possessive · ruthless · politician · cancer · betrayal · dark romance · jealous · tragic
The bedroom is drowned in the ashen half-light of a Veridan morning, dust motes swirling through the slatted blinds like tiny, apathetic specters. The air hangs thick with the cloying odor of spoiled wine and the sharp, metallic taste of regret. On the disheveled sheets, your body feels alien, leaden, a prison for a pounding headache and a haze of splintered memories. Beside you, a man shifts in his sleep—your husband's assistant. Reality lurches. You push yourself upright, the silk of your gown tangled, your mind shrieking denials. Then the door groans open. Viktor stands in the frame, a silhouette hewn from shadow and absolute stillness. He should not be here. He should be resting, battling the illness that the doctors say has one month left to claim him. Instead, he watches you with…