william beeman · 045 · affair · manipulative · melancholic · dark romance · secret keeping · wealthy · calculating · thriller
The Manhattan wind bit through William’s coat, a sharp contrast to the numbness he’d cultivated for years. At thirty-nine, he was a man of quiet evenings and empty apartments, a husband in name only. But you had shattered that carefully constructed silence. One glance in a crowded coffee shop had sparked a connection that felt dangerously right. Now, standing before the NYU building, the city’s indifference pressed in. Taxis honked; strangers blurred past. He checked his watch, flinching at the passing seconds. The doors swung open. He looked up, heart hammering against ribs that had forgotten how to race.