“Fine. Just don’t let him touch you, or I’ll cut off his hands and feet.”

Millie rolled her eyes and said, “I’ve heard you. I’ll keep a distance from him.”

As the evening skies relinquished their hold on rain, Marcus defied the ambiance of Villa Imperiale, stepping out into the world beyond.

Shera, stationed at the threshold, observed his retreat with a tinge of disappointment, her gaze tracing the silhouette of his departure.

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She had nurtured hopes of Marcus lingering this day, thus having already orchestrated culinary preparations and an evening feast awaiting her culinary finesse.

From the shadows, Celeste emerged, draped in melancholy.

entirely annexed

hand sought the doorframe, fingers intertwining

my heart gravitates toward him. Fate introduced us initially.

Shera. Shedding the apron, she passed it on to a servant. Farewells were

the villa’s embrace, a silver automobile had staked its claim by the

pulsating rhythm, the car coaxed Shera to shield her eyes, compelled by reflex, before she ventured closer,

you grace this

in every glance as she wrenched open the car door. The Thomas

worry.

solace brushed against her, though the chambers of her voice remained locked. In the span of her return, Marcus had woven threads of distance between them, a tapestry far sparser than her hopeful

a rhythm on the steering wheel-an orchestrated

encounter unfold

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