"The Art of Betrayal"
I've been missing for three days. I can tell because there's a tiny, high window in here, and I've kept myself awake since they threw me in here and locked the door, but that's all I know. I assume the entire Secret Service isn't sleeping either, considering my safety is their most important gig, but who knows, this could be an inside job.
I couldn't believe that I had gotten caught. I knew my day would come, but I never thought my downfall would be a woman, of all things.
Men who were easily persuaded by a woman were weak in my eyes. No one should ever come in between you and your paper, especially not some girl.
Yet here, I was a hypocrite, a fraud. I had turned into a man I always considered beneath me.
It happened three days ago. I decided that I was going to propose to her. Marriage was something I never desired, but she changed that. I got her dolled up, took her out to dinner, and proposed in a restaurant full of strangers. I, Mason Cross, wanted to be committed to one woman for the rest of my life, and I wanted everyone to know about it.
You don't understand how big that is for someone like me. I don't do vulnerability. I keep to myself, the less people in my circle, the better. In my line of work, you always have to be on the fence. You have to be ready to take down anyone that's a threat.
But I had gotten soft - all because of her.
Just as I had hoped, she said yes. We returned home and made love so passionate; I can still feel the euphoria though its been three days since everything went down.
I woke up in the middle night to find her side of the bed empty. The moment I turned my head, I was met with a gun chamber right between the eyes. I didn't get time to question what was happening because the sirens in the distance gave me my answer.
With tears streaming down her cheeks, she lifted a pair of handcuffs and whispered, "I'm so sorry."
The next thing I know, I was cuffed and escorted out of my home.
When I didn't arrive at the police station, I knew this wasn't low-level shit. This was FBI, secret service type shit.
I arrived at some weird building that most people probably don't know exists.
I was put in a small, gray-washed room. There was a nice enough cot in the corner, with a small stainless toilet.
Part of me wasn't surprised that I was there. I was pretty hard to catch. I became so notorious; the cops weren't the only ones who wanted a piece of me.
So, I'm in this room, sitting on the edge of the cot with my head in my hands.
I was heartbroken and confused.
I tried to piece together what was real about us, while the voice in my head told me it was never real.
After three days of isolation, the door finally opened and in she came.
I was conflicted because, while she was the last person I wanted to see, she also held the answers to all my questions.
There she stood, still beautiful as ever, even wearing a look of guilt and pain.
She still had on my white dress shirt from the night I proposed. She left it unbuttoned so you could see her black lace halter top. She wore a pair of jeans and a pair of black combat boots. Though she hadn't been locked away like me, she had obviously been too busy to get herself together over the past three days.
She closed the door but stood directly in front of it - away from me.
I had never seen her so nervous.
