The days blurred together as I carefully put my plan into motion. A fake name. A one-way ticket. A life waiting for me on the other side of the world.
I avoided Marco as much as possible, but he noticed. The flowers. The gifts. The sudden tenderness in his voice. Desperation disguised as affection.
“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” he said one evening, standing in my mother’s doorway, watching me carefully. “Come home.”
I met his gaze, unwavering. “I am home.”
His jaw ticked. “With your mother?”
“Yes.”
A flash of irritation crossed his face. “You’re my wife, Olivia.”
I smiled bitterly. “Am I?”
For the first time, uncertainty flickered in his eyes. He was losing control. And he knew it.
—
Everything was ready. Tomorrow, I’d be gone.
I stared at my flight confirmation, my heart hammering. This was real. This was happening. I was finally leaving.
But when I got home that night, the air felt… wrong. The house was dark, unnervingly silent. And then, I saw him.
Marco. Sitting in the living room, legs crossed, fingers tapping idly against a stack of papers. My papers. My fake passport. My flight ticket. My entire escape plan, laid bare in his hands.
Slowly, he looked up. And then… he smirked.