Arminda POV
I had become a ghost in my own life, a silent specter haunting the hallways of a penthouse that was once my sanctuary.
For three days, I remained invisible.
I watched them.
I watched Charly run her hands over things she didn’t understand. I watched her drag the furniture across the floor, moving the heavy leather armchairs to face the window because "the lighting was better for selfies."
I watched Coleton let her.
He was unrecognizable. The paranoid, razor-sharp Don I knew had been replaced by a man desperate to please a woman who treated him like a shiny accessory. He was trying to buy back the years he had lost in that wheelchair, and Charly was the price tag.
I sat in the corner of the sunken living room, my cast propped up on a velvet pillow. I was attempting to read a medical journal, trying to drown out the grating sound of Charly’s voice.
"What is this old thing?" Charly asked.
I looked up. My stomach dropped.
She was standing by the mantle, holding the rosewood box. It was small, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. It wasn't expensive, but it was the only artifact Coleton had kept from his father. It held his father’s first rosary.
It was the anchor Coleton used to cling to when the phantom pains in his legs became unbearable.
"Put that down, Charly," I said. My voice was low, rough from lack of use.
Charly turned, a wicked glint in her eyes. She tossed the box from one hand to the other like a toy.
"Why?" she asked, smiling. "Is it cursed? Or is it just another piece of junk you're obsessed with?"
"It belonged to his father," I said, my tone hardening. "He doesn't let anyone touch it."
"I'm not just anyone," she snapped.
She walked toward me, holding the box out over the unforgiving marble floor.
"Cole!" she yelled.
Coleton walked in from the office, phone in hand. He looked tired. He looked at me, then at Charly.
"What?" he asked.
"Arminda yelled at me," Charly pouted, her lower lip trembling with practiced ease. "I was just dusting, and she screamed that I was going to break it."
She looked at me, her eyes dead cold.
"Oops," she whispered.
She opened her fingers.
The box hit the marble. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room. The wood splintered. The lid cracked in half. The old rosary spilled out, sliding across the floor until it hit Coleton’s shoe.
Silence.
I waited for the explosion. I waited for Coleton to rage, to mourn the one piece of his history he actually valued.
"You clumsy bitch!" Charly shrieked, pointing a manicured finger at me. "She threw a pillow at me! She made me drop it!"
I hadn't moved. The pillow was still under my leg. I was ten feet away from her.
"Check the cameras, Coleton," I said. My voice was steady. "Just check the cameras."
Charly’s face went pale. "The cameras? You think I'm lying? Cole, look at my hands! I'm shaking!"
Coleton looked down at the broken box. He looked at the rosary touching his shoe.
Then, he stepped over it.
He walked straight to Charly. He took her hands in his.
"Are you cut?" he asked.
I felt the air leave the room.
"I... I think so," Charly whimpered, squeezing out a tear. "I was just trying to make the place look nice for you."
"It's just a box, Charly," Coleton said. He didn't look at the floor. He didn't look at me. "We can buy another one."
"It was your father's," I whispered.
Coleton turned his head. His eyes were empty gray stones.
"My father is dead," he said. "And you are on thin ice. Stop terrorizing her, Arminda. Or you won't make it to the end of the week."
He put his arm around Charly and led her away from the mess.
"Leave it," he ordered over his shoulder. "The maid will clean it up."
I sat there for a long time. I looked at the broken wood.
I realized then that the box wasn't the only thing that had shattered. The man I loved was gone. He hadn't just forgotten the past; he had executed it.
