The clink was louder than usual. "You didn’t have to do all this," he said. I always do, I wanted to say. Every year, every Friday, every time you forget the little things, I’m here making up the difference. But I only smiled, the tight-lipped kind that didn't reach my eyes. He crossed the kitchen, wrapped his arms around me. His touch was warm but weightless, as if he were already halfway somewhere else. “You’re tense,” he murmured, pressing his lips to my temple. "You’re checking your phone a lot tonight." I kept my tone easy, like I hadn’t counted. Three times in five minutes. "Collins is blowing up the group thread again. The man's a lunatic before presentations." He laughed—too loud, too forced. His hand slid from my waist to my hip, fingers tapping out a jittery rhythm. He kissed my cheek. It landed flat. “We still good for tomorrow?” I asked, ladling sauce over steaming pasta. “Maison, seven o’clock.” “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He smiled too hard, too fast. The kind of smile that says look at me, not look at us. "Alright. I'm gonna shower before dinner," he added quickly, grabbing his phone again on the way out. The bathroom door shut with a muffled click. I set down the spoon and leaned heavily against the counter, my breath catching. For a second, the only sound was the soft bubble of the sauce on the stove and the distant hiss of water from the pipes. It’s fine, I told myself. He’s planning something. That’s all. He’s distracted because he’s organizing some surprise. That’s what this is. But then the scent hit me again—perfume. Not mine. Subtle, floral, unfamiliar. And far too expensive for someone who “just worked late.” I stared at the closed bathroom door. He’s hiding something. And worse, he thinks I’m too naïve to see it.

Chapters

Chapter 2

The evening arrived with a weight I couldn't name. I stood before our bedroom mirror, fastening pearl earrings—my grandmother's, the ones I'd worn on our wedding day. My hands trembled slightly, betraying the calm I was desperate to project.

Ferdinand appeared behind me, his reflection joining mine. He was handsome in his tailored suit, his hair perfectly styled—the man I had chosen to build my life with. The man who had kissed another woman two days ago.

"Close your eyes," he said, his voice warm with excitement. "I have something for you."

I obeyed, feeling his presence shift behind me. Something cool slid against my wrist.

"Happy anniversary, darling."

I opened my eyes to find a diamond tennis bracelet catching the light, delicate stones winking up at me. It was beautiful—exactly the kind of gift I would have treasured just days ago.

"Ferdinand..." I breathed, summoning a smile I didn't feel. As he leaned close to secure the clasp, a scent caught my attention—floral, unfamiliar, and distinctly feminine. Not his cologne. Not my perfume.

"Do you like it?" His fingers lingered on my wrist, his eyes searching mine in the mirror.

"It's beautiful," I managed, turning to face him. "Thank you."

He pulled me into an embrace, and I forced myself to return it, wondering if his arms had held Emma with the same pressure, the same pretended devotion.

"We should go," I said, pulling away. "We don't want to lose our reservation."

---

Maison was exactly as I'd remembered from our first anniversary—intimate lighting, hushed conversations, waitstaff that appeared and disappeared like ghosts. We were seated at a corner table, Ferdinand ordering champagne with a flourish.

"To five incredible years," he toasted, his glass meeting mine with a crystalline chime. "And to many more."

I sipped the champagne, letting the bubbles burn down my throat. "Many more," I echoed, the words hollow.

As we studied our menus, Ferdinand's phone buzzed. He glanced down, his expression shifting minutely before he slipped the device beneath the table, thumbs moving rapidly over the screen.

"Work?" I asked, keeping my tone light.

"Just Collins again," he replied, too quickly. "Nothing important."

The waiter arrived to take our orders, providing a momentary reprieve from the tension building between us. When he departed, I took another sip of champagne, steeling myself.

"I was looking at the calendar earlier," I said casually. "You have that Chicago trip coming up next week, right?"

Ferdinand's posture stiffened. "Why are you asking about that now?"

"Just planning my schedule," I replied, watching his reaction carefully. "I thought I might take some time off while you're away. Maybe visit my mother."

"There's nothing definite yet," he said, his tone defensive. "The whole trip might be canceled. Let's not talk about work tonight, okay? This is about us."

Before I could respond, he reached across the table, capturing my hand in his. His thumb traced circles on my palm—a gesture that once made my heart flutter but now felt calculated.

"You look stunning tonight," he said, his voice dropping to that intimate register he used when he wanted to distract me. "Have I told you how lucky I am?"

I smiled mechanically, wondering if he'd used those same words with Emma.

---

The morning after our anniversary, I sorted through the laundry with methodical precision, a task that had always brought me a sense of order. Each garment folded, each pair of socks matched—small victories in a world that suddenly felt beyond my control.

When I reached Ferdinand's suit pants from the night before, I felt something in the pocket. A receipt, creased and folded. I pulled it out, intending to check if it needed to be kept for expenses.

The receipt was from Eloise's Boutique, dated three days earlier. My eyes scanned the items: a silk blouse, a cashmere sweater, both in size small. Too small for me.

I stared at the paper, a strange numbness spreading through my chest. Then, with deliberate care, I refolded it and slipped it back into his pocket, exactly as I'd found it.

For the next three hours, I sat at our home computer, methodically searching through Eloise's online catalog, identifying the exact items Ferdinand had purchased. I found the blouse—emerald green with pearl buttons—and the sweater—cream-colored with a cowl neck. I pictured them on Emma's slender frame, imagined Ferdinand selecting them with care, perhaps with her at his side.

The image burned into my mind: Ferdinand standing in that boutique, choosing gifts for another woman while I planned our anniversary dinner.

Something inside me hardened, like molten metal cooling into a blade's edge.

I wasn't going to break. Not yet. First, I needed to know exactly what I was facing.

Continue to next part

The champagne bubbles caught the light from the crystal chandeliers as Paxton's voice boomed across the opulent ballroom. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight marks not just Burke Industries' triumphant IPO, but a celebration of true artistry!" I stood at the edge of the crowd, my fingers nervously smoothing the silk of my emerald dress—a dress Paxton had chosen, like everything else in my carefully curated life. The auction podium gleamed under the spotlights, and my heart hammered as I watched him stride toward it with the confidence of a man who owned the world. "We have here Sebastian Moreau's masterpiece, 'Dawn,'" the auctioneer announced, gesturing to the breathtaking canvas that seemed to glow with its own inner light. The painting depicted the first rays of sunrise breaking through storm clouds, each brushstroke alive with hope and renewal. "Bidding starts at two million." Paxton's hand shot up immediately. "Three million." Murmurs rippled through the crowd of Manhattan's elite. I recognized faces from magazine covers, art collectors whose names graced museum wings, socialites whose approval could make or break careers. They all watched with fascination as Paxton continued his relentless bidding. "Four million," came a counter-bid from somewhere behind me.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.0

Her Sugar Boy Was A Rival

8.0

Aurelia Blackwood rules her world with precision. As the formidable CEO of Blackwood Global, she believes power is safest when it is controlled, emotions negotiated, and attachments temporary. Love has no place in her life-only desire, on her terms. So when a quiet, attentive man slips into her orbit after a chance encounter, she doesn't resist. He becomes her indulgence. Her secret. Her sugar boy. He is everything she allows herself to want-present when summoned, patient, observant, willing to give without demanding permanence. With Aurelia, he learns her rhythms, her silences, her need for dominance and certainty. She keeps him close but contained, convinced she holds every string. What Aurelia doesn't realize is that he was never accidental. As months pass, control blurs into attachment. She starts looking for him when she's tired. Trusting him with fragments of herself she never intended to share. Falling-slowly, unwillingly-for the one man who never tried to own her. Then the truth fractures everything. He is not just a man with ambition. He is not just someone else's partner. He is tied to her greatest corporate rival-and he has been gathering information from the inside, feeding secrets that could dismantle the empire she built with blood, discipline, and sacrifice. Betrayal cuts deeper when it wears the face of devotion. Now Aurelia stands at a crossroads she never prepared for. Expose him and destroy the man who made her feel seen-or protect him and risk losing everything she's ever fought for. Revenge promises safety. Love promises ruin.

Modern Mystery Romance

9.2

Love Rejected by Brother

9.2

I was adopted by the Nelson family, yet I fell in love with my brother. Each time I confessed my feelings to him, he'd show up with a new girlfriend. On my twentieth birthday, I decided to make one last attempt. The setting I'd carefully arranged for my confession turned into the scene of his proposal. I watched as my brother kissed Nalani Ward and asked her to marry him. She nodded with tears in her eyes and a blush on her cheeks, and that’s when I knew it was time to move on. --- That evening at the birthday party, I presented a cake and declared my feelings to Jaxton for the twelfth time. The cake had both our names on it, with a card wishing, "Elyse wants to be with Jaxton forever." The room burst into applause, almost like crashing waves. Friends egged me on, and I decided to make a bold move. "Brother, will you finally say yes?" I held my breath, waiting for Jaxton's answer, only to see him lazily look up and meet my eyes.

Modern Romance Young Adult

9.8

My Fiancé Abandoned Me for Her Calling

9.8

Art-curator Ivy’s wedding to shipping heir Jonah is hijacked by his “savior” Lily, who phones him 217 times, fakes PTSD, and uses a non-existent therapist to summon him nightly. Ivy discovers Lily has secretly forwarded every private text between the couple for weeks and cancels the bridal shower with a suicide threat, sending Jonah racing across the sea. With proof that “Dr. Jessica Evans” does not exist, Ivy realizes the trauma is fiction and Lily has already won.

Modern Mystery Romance

8.1

OPERATION DIVORCE ME, MR BILLIONAIRE!

8.1

“Sign it“Ivory snarled. “Why?“ Axel asked. “Because we had a deal!“ *** Ivory Micheal got into a contract marriage with Axel Muller, a billionaire CEO for a good cause. Because she needed money. The terms of the contract was simple; A year together then a divorce. But exactly one year later when she slams the divorce papers in Axel's desk, the latter refuses to divorce her claiming he was in love with her and the only way to get those divorce papers signed was to get him to fall out of love with her. A challenge Ivory took personal. Would she succeed? Find out in-between these pages!

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.2

Reclaiming Her Crown: The CEO's Sudden Bride

7.2

Stepping out of the women's correctional center, Karli took her first breath of freedom in three years. But the luxury SUV waiting for her didn't bring her home. Instead, her adoptive parents tossed a prenuptial agreement onto her lap. They demanded she marry a violently unhinged, disfigured man so their company could secure a massive commercial deal. When she refused, her adoptive mother slapped her hard across the face. The blow brought back the suffocating nightmare from three years ago—how they had drugged her, framed her for a crime she didn't commit, and sent her to prison just so her stepsister could steal her fiancé. Now, to break her again, her adoptive father ordered his bodyguards to drag her into the estate's freezing, pitch-black basement. "You can rot in the dark without food or water until you sign that paper!" Sitting on the damp cement, bleeding and shivering, a white-hot fury burned away Karli's panic. They had stolen her youth, her reputation, and her grandfather's inheritance. She would rather die than be their sacrificial lamb again. She smashed the basement window with a hammer, dragged her bleeding body through the shattered glass, and sprinted blindly into the stormy night. Under the flickering neon sign of a convenience store, she grabbed the sleeve of a terrifyingly cold stranger. "Are you single? Marry me right now." She just needed a legal marriage to escape her family, entirely unaware she had just proposed to the most ruthless billionaire in Chicago.

Billionaire Modern Romance

Stillwater Departure

Chapter 2

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