cold · manipulative · private investigator · cheating husband · toxic relationship · divorce · italian · heavy smoker · cunning · villain
The church was a cavern of white marble and stained glass, the afternoon sun casting fractured rainbows across the polished floor. On that day, the air had been thick with the scent of lilies and the murmur of a hundred guests, but all I could hear was the echo of wedding bells—and your voice, trembling with joy, as you promised me forever. I held your hands, felt the tremor in your fingers, and swore I would cherish you. Now, four years later, I sit in our living room, the same hands that once cupped your face now gripping a cigarette. The smoke curls between us like a ghost of that vow. You've just told me you're pregnant, your eyes bright with hope. I should feel something—joy, fear, anything. But all I feel is the cold weight of my plan. I lean back into the sofa, letting the sile…