C12 Hunted by the wrongs

Rain tapped steadily against the French windows, cascading down in silvery trails that mirrored the silent tears slipping from Mrs. Dary’s eyes.

She stood there, arms wrapped tightly around herself, as though the simple act of holding her body together could somehow hold her shattering heart intact. The storm outside seemed to echo the one raging within her, each raindrop a soft drumbeat of sorrow against the glass.

Her vision blurred, the room around her dissolving into a haze as her chest tightened with grief and regret. She lifted her trembling hands to her face, attempting to wipe the tears that clung stubbornly to her lashes and cheeks.

But the tears would not be denied. They adhered to her skin, relentless, a persistent reminder of the burden she had silently carried for decades.

She turned slowly, reluctantly, toward the bedroom. Her husband lay on the bed, fast asleep, entirely unaware of the storm consuming her. He looked peaceful, oblivious, almost innocent in his slumber.

And yet, that very serenity inflicted another jagged pain upon her heart. She took a tentative step forward, her knees quivering beneath her nightgown, clutching the edge of the window frame for support.

Her mind, cruel and unrelenting, replayed her past like a series of haunting vignettes. Every betrayal, every misjudgment, every quiet moment of selfishness…it all came rushing back with merciless clarity. She could almost hear the echoes of her own missteps, taunting her in a language only her conscience could understand.

“How did we get here? “she whispered to herself, the words barely audible over the patter of the rain.

Her heart clenched violently, pain radiating outward as she pressed her hand to her chest in a futile attempt to quiet the sob threatening to escape.

She could not disturb him. She could not inflict her turmoil upon someone who had already suffered too much on her account. No matter how often she tried to suppress these memories, they clawed their way to the surface, vivid and merciless, a constant reminder that she could never undo what had been done.

“This pain…” she whispered again, voice quivering, “…it has become part of me.”

She sank to the floor, knees meeting the plush carpet with a dull, heavy thud. The room was silent except for the soft patter of rain outside, and the steady rhythm of her ragged breathing. Her tears flowed freely now, sliding down her cheeks like molten glass as she leaned against the wall.

“I’m tired,” she choked out, voice barely more than a whisper. “So… tired.”

Her breath hitched, sharp and uneven. “Please… forgive me. I wronged you… I wronged everyone…” The words cracked in her throat and vanished, swallowed by the oppressive weight of shame that had long been her constant companion. She could not bring herself to confess aloud the full extent of her deeds. The guilt was too deep, the mistakes too numerous, the consequences too severe.

Mrs. Dary closed her eyes, pressing her face into her palms. She wondered if she would ever escape the shadow of her past, or if she was doomed to carry it like a millstone around her neck until her very last breath. The darkness of her regret seemed impenetrable, an endless night with no promise of dawn.

She recalled the first time she had felt the ripple of her actions spreading outward, touching lives in ways she could not undo. The betrayal, the small lies, the omissions…all had compounded into a weight she carried alone. And now, watching her husband sleep, she felt the bitter truth: her suffering was nothing compared to the silent sacrifices he had made for her.

⸻

Victor’s Apartment — Later That Evening

The city lights shimmered faintly through the tall apartment windows, reflecting against the polished wooden floors. Victor barely noticed them. He was pacing across the room, phone pressed to his ear, a carefully crafted smile on his face that did not quite reach his calculating eyes.

“Come on, Bianca,” he said in a tone smooth enough to mask the storm beneath. “You know everything I’m doing is for you… for our future. I love you. You’re the only one I want. Always you.”

He paused, listening intently to the faint voice on the other end of the line. His lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Vivian? She’s… essential, yes, but she’s just a necessary piece of the puzzle. You understand, right? She’s the key to everything. To our life, our escape, our freedom.”

Victor’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction. The thrill of manipulation…the art of pulling the strings in someone else’s life without them realizing…was a drug he never wished to give up. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll come over tonight. Make the bed ready, everything… and wear the red lingerie. You know the one. I love that one.”

He hung up with a self-satisfied grin, until a voice cut through the apartment like a sudden thunderclap.

“Who are you talking to?”

Victor spun around, nearly dropping his phone. Vivian stood in the doorway, framed by the dim light, her expression calm but piercing. His heart lurched. She was not supposed to be home yet.

Panic clawed at him, and his hands began to sweat. Years of careful planning, intricate deception, subtle lies, all balanced on a knife’s edge…were they about to collapse in a single instant?

“U-urm… Vi… um…” he stammered, scrambling for a plausible explanation.

Vivian’s brow furrowed slightly, not in anger but in curiosity. “Hey, Victor. Are you okay? Why are you shaking like that?”

He blinked rapidly, trying to summon the practiced charm that had carried him through every delicate situation before. “Why… did you ask who I was speaking with?” he managed, careful to sound neutral.

But she did not snap or accuse. She stepped closer, calm and collected. “I just wanted to know if the call was urgent. I need to show you something.”

Victor exhaled slowly, relief flooding through him. “Thank God,” he muttered under his breath.

“You seem off,” Vivian said, tilting her head slightly, her gaze probing yet gentle. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He forced a smile, though the edges trembled slightly. “Perfectly fine, honey. What did you want to show me?”

Vivian returned his smile, reassured by his apparent ease. “It’s about our wedding plans. I’ve almost finished organizing everything…we just need to finalize our outfits.” She moved to the bed and opened her laptop, pulling up carefully curated documents, images, and spreadsheets.

Victor followed her, sitting beside her, keeping his expression casual while his mind raced. “Alright… but you know I’m terrible at picking women’s outfits,” he said lightly.

“You’re not picking mine,” Vivian replied sweetly. “You’re picking yours. I’ve already sorted mine.”

He leaned closer, scanning the screen with feigned interest. As he browsed, his expression shifted from casual curiosity to disbelief, his brows knitting together, lips tightening.

“Is everything okay?” Vivian asked, noticing the subtle tension creeping across his face.

He turned the laptop toward her, frustration flashing for just a moment. “What is this?”

“Oh, that?” she replied with innocent nonchalance. “That’s just half the wedding bill.”

Victor’s eyes widened, disbelief giving way to panic. “Half of the bill? Vivian, are you out of your mind?”

Vivian’s calm demeanor remained unwavering. “Victor, this is my money. Why are you acting like this?”

“I know it’s your money, but twenty million dollars as half of the bill? Who spends forty million on a wedding?” His voice rose slightly, then he forced it back under control.

Vivian’s gaze hardened, icy and composed. “Victor,” she said evenly, “I am the daughter of one of the richest men in the country. My wedding should reflect my status. You know that.”

Victor realized that pressing the matter further would be catastrophic. He needed to act, to contain the situation before her suspicion deepened.

Softening his demeanor instantly, he leaned closer. “Baby…” His voice dropped, gentle, tender, persuasive. He kissed her forehead, his hands brushing lightly against her arm, every movement precise.

Vivian hesitated, sensing something off but allowing herself to relax slightly, trusting the man she loved. Maybe he’s just stressed, she thought. Maybe he just needed reassurance.

“I love you,” he whispered into her ear, voice a soft caress. “You’re the only woman I want… my first love… my joy… the one who never judged me.” He tilted her face to meet his eyes, forcing her gaze to lock with his. “Vivian Dary, mother of my future children… the woman I see forever with.”

His hands wandered with the confidence of someone who had done this many times, reading her subtle hesitations and matching them with practiced intimacy.

Vivian’s eyes narrowed, sensing the slight dissonance. Her body trembled, not from desire, but from the conflict between love and unease.

“So this… all of this… was to manipulate me?” she asked quietly, voice a mixture of hurt and accusation.

Victor dropped to his knees, clasping her hands, pleading. “No! Baby, no. That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Please, listen,” he said, voice a careful blend of vulnerability and charm. “I get it now. I should’ve been more involved. But… maybe we don’t need something so extravagant. A simple court wedding, a beautiful life, raising our children in peace… without the glare, the attention, the pomp. Don’t you see?”

Tears welled in his eyes, well-placed, perfectly timed. A masterful performance.

Vivian studied him, torn. She wanted to believe him, wanted to trust him completely. But a shadow of doubt lingered, whispering that not everything was as it seemed.

Finally, after a long pause, she exhaled and spoke. “Get up, babe. I understand. I should have asked for your thoughts first. I’m sorry.”

She hugged him tightly, warmth and trust enveloping him, a nearly overwhelming validation of his manipulation. “We’ll have a court wedding. But on one condition.”

Victor’s pulse quickened. “What condition?”

“Everything will be filmed and posted,” she said firmly, unwavering. “Every step of the way. I want everyone to see how beautiful our love is.”

Victor felt nausea rising but forced a smile, maintaining his mask of charm. If this was the only way to keep her from scrutinizing the money he’d siphoned, he would endure it.

“Of course, my darling,” he said, kissing her forehead once again, the act both tender and calculated. “If you say so.”