Seven Years Of Marriage Ended By My Fake Funeral
Language: en
The third Valentine’s Day since Killian and I separated. I found him in the downtown piazza, lighting a spectacular burst of fireworks for his mistress. Our eyes met across the crowd, and for a fleeting, agonizing second, the world fell silent. Jules, my childhood friend, pulled me close. He pressed a freshly purchased hot latte into my hand and steered me through the throng, his arm a solid, grounding weight around my waist. That night, well after midnight, I heard the faint snick of the lock turning. I didn't have time to react. Killian Thorne was in the room. He slammed the door,…