ManyWriters

I hurried to the hotel on my beat-up electric scooter, eager to tell my wife that our coffee shop was finally about to land its first big order.
As I pushed open the door to the banquet hall, I froze in shock.
A ragdoll cat was rolling around on the cake I had stayed up all night to make.
My wife walked over, stepping on cake crumbs strewn across the floor. Without even glancing at me, she fastened a platinum collar around the cat's neck, then moved close to adjust that man's tie.
I looked down at my flour-covered work uniform, then at the cheap plastic pendant hanging from my daughter's neck.
So this was the "high-end market" she had been talking about. It was never about our coffee shop.
Ten years of marriage, shattered at a pet party.

The Aftertaste is Not Gone

I coldly gazed at the woman I once deeply loved:


"I should thank you. If you hadn't pushed me to the brink, I wouldn't be where I am today."


Thinking of her own actions, her expression flickered between light and shadow.


Serenity watched this confrontation with great interest:


"So there's such a complicated history between Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Shaw."


With her impetus, our collaboration progressed rapidly.


Within six months, the studio began turning a profit, expanding several times over, and was renamed "Whisper Brew Coffee."


Not only did we reclaim the stolen clients, but most of her original market share also switched to us.


I finally had the resources to deal with Gunner. That luxury home she gave him still had the deed in my name.


He refused to move out, blocking the coffee shop entrance every day.


She came to intervene, but by now this despicable couple had grown weary of each other.


Gunner, abandoning his former tenderness, raised his hand and slapped her:


Chapter 8