The Wrong Woman

Battling her restless anxiety, Mila endured a sleepless night, her heart filled with anticipation.

As the second day dawned, Nathan was still nowhere to be seen.

Hesitant to disturb him with a call, Mila found herself trapped in a torturous cycle of hope and apprehension.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly and each passing second weighed heavily on her. Her gaze fixed unwaveringly on the door, longing for Nathan's return. Yet, he remained absent.

By the late hours of the third day, Mila stumbled upon breaking news while scrolling through her phone. A fierce gun battle had erupted at Memorial Heights, with residents capturing the chaos on video and sharing it online.

The darkness of the night concealed the faces, leaving only the echoing sounds of gunfire.

Driven by overwhelming concern, Mila dialed Nathan's number, only to be greeted by the automated message indicating his phone was switched off.

She tossed her phone aside and sank onto her bed in discouragement. Her heart was heavy with oppressive dread as if caught in a whirlwind of worry.

At three in the morning, Mila was still wide awake.

eyes fixed on the grand iron gate leading to the garden while silently praying

seemed to crawl until, suddenly, headlights pierced the darkness as a luxury car entered

and before he could close the door, a figure rushed

Mila's voice choked

joy and concern. It was nearing four in the morning,

rushed into his embrace, her arms circled his neck, and hugged him

turn, wrapped his arms around

ground. Her

eyes brimmed with tears, her gaze filled with

of her body, the depth of her care evident

the moment with a deep

garage, discreetly leaving space

evading, she soon found herself overwhelmed by Nathan's intense embrace. Her hands instinctively cradled

long absence of such intimacy, Nathan appeared to lose his usual

breathless, fearing Nathan might consume