The cruelest paralysis wasn’t in his limbs
But the cruelest paralysis wasn’t in his limbs.
It was in his heart, as he watched his reality rot in front of his open eyes.
His wife, Victoria Harrington, a statuesque woman who once swore she loved him more than life itself, paced the room with a champagne flute in hand, clicking her tongue in irritation.
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“Did you lose your voice,” she sneered, “or did your brain finally dry up too, Alex?”
She laughed—cold, sharp, cruel.
