During the funeral, a raven landed on the girl’s coffin. A second later, everyone present went SPEAK…

“Please…” Emily backed up, bumping into the desk. “I have nothing with your husband. I’m just an employee.”

“An employee, huh?” Abigail’s eyes glinted. “What kind of employee stays late in his office after hours? Part of your job description now?”

“That’s not true!” Emily’s voice cracked, her outburst betraying her fear. “Don’t you dare raise your voice at me, girl,” Abigail’s tone turned icy. “If I find out you’re still seeing him, I’ll destroy you. Understood?”

Each word hit like a bullet. Emily froze, unable to respond. Her breath grew heavy, her heart pounding.

“Understood?” Abigail repeated, her stare unrelenting. “Yes,” Emily whispered, cold sweat trickling down her spine.

Abigail’s lips curled into a smile that promised nothing good. “Good.” She turned and strode toward the door without looking back. “I’ll be watching you. Remember that.” The sound of her heels faded as the door closed.

Silence enveloped the office. Emily collapsed into her chair, covering her face with her hands. Her body trembled, her thoughts racing like startled birds. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but panic and dread swelled within her. “Damn it, damn it, damn it,” she whispered, burying her face in her hands.

She sank deeper into her chair, her legs too weak to hold her. Her temples throbbed, her throat tight as if a noose had tightened around it. The encounter felt like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from. “She came here. She stood in my office. She threatened me…” Her breathing grew ragged, her chest heaving. She fumbled with the top button of her blouse, desperate for air, but it didn’t help.

“Calm down. Everything’s fine. You’ve got this,” she whispered, trying to quell the panic. But it was a lie. Nothing was under control.

“He’s married…” The realization tore through her. Her Michael, the man she thought was her salvation, was married. The pain of betrayal spread through her like poison, tainting every thought.

Then, another knock at the door. Emily froze, her eyes darting to the entrance. “Who’s there?” she asked, her voice hoarse, as she straightened in her chair.

The door creaked open, and there he was—Michael. His confident stride, slightly raised chin, and easy expression were painfully familiar. His tailored suit, perfectly pressed, exuded status and self-assurance. “Emily, you okay?” He looked at her with mild concern, then, without waiting for an answer, walked to the water cooler and poured a glass. “Here, drink this.”..