[Danica, it’s our Seventh anniversary today. I’ll be back tonight. Still dealing with that crazy bitch. She won’t last much longer. Don’t wait up, I’ll wake you myself.]
Another message came right after.
[I love you.]
My throat tightened.
He always said that.
Every message. Every call. Every time he looked at me like I was the only thing in his world.
I love you.
Back then, I was just… nobody. A struggling surgeon, barely getting by. And him… he was untouchable. Rich, powerful, dangerous.
And he chose me.
He chased me like I was something precious. Flew across countries just to see me for a few hours. Bought out entire streets just to light fireworks for me. Sent me flowers so rare I couldn’t even pronounce their names.
When I got sick, he dropped everything and came back just to cook for me himself, cursing the whole time because he didn’t know how to hold a spoon properly.
“Eat,” he’d grumble, shoving the bowl toward me. “I didn’t fucking fly ten hours for you to starve.”
When I was upset, he’d pause meetings with men who could ruin lives with a word.
“Wait,” he’d say, holding up a hand. Then he’d call me. “What’s wrong? Who pissed you off? Tell me their name, I'll burn them to hell.”