✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
[ 𝐒𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋 1 ]
Because this is where love fades and hate resides and intensifies, broken hearts produce the most tragic stories.
Their treachery is told through their bleeding hearts: their unrequited love was never reciprocated. The...
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The world, in my opinion, was a series of meticulously planned moves. Chaos was an anomaly, an unacceptable variable that had to be contained and eliminated. I lived in a world of controlled environments and predictable outcomes. My office, a monolithic glass and steel testament to my success, was the center of that world.
I was working on the final blueprints for my new collection, a line of avant-garde clothing meant to redefine modern aesthetics. Every line, every curve, every choice of fabric was a calculated decision. It was a world of beauty and control. It was my world. The clock on my wall showed it was past eleven, and the silence of the office was broken only by the soft click of my mouse and the low hum of the air conditioning.
My phone, a sleek, black rectangle on my desk, buzzed with an incoming call from an unknown number. I ignored it. I did not entertain unknowns. But it buzzed again, a persistent, irritating vibration. With a sigh of annoyance, I picked it up, my thumb hovering over the decline button. Something, a faint, almost imperceptible whisper of intuition, made me answer.
"Hello?" My voice was clipped, a question and a dismissal all at once.
A familiar, saccharine voice answered from the other end. "Hello, babe. Weren't you going to pick up? I thought you were busy entertaining your new girlfriend." The voice belonged to Shanaya. My past, a memory I had meticulously erased, had just called me.
I felt a surge of pure, unadulterated annoyance. Shanaya was a chapter I had closed, a mistake I had learned from. She was a woman who was obsessed with me. I had ended our brief relationship as I did all my relationships, with a cold, ruthless efficiency. She had not taken it well. Her presence on the other end of the line was not a surprise, but an irritation.
"Shanaya," I said, my voice as cold and flat as the marble on my desk. "Don't you have a life to live? I don't have time for this."
"Oh, but you must have time for me," she purred, the sweetness of her voice a lie. "I'm calling about your little doctor. The one you're going to marry. Tell me, did you call her to see if she reached home safely after your little coffee date?"
