air was the same, the lighting was the same, but the woman on the couch was a stranger. Olivia l

" she asked, her voice d

ash in his mouth. He managed a smile of his own, a hollow imit

o her. "Come sit. Let's fi

violation. For the next hour, he feigned interest, nodding and agreeing to songs

p and walked to the small display case in the living room. Inside, on a velvet stand, was the custom-made chef's knife he had planned to give

his knife was supposed to symbolize their shared passion, the s

d, real. He walked into his kitchen, the space that had always been his sanctuary. Now it

the knife high above his head and br

ss the floor. He yanked the ruined blade from the block and slammed it down again, and again, and again. Each strike was a release, a primal scream of fury

The beautiful knife was a mangled piece of metal, the butcher block a s

he left for work, and discussed floral arrangements with her over dinner. He played the part of the happy groom-to-be so perfectly that she had no

structive impulse, made him look. A group chat was open. The participants were "Olivia," "Scarlett," and "Leo." He knew

art pounding a sick rh

ool still wrapped

r. He's planning our hon

hen he realizes you're not coming down the aisle.

videographer just for that. W

ave my turn with him. He'

friends. They were all in on it, eagerly awaiting his public destruction. The casual cruelty of their words, the way the

longer a wild fire. It was a focused, icy point of energy. His pain was a constant, dull ache, a remind

pensive dress, a triumphant smile on her face, waiting for her victim t

one they were expecting. He would not be the o

for the day before the wedding. He then started a new email, the recipient line addressed to t