She looked gorgeous in black. With her cascade of obsidian hair in sharp contrast to her alabaster skin, those high cheek bones and sharp nose, she may have been the grieving widow, but she was still the sexiest woman in the room, and she knew it.
From behind the veil, her kohl lined eyes scanned the room, finally coming to rest upon the young man in the fourth row, taking in his muscles, clean shaven square jaw, the fine lines of his bespoke suit, and the subtle glint of his Rolex. He was probably at least ten years younger than her, but that only made the chase more exciting. She decided right then that she wanted him, and what she wanted she always got. One way or another.
She stared at the pictures before her. This was not the first time that he was cheating on her. He was young, rich and handsome, women threw themselves at him, but he always came back to her. Normally she didn’t care. But this bitch was obviously pregnant. This time she was scared.
She had nothing. He had been slowly and systematically transferring all their assets into his name and she hadn’t even noticed. In her crazy whirlwind life of parties and holidays, she hadn’t realised when the ground had disappeared from under her feet.
Loading her husband’s old pistol she could not help but scoff at the irony of the picture hanging above the mantle…
Time is like a ravenous lion – he devours everything.
In response to the Photo-Fiction #102 challenge