EMILE — POV
They always assume I’m the villain.
The bitter ex. The one who couldn’t keep him.
But what they forget is—I built him.
Before me, Wilbet was just another trust fund brat with charm and no compass. I gave him direction. I taught him how to hold a room, how to cut people down with a smile, how to weaponize silence. The slick suits, the cold ambition, the taste for control? All mine.
I was the blueprint. The foundation. The one who shaped him into the man he is today. And now, he walks around like he invented power. Like he didn’t learn it in my bed, in my arms.
They say he’s married now. That poor, quiet girl with the bruised wrists and wide eyes.
Aziza.
Even her name sounds fragile, like a whisper of a word that could easily be broken.
She moves like a shadow, silent, c
