“Hey, are you free?” I texted, my fingers trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. Within seconds, my phone buzzed with a response. “On my way,” it read, succinct but reassuring.
Just as I was about to retreat further into the shadows of the grand estate, I heard a commotion at the entrance. It seemed my text had set off a chain of events faster than I could have anticipated. The room’s elegant chatter halted abruptly, and I turned to see the silhouette of a tall, confident figure filling the doorway.
It was Ethan, my husband. He was a man whose wealth and influence far surpassed the shallow grandeur of this family. But we had chosen to keep our relationship private, enjoying our quiet life away from the prying eyes and judgmental stares that often came with his status.
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