A Donna's Final Performance

I looked at Julian’s smiling face and felt a deep, bone-chilling cold. I gestured toward Scarlett.

[She seems… flashy. Does she know how to care for someone? Does she know sign language?]

Julian’s smile tightened for a fraction of a second. I waved a dismissive hand.

[It doesn’t matter. I trust your judgment. And she’s here to take care of me, not to chat.]

The tension in his shoulders eased. He shot Scarlett a warning look. She pursed her lips and wheeled the bassinet into the nursery.

Later, Julian massaged my shoulders, drew me a warm bath, and tucked me into bed—the very picture of a perfect, devoted husband.

But that night, I awoke to the sound of suppressed gasps.

My senses, newly sharpened, zeroed in on the sound. It was coming from the study next door.

I retrieved a miniature listening device from my nightstand, pressed record, and slipped out of the room.

The heavy door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, I could see their silhouettes tangled against the bulletproof glass. I clutched the device, swallowing the burn of tears.

Julian’s hand slid up Scarlett’s waist as he bit her shoulder, his voice a low growl. "My sweet girl, Scarlett. It's only been two months since you gave birth, and you're tighter than ever. Not like Aurora. She’s limp as a dishrag now."

The rip of fabric, the slick sound of kisses, Scarlett’s breathless moans… they filled the room. Julian didn’t even bother to lower his voice, just chuckled darkly.

"You know, Scarlett, ever since Aurora went deaf, she's like a dead fish in bed. Sometimes I want to just… shut her up for good. But you… baby, let me hear you scream."

My hand holding the device went slack. My mind spiraled back in time.

Julian and I met at a charity gala. The tabloids called us Beauty and the Beast, whispering about how a classical pianist could fall for a man with blood on his hands.

Three years ago, when the doctors told me I was losing my hearing, Julian had been the one to break down. I was terrified and insecure. I asked him if he was disgusted by me. In response, he dismissed our entire staff and insisted on caring for me himself.

He learned sign language in a matter of days, patiently teaching me each sign, even as I lashed out at him in frustration and fear.

In the end, my voice remained, but the world had gone silent. The grief was a physical weight, and I unleashed all of it on him. I screamed at him to leave me, to find someone whole.

He didn’t even flinch when I hurled a crystal figurine at his head. He just wiped the blood from his forehead, pulled me into his arms, and traced words into my palm with his fingertip.

[Aurora, no matter what, you will always be my one and only queen.]

I could still feel the phantom touch, still see the raw devotion in his eyes.

A baby’s sharp cry from the nursery pulled me back to the present. I clenched my fists, forcing my feet to stay rooted to the spot. The child, after all, was innocent.

Then I heard his mother, Scarlett, her voice a sickly sweet coo as she pulled on Julian’s arm.

"Nico can wait. Julian, aren't I enough for you?"

Julian hesitated for a moment, then his hands found her waist again, his voice thick with lust.

"Mmm, we have to be quick. I need to get back—"

Scarlett silenced him with a kiss. I stopped the recording and retreated to my bedroom.

Through the wall, I heard Julian’s low chuckle.

"Scarlett, how did you even think of this? Posing as a distant relative… It’s… thrilling."

An hour or so later, the bedroom door creaked open. Julian tiptoed to my side.

He gently adjusted my blankets and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

"Ti amo."

What a fucking joke.