Julie's pov - I've been eagerly anticipating this day since the moment I laid eyes on Michael back in college. All those stolen glances, the subtle exchanges of flirtation—they were all leading up to this moment. And now, finally, I have him. I'm getting ready to meet him, and I want to look my absolute best. I stand in front of the mirror, carefully applying my makeup. I opt for a sultry, smoky eye, accentuated by a touch of shimmering gold. My lips are painted a bold shade of crimson, perfectly matching the fiery desire burning inside me. With each stroke of the brush, I feel myself transforming into the irresistible woman I've always wanted to be. As I finish my makeup, I turn my attention to the dress I've chosen. It's a form-fitting black cocktail dress that hugs my curves in all the right places. The neckline plunges slightly, teasingly showcasing a hint of my décolletage. The back is open, revealing just enough skin to leave Michael yearning for more. The dress is my weapon,

Abigail's pov - As I watch Michael and Julie draw closer, my heart sinks and an unsettling heat courses through my veins. It's all part of the plan, I remind myself, a trap to expose Julie's conspiracy with William. But the sight before me still ignites a fiery jealousy deep within. Michael's touch on Julie's skin sends shivers down her spine, and I can't help but feel a pang of envy. Her delicate frame quivers under his caress, and in that moment, I wish it were me in her place, feeling his warmth, his affection. But I know this is merely a charade, a carefully orchestrated act to expose her deceit. Every sweet word that slips from Michael's lips, every loving gesture he makes towards Julie, fuels the flames of jealousy within me. I find myself captivated by their pretend intimacy, even though I know it's all part of the plan. The way he brushes his lips against her skin, the tenderness in his touch—it's all an act, but it stirs a storm of emotions inside me. The realization that

Michael's pov- Sitting beside Abigail, I hold her delicate hand in mine, my worry and fear consuming me. The sight of her lying there, still recovering from the trauma inflicted upon her, fills me with a sense of guilt and remorse. She's suffering because of me, because of the tangled web of deceit and manipulation that we found ourselves in. I trace the bruises on Abigail's neck, a painful reminder of Julie's vicious attack. The anger within me simmers, an unyielding fire fueled by the sight of the harm inflicted upon the woman I hold dear. I should have protected her, shielded her from the storm that brewed in our lives. But in that crucial moment, as Julie's hands tightened around Abigail's throat, I was paralyzed, unable to intervene. A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts, and a familiar face enters the room. It's the doctor here to assess Abigail's condition. I watch intently as the doctor examines her, searching for any signs of further injury. The tension in the room is

Abigail's pov - As I wake up in the morning, a heaviness fills my head, and a dull ache radiates from my neck. Last night's attack by Julie replays in my mind, and I struggle to make sense of what happened. Why do I feel so sleepy? And why can't I recall everything clearly? My gaze shifts to the sight of Michael lying next to me, peacefully asleep. I find myself unable to tear my eyes away from him, studying every detail of his face. There's a yearning in me, an unspoken desire to reach out and touch his hair, to feel the warmth of his presence. With a trembling hand, I extend my fingers toward him, but just as they are about to make contact, I hesitate and pull back. I don't want to disturb his rest, knowing how tirelessly he stood by my side throughout the night. Instead, I quietly observe him, taking solace in the fact that he's here with me, safe and sound. As if sensing my gaze upon him, Michael stirs awake. His eyes meet mine, concern etched upon his face. He immediately star

Abigail's pov - As the Marketing Manager's booming voice reverberated through the office, my spine tingled with a mix of anticipation and dread. It was the kind of order that made you question your life choices and wonder if you accidentally stumbled into a parallel universe where sanity was optional. "Abigail, Ema," the Marketing Manager barked, his words laced with impatience. "I need every database from the past three years neatly organized in a spreadsheet. And I want it done within a week. Chop-chop!" Ema and I exchanged wide-eyed glances, the weight of the task settling upon us like a heavy fog. I swear, if I hadn't been securely seated, I would have toppled over like a fainting goat. Spreadsheet? Three years' worth of data? Did he really expect us to perform this Herculean feat? Suppressing a nervous giggle, I turned to Ema and said, "Well, Ema, it looks like our dreams of leisurely sipping iced coffees and casually browsing the internet are officially dashed. We're about to