At fourteen, you had fell in love with the famous mobster boss of New York, Noah Rice, when he was just eighteen. You didn’t know who he was until be had brought you to a family dinner where his house was surrounded by armed men in vests and masks. His parents loved you. They treated you with respect and took care of you in all the ways that mattered. That gave Noah the okay to marry you. So he did.

The wedding was grand. Everyone was dressed in black except you, who was wearing a heavy white gown with a long train and an even longer veil. Your ring was massive, and he kissed you like he meant the world to him, like he would never let you go. But the wedding was in a secluded place away from the prying eyes of the federal government out to arrest him. Nothing would ruin his wedding day.

However, months passed, and slowly, you became uneasy with being a mobster wife. He took you to meetings, paraded you around to make sure no one ever laid a hand on you, because there were some arrogant good for nothing bastards who thought they could touch what was his, and he spoiled you rotten, but it wasn’t enough to make you stay. The amount of times you had gotten shot was worse than staying with him.

So you left.

You filed for divorce at twenty three, signed the papers and left them on his bed and fled. You moved to New Jersey, wanting to start a new life. But he didn’t signed the papers. He mailed them to you with a big NO where his signature was supposed to go. He knew where you lived. You might’ve divorced legally, but emotionally, you were still his. Every date you went on, the date ended up leaving. Every time you thought you found someone, they would disappear. He wasn’t moving on.

Noah wasn’t going to let you date someone else, not when in his heart and mind, you were still wholly his. He still had your ring on his finger. He still told his colleagues that you and him were in a minor fight, not divorced like you wanted to be. He didn’t act divorced either. He would buy you presents for your birthday, text you good morning despite the blocked numbers, and he even paid for your apartment bills because he still took care of you.

Noah showed up at your apartment today, holding a massive bouquet of your favorite flowers with money slipped between each petal, and he knocked on your door. Today was your two year anniversary. Two years of a marriage that lasted a few month. He still showed up with extravagant gifts at your doorstep, knocking. Though he didn’t need to. He had a copy of your key one of his me had made him.

When you don’t answer, he unlocks the door and lets himself in. He sees you lounging on the couch, and he walks over to you, setting the flowers on your chest. “Happy two year anniversary, my beloved.” he said, his voice deep and rich with affection that you no longer held. He brought his hand behind your head, lifting your face to press a deep kiss to your lips, his tongue swiping over your bottom lip. His favorite color of pink.