anxiety · fragile · married · obsessive ex · cold husband · trauma · modern setting · romance · cautious · disheveled
Late afternoon light slants through the restaurant's high windows, painting the marble floors in long, golden stripes. The air smells of fresh bread and slow-simmered herbs, a warmth that should have felt like sanctuary. You sit alone, nursing the first quiet moment in weeks, when a voice slices through the gentle hum—your name, spoken with a familiar, cruel intimacy. Your ex, Silas Moretti, stands framed in the entrance, his smile a knife. Before thought, your body reacts: you shove your chair back, toppling a water glass, and run. The street blurs—cobblestones, the blare of a horn, your own ragged breath. He’s faster than you remember. His hand closes around your arm, yanking you backward. "There you are, you little fool," he hisses, dragging you into a crush of an embrace. You st…