Two days later, tragedy struck. A mall explosion rocked the city, and Davis had been there that day. Monica's heart shattered as she watched the news, only to catch a glimpse of the name "Logan Smith," a man in uniform, live at the scene. Monica's eyes squinted suspicion growing in her heart.
**************************************
Two days before.
Monica sat quietly by the window of her small apartment, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the cracked floor tiles. The room was modest—bare walls, a threadbare rug, and a wooden table that had seen better days—but it was hers, and for now, that was enough. She glanced at her phone lying on the table, the screen dark, waiting to buzz with a message or a call. It had been three days since Pic returned home, tired and distant, slipping into the bathroom without a word, leaving behind a shadow of worry that lingered in the air.
She sighed and turned away, her thoughts drifting like the dust motes dancing in the slanting light. Monica wasn't a woman of grand dreams or lofty ambitions. She was simple, grounded, the kind who believed that loyalty and kindness were more important than fleeting success or wealth. She clung to her morals like a lifeline—her compass in a world that often seemed cruel and unpredictable.
A sharp knock at the door jolted her from her reverie.
"Mon! Open up, girl. We're not letting you hide all day," called a cheerful voice.
Monica smiled faintly and opened the door to reveal Liana and Talia, her closest friends since university. Liana's hair was pulled back into a neat bun, her eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that made Monica both laugh and roll her eyes. Talia was quieter, her presence steady like a calm sea, but her smile was warm and genuine.
"You guys are impossible," Monica said, stepping aside to let them in.
"We know. But we care," Liana said, plopping down on the worn-out sofa. "So, spill. What's really going on? You've been acting all closed off since Pic came back."
Talia nodded in agreement. "We can tell something's up. You don't have to carry it alone."
Monica hesitated. The words tangled in her throat, but the gentle looks from her friends gave her the courage to speak. "It's just… He came back after three days. No calls, no messages. Just silence."
Liana's eyes narrowed. "Three days? Right after your wedding. That's serious. Did he say anything when he got back?"
"Barely. He seemed exhausted, distant. Though he said it was work. Left me a little money and then disappeared into the bathroom for what felt like forever. And then, when I found his phone, there was a message. A threat."
"Threat?" Talia's voice was low, concerned.
Monica nodded, biting her lip. "I asked him about it when he came out. He said it was from a senior at work. Someone with a bad temper and corrupt habits who was unhappy with Pic because he kept stepping in to stop him."
Liana frowned. "Sounds like trouble. Do you think it's serious?"
"I don't know. But I'm scared. What if it's more than just work drama?"
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Monica's worries settling between them like a thick fog.
"Mon, you're strong. You've always been," Talia said softly. "But you don't have to face this alone. We're here for you."
Monica smiled gratefully. "Thanks, you two. It means a lot."
Monica looked down at her hands, the warmth of friendship easing the ache of uncertainty inside her. For all the chaos that surrounded her, this small circle of loyalty was a refuge—a place where she could be herself, flaws and all.
As the evening deepened, the three friends talked late into the night, weaving stories of past adventures and whispered hopes for the future. Yet beneath the laughter, Monica's mind lingered on the unanswered questions—the threats, the silence, the feeling that something in her life was shifting beneath the surface.
She didn't know it yet, but the days ahead would challenge everything she believed about trust, love, and the person she had always believed was her.