Sara Antoni || SFF writer, nerd & mathematician || 34
WIPs: Iron and Gold // Chasing Demons // Street Magic || On hold: Where Mages Fall // First Fall // Blackborn Stories: Flash Fiction Masterlist || German writeblr: @saraantoni
Synopsis: A fleeting affair turns into successful manager Maxim's chance to reinvent himself - until one morning he is found dead in the lake next to his villa.
His wife Katja struggles to keep together the fleeting pieces of the beautiful facade that hid a loveless marriage and a toxic family - but Maxim's past lover Victoria is determined to find the reasons for his death, threatening to expose the family's well-kept secrets.
Over multiple timelines, a network of relationships and secrets is unraveled, and both Katja and Victoria are forced to decide what they really want to stand for.
Genre: contemporary novel, thriller
Themes: unrequited love, toxic family dynamics, longing, trauma, patriarchy, sad rich people, and an aromantic main character surrounded by people desperately searching for romance.
Content warnings: sexual assault, addiction
Status: Writing (15k / 60k words)
Language: German (but I'll translate snippets for you!)
---
Yesterday's 100 words for the @the-wip-project "Reach for the Stars" challenge were this intro... But I believe in adding to the actual story today!
Today I lost the two most important people in my life.
The fault is mine, I know. But I don’t know what I would have done differently.
My crime is that I love too much. Too passionately. Without control.
I have loved Zoe ever since we were teenagers together. I fell for her laugh, the sparkle of her eyes, her solemn intelligence, her wicked humour. I fell for her attention, her knowledge, the way she’d take my hand in hers – forcefully –, to drag me outside to see the sky, or the flowers, or some bird she’d seen.
The problem is that she’s straight.
I even told her once that I loved her. I confessed, under the tail end of a sunset that had been too gorgeous to interrupt, rushing to get the words out before our parents called us in – again – from the garden. For me the memory is still crystal-edged and bittersweet. I think she’s forgotten altogether.
To her it must have seemed like puppy love, the confused fumbling of a teenage girl just discovering her sexuality. Like her three consecutive crushes on three different members of the basketball team.
My heart knew, even then, that it wasn’t a passing thing. But as teens, we don’t know our own hearts. I thought maybe she was right. Maybe I’d grow out of it. I valued her friendship, her presence, her warmth in my life, far too much to press the matter.
After university, I moved halfway across the country to be nearer to her.
And then, Brandon. I never expected to fall for him. As far as I knew I didn’t even like boys. But I was drawn in by his easy, constant kindness. His patience. The clear, incisive opinions he’d deliver with soft, compassionate certainty. His steady, clever hands.
All the same things that Zoe loved in him.
I know I should have held my tongue. I should have said nothing. But he knew even before I admitted my feelings. He knew from the jokes we shared, the way our eyes would meet across the table, the electricity if our knees or shoulders ever brushed.
If I could not hold my tongue, I should at least have never touched him. But I am not strong. Certainly not strong enough to love, and yearn, and never act.
Perhaps I could have loved him from a distance, but the three of us were almost never apart. We ate together, laughed together, played cards together, went to the movies together, went on holiday together – everything short of living together. I’d grown used to the ache of knowing that Zoe would only ever love me as a friend. But Brandon felt the same for me as he did for her. And knowing that his touch was only ever an invitation away…
I am not that strong. I love too fiercely.
He is not strong either. His crime was the same as mine, and I still cannot judge him for it. Even if perhaps he judges me.
I don’t blame you, he said. It’s just… too painful. I don’t know if I believe him. I don’t know if he knows, himself.
I can’t do this, he said as well. We should never have done this.
We should not. But if I could go back, could I do any differently? I love him. I love Zoe. But I have hurt her terribly. We have hurt each other. Everything is broken now, and I have nothing left.
I begged her to stay. I shouldn’t have called it a mistake – it was not. I made my choices wittingly, in full knowledge of the betrayal I committed. But I begged her not to throw out a lifetime of friendship over a mistake.
Her answer is seared into my heart, and most likely always will be.
I’m not throwing anything away. There isn’t anything to throw away. If you were my friend – if you really cared like I thought you cared – like I cared – you could never have done this to me. Friends don’t hurt friends. They don’t lie to each other. They don’t –
I’m not throwing anything away, because clearly what I thought we had was never real.
I don’t know what you think friendship is, but I don’t want any part of it.
I shouldn’t have argued. I knew I’d done an awful thing. We’d done an awful thing, me and Brandon. But I argued.
You’re wrong, Zoe. I love you. I have always loved you. I still do.
I doubt I’ll ever see her again.
Brandon hasn’t cut me off yet, but I think he will. He can’t forgive me, any more than he can forgive himself. He hasn’t said it yet, but he wants a clean start. I know him.
He’ll ask my permission. Is it okay if we stop talking? He’ll make me complicit in losing him. Although I suppose I have been complicit from the start. He doesn’t want to hurt me. It would be easier, I think if he just left.
But I’ll say, of course it’s okay. Whatever you need.
Maybe he’ll pretend that it’s only temporary. That he just needs some space to think things through. Not lying to me, but to himself. He hates us for what we did. I don’t think he’ll forgive me. I hope he’ll forgive himself.
And me? We hurt Zoe. I hate that. But I can’t hate Brandon. Or Zoe. Or myself.
hello! i am trying to finish a first draft of my wip by the end of the year, so i created this little challenge for myself. it starts on october 1st and will run through december 31st.
my daily goal is to set aside one hour everyday to write or work on my novel in some capacity. weekly accountability posts will be every friday!
i set up a notion calendar with a writing hour scheduled everyday for the rest of the year. i'm actually hoping to finish the week before christmas so i can enjoy the holidays, but the remainder of the days are there if i need them!
i had this idea for myself, but anyone is welcome to join in! just let me know if you'd like to be on the taglist. you can do your own daily goal (could be daily word count, time spent writing, etc) and weekly accountability post and tag it #90daynovel. also feel free to tag me :)
Victoria is an only child, and she always somewhat wished for siblings. Her Dad is pretty great and did a lot not to make her feel alone, but sometimes she wishes she hadn't been around adults that much but spent more time with peers.
Maxim absolutely LONGS for siblings. He's felt alone his entire life, incomplete, like there's a sibling-shaped hole in him. And once he found someone to give him that - his boarding school roommate Rafael - he will give him absolutely anything. Because that's what you do for family, right? 🙃
Katja grew up as the youngest of three siblings. She's always adored her sister Leo, the oldest. Yet she always felt somewhat excluded by the close bond shared been Leo and their brother Rafael. Katja was a small child when their mother left, while Rafael and Leo carried each other through that difficult. She has always been struggling to fit in, and in many ways still does.
These prompts are open to any fandom and any medium as long as the works center sapphic, WLW/NBLW, F/F+, or femslash ship(s). There are no other rules — you can use all, some, or only one of the prompts; do one or more a day or spread them out; begin late or post them after September; or mix ‘n’ match prompts; it’s up to you!
Make sure to tag your work(s) with #sapphicsept2025 or #Sapphic September 2025 so that others can find your contributions and to spread the word!
Prompts in text form for screen readers: {Day 1: quill; || Day 2: voyage; || Day 3: laurels; || Day 4: discovery; || Day 5: inheritance; || Day 6: wild west; || Day 7: aeroplane; || Day 8: corset; || Day 9: kimono; || Day 10: industry; || Day 11: hieroglyph; || Day 12: cartography; || Day 13: wartime; || Day 14: gold rush; || Day 15: revolution; || Day 16: archaeology; || Day 17: ivory; || Day 18: timepiece; || Day 19: treasure; || Day 20: lighthouse; || Day 21: nobility; || Day 22: millennium; || Day 23: jade; || Day 24: ballgown; || Day 25: theatre; || Day 26: sculpture; || Day 27: holy; || Day 28: oracle; || Day 29: chiffon; || Day 30: scroll.}
I wrote quite a bit for Fleeting today, so here's an excerpt! Thank you for the opportunity to share, Chris!
“Are you okay?” someone asked behind her in English. Chip's face appeared in the mirror, and she spun around.
“Sorry,” he said, raising his hands. “I know this is the ladies' room, but we agreed that someone should look for you, and I...”
“I'm fine,” she said, reaching for one of the neatly rolled-up towels to dry her face and hands.
“You're bleeding.” He pointed to the white towel. A bright red streak was staining it.
“It's just superficial.” She stared at her palm and the shallow cut that ran across it. How had she missed it? Or had she seen it, felt it, and simply ignored it? The wound throbbed in the rhythm of her quickened heartbeat.
“You should bandage it anyway. Hand injuries are risky. Stay here. There's a first aid kit in the hallway.”
Victoria bit back the comment that she knew that. This was her office. And Chip was her employee. He shouldn't see her like this. No one should have.
Chip appeared with the small first aid kit in his hand and placed it by the sink.
“I'll do it,” she said. “You can go.”
Chip extended his hand. “I'll help you.” Before she could react, his fingers closed around her wrist.
She couldn't breathe.
Her knees gave way.
The world blurred.
-
“Victoria?” Chip knelt on the floor next to her. His voice rang in her ears. Soft pop music drifted in from the hallway. Victoria stared at her palm. A neatly applied white bandage covered the wound.
She flinched, pressing her bandaged hand to her chest.
“What don't you understand?” she hissed, pulling herself up onto the sink with her good hand. “I didn't want this.”
“But I...”
“Go away, Chip. If you want to keep your job, don't say another word and just leave.”
“Okay,” he muttered, standing up, his hands raised in front of his chest. “Okay, boss. I'm gone.”
Another snippet, this one, a new shot at the opening scene of Fleeting.
(Please note that everything weird about the phones is due to this story being historic, aka, set in 2007)
--
Somewhere on the outside of the impromptu dance floor, a cell phone rang, muffled by the fabric of employees' jackets and bags thrown over the conference room chairs. The London branch of Gartner & Gartner had won a major contract to redesign a university campus in a London suburb, and the ringtone of the cell phone was drowned out by the sounds of celebration, laughter, merry conversation, and the pleasing pop music blaring from the iPod of one of the older student workers.
Victoria Gartner turned her head to one side in concentration. A brief gesture silenced her counterpart as she tried to recognize the ringtone.
She could feel the weight of her British cell phone in the pocket of her blazer, but her German one was somewhere in her briefcase, and the tone sounded maybe-no. She furrowed her brows indignantly. Germany was over. Her connections had been severed, and that was a good thing. The past had no place at this party. Today she was celebrating her future.
“Turn up the music,” she called to the students on the other side of the room before turning back to her conversation partner.
“Sorry,” she said, grimacing apologetically. She knew her smile always worked. “I'd heard a phone ring, but it wasn't for me.”
"No problem." The man returned her smile. Chip Atwood. Her future construction manager. She had hired him a few weeks ago when it was clear that the expansion of her architecture firm would be successful. In addition to his professional qualifications, Chip was tall, athletic, blond, and had unmistakably well-toned shoulders that brought her firmly back to the present. "I just wanted to congratulate you. Great concept, great planning, well-deserved win. You beat some pretty prestigious competition. And that-"
"I know. I am pretty good", she interrupted him with a wink before he could make a comment about her gender. She wouldn't be able to stomach another ‘And that from a woman’ today. "And my father's name gives the company some gravitas."
“But it were my daughter's courage and vision that have won that contract for us.” Her father slid in next to her, two champagne glasses in his hands, one of which he handed to her. "Congratulations from me too, Vicky. I didn't expect you to crown your start in London with a project like this. You are..."
Victoria stared at her glass. Tiny bubbles bubbled in the golden champagne. They rose. Broke on the surface. Her father's voice faded. The music, the people around her, became a kaleidoscopic mass of twisting shapes and swirling sounds.
A hand rested on her shoulder and she flinched.
The glass shattered in her hand.
“Vicky!”
The sudden silence was louder than anything before.
Reblog with the original German, and the tag list of one, @alternativeforensicscientist.
Irgendwo am Rand der improvisierten Tanzfläche klingelte ein Handy, gedämpft durch den Stoff von Jacken und Taschen der Mitarbeiter, die sie über die Stühle des Konferenzraums geworfen hatten. Die Londoner Niederlassung von Gartner & Gartner hatte einen Großauftrag gewonnen, die Neugestaltung eines Hochschulcampus in einem Londoner Vorort, und der Klingelton des Handys wurde überlagert von Lachen, fröhlichen Gesprächen, und der gefälligen Popmusik, die aus dem iPod eines der älteren Werkstudenten dudelte.
Victoria Gartner legte konzentriert den Kopf auf die Seite. Eine kurze Geste ließ ihr Gegenüber ebenfalls verstummen, während sie versuchte den Klingelton zu erkennen.
Sie spürte zwar das Gewicht ihres britischen Handys in der Tasche ihres Blazers, aber ihr deutsches war irgendwo in ihrer Aktentasche, und der Ton klang vielleicht- Nein. Unwillig zog sie die Brauen zusammen. Deutschland war vorbei. Ihre Verbindungen waren abgerissen, und das war gut so. Die Vergangenheit hatte keinen Platz auf dieser Party. Heute feierte sie ihre Zukunft.
"Mach die Musik lauter," rief sie den Studenten an der anderen Seite des Raums zu, bevor sie sich wieder zu ihrem Gesprächspartner wandte.
"Sorry," sagte sie, und zog eine entschuldigende Grimasse. Sie wusste, dass ihr Lächeln immer funktionierte. "Ich hatte ein Klingeln gehört, aber es war nicht für mich."
"Kein Problem." Der Mann erwiderte ihr Lächeln. Chip Atwood. Ihr zukünftiger Bauleiter. Sie hatte ihn vor einigen Wochen eingestellt, als absehbar war, dass die Expansion ihres Architekturbüros erfolgreich sein würde. Neben seiner fachlichen Qualifikation war Chip groß, sportlich, blond, und hatte unübersehbar wohlgeformte Schultern, die sie firm in die Gegenwart zurückholen. "Ich wollte dir nur gratulieren. Tolles Konzept, tolle Planung, verdienter Sieg. Du hast ziemlich renommierte Konkurrenz ausgestochen. Und das-"
"Ich weiß. Ich bin auch ziemlich gut," unterbrach sie ihn mit einem Augenzwinkern, bevor er einen Kommentar über ihr Geschlecht machen konnte. Noch ein 'Und das für eine Frau!’ würde ihr Magen heute nicht stemmen können. "Und der Name meines Vaters verleiht der Firma einiges an Gravitas."
"Gewonnen haben aber der Mut und die Vision meiner Tochter." Ihr Vater schob sich neben sie, zwei Champagnergläser in den Händen, von denen er ihr eins reichte. "Glückwunsch auch von mir, Vicky. Ich hatte nicht erwartet, dass du deinen Start in London gleich mit so einem Projekt krönen würdest. Du bist…"
Victoria starrte ihr Glas an. Winzige Blasen perlten in dem goldenen Champagner. Stiegen auf. Brachen an der Oberfläche. Die Stimme ihres Vaters verebbte. Die Musik, die Leute um sie herum, wurden zu einer kaleidoskopischen Masse aus sich drehenden Formen und wirbelnden Tönen.
Eine Hand legte sich auf ihre Schulter, und sie zuckte zurück.
I was tagged by @raevenlywrites! Thank you very much!
This is from Pine Hollow:
Frey whistled from where he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and eyebrows raised as he took her in. “Damn, Gin. You look… bad.”
“You really know how to make a girl feel special.” She wiped at her nose, frowned when the back of her hand came away streaked with blood, and grabbed another napkin.
“Hey, you’re still hot. You’d just be hotter without—” he paused, gesturing to her general self, “—all of the blood. Although the longer I look, the more it’s kind of working for me.”
“Fuck off, man.”
Don’t worry, this is how they flirt.
I tag @emelkae, @stuffaboutwriting, and anyone else who wants to play! As always, no pressure!
Another snippet, this one, a new shot at the opening scene of Fleeting.
(Please note that everything weird about the phones is due to this story being historic, aka, set in 2007)
--
Somewhere on the outside of the impromptu dance floor, a cell phone rang, muffled by the fabric of employees' jackets and bags thrown over the conference room chairs. The London branch of Gartner & Gartner had won a major contract to redesign a university campus in a London suburb, and the ringtone of the cell phone was drowned out by the sounds of celebration, laughter, merry conversation, and the pleasing pop music blaring from the iPod of one of the older student workers.
Victoria Gartner turned her head to one side in concentration. A brief gesture silenced her counterpart as she tried to recognize the ringtone.
She could feel the weight of her British cell phone in the pocket of her blazer, but her German one was somewhere in her briefcase, and the tone sounded maybe-no. She furrowed her brows indignantly. Germany was over. Her connections had been severed, and that was a good thing. The past had no place at this party. Today she was celebrating her future.
“Turn up the music,” she called to the students on the other side of the room before turning back to her conversation partner.
“Sorry,” she said, grimacing apologetically. She knew her smile always worked. “I'd heard a phone ring, but it wasn't for me.”
"No problem." The man returned her smile. Chip Atwood. Her future construction manager. She had hired him a few weeks ago when it was clear that the expansion of her architecture firm would be successful. In addition to his professional qualifications, Chip was tall, athletic, blond, and had unmistakably well-toned shoulders that brought her firmly back to the present. "I just wanted to congratulate you. Great concept, great planning, well-deserved win. You beat some pretty prestigious competition. And that-"
"I know. I am pretty good", she interrupted him with a wink before he could make a comment about her gender. She wouldn't be able to stomach another ‘And that from a woman’ today. "And my father's name gives the company some gravitas."
“But it were my daughter's courage and vision that have won that contract for us.” Her father slid in next to her, two champagne glasses in his hands, one of which he handed to her. "Congratulations from me too, Vicky. I didn't expect you to crown your start in London with a project like this. You are..."
Victoria stared at her glass. Tiny bubbles bubbled in the golden champagne. They rose. Broke on the surface. Her father's voice faded. The music, the people around her, became a kaleidoscopic mass of twisting shapes and swirling sounds.
A hand rested on her shoulder and she flinched.
The glass shattered in her hand.
“Vicky!”
The sudden silence was louder than anything before.
Reblog with the original German, and the tag list of one, @alternativeforensicscientist.
Irgendwo am Rand der improvisierten Tanzfläche klingelte ein Handy, gedämpft durch den Stoff von Jacken und Taschen der Mitarbeiter, die sie über die Stühle des Konferenzraums geworfen hatten. Die Londoner Niederlassung von Gartner & Gartner hatte einen Großauftrag gewonnen, die Neugestaltung eines Hochschulcampus in einem Londoner Vorort, und der Klingelton des Handys wurde überlagert von Lachen, fröhlichen Gesprächen, und der gefälligen Popmusik, die aus dem iPod eines der älteren Werkstudenten dudelte.
Victoria Gartner legte konzentriert den Kopf auf die Seite. Eine kurze Geste ließ ihr Gegenüber ebenfalls verstummen, während sie versuchte den Klingelton zu erkennen.
Sie spürte zwar das Gewicht ihres britischen Handys in der Tasche ihres Blazers, aber ihr deutsches war irgendwo in ihrer Aktentasche, und der Ton klang vielleicht- Nein. Unwillig zog sie die Brauen zusammen. Deutschland war vorbei. Ihre Verbindungen waren abgerissen, und das war gut so. Die Vergangenheit hatte keinen Platz auf dieser Party. Heute feierte sie ihre Zukunft.
"Mach die Musik lauter," rief sie den Studenten an der anderen Seite des Raums zu, bevor sie sich wieder zu ihrem Gesprächspartner wandte.
"Sorry," sagte sie, und zog eine entschuldigende Grimasse. Sie wusste, dass ihr Lächeln immer funktionierte. "Ich hatte ein Klingeln gehört, aber es war nicht für mich."
"Kein Problem." Der Mann erwiderte ihr Lächeln. Chip Atwood. Ihr zukünftiger Bauleiter. Sie hatte ihn vor einigen Wochen eingestellt, als absehbar war, dass die Expansion ihres Architekturbüros erfolgreich sein würde. Neben seiner fachlichen Qualifikation war Chip groß, sportlich, blond, und hatte unübersehbar wohlgeformte Schultern, die sie firm in die Gegenwart zurückholen. "Ich wollte dir nur gratulieren. Tolles Konzept, tolle Planung, verdienter Sieg. Du hast ziemlich renommierte Konkurrenz ausgestochen. Und das-"
"Ich weiß. Ich bin auch ziemlich gut," unterbrach sie ihn mit einem Augenzwinkern, bevor er einen Kommentar über ihr Geschlecht machen konnte. Noch ein 'Und das für eine Frau!’ würde ihr Magen heute nicht stemmen können. "Und der Name meines Vaters verleiht der Firma einiges an Gravitas."
"Gewonnen haben aber der Mut und die Vision meiner Tochter." Ihr Vater schob sich neben sie, zwei Champagnergläser in den Händen, von denen er ihr eins reichte. "Glückwunsch auch von mir, Vicky. Ich hatte nicht erwartet, dass du deinen Start in London gleich mit so einem Projekt krönen würdest. Du bist…"
Victoria starrte ihr Glas an. Winzige Blasen perlten in dem goldenen Champagner. Stiegen auf. Brachen an der Oberfläche. Die Stimme ihres Vaters verebbte. Die Musik, die Leute um sie herum, wurden zu einer kaleidoskopischen Masse aus sich drehenden Formen und wirbelnden Tönen.
Eine Hand legte sich auf ihre Schulter, und sie zuckte zurück.
Another snippet, this one, a new shot at the opening scene of Fleeting.
(Please note that everything weird about the phones is due to this story being historic, aka, set in 2007)
--
Somewhere on the outside of the impromptu dance floor, a cell phone rang, muffled by the fabric of employees' jackets and bags thrown over the conference room chairs. The London branch of Gartner & Gartner had won a major contract to redesign a university campus in a London suburb, and the ringtone of the cell phone was drowned out by the sounds of celebration, laughter, merry conversation, and the pleasing pop music blaring from the iPod of one of the older student workers.
Victoria Gartner turned her head to one side in concentration. A brief gesture silenced her counterpart as she tried to recognize the ringtone.
She could feel the weight of her British cell phone in the pocket of her blazer, but her German one was somewhere in her briefcase, and the tone sounded maybe-no. She furrowed her brows indignantly. Germany was over. Her connections had been severed, and that was a good thing. The past had no place at this party. Today she was celebrating her future.
“Turn up the music,” she called to the students on the other side of the room before turning back to her conversation partner.
“Sorry,” she said, grimacing apologetically. She knew her smile always worked. “I'd heard a phone ring, but it wasn't for me.”
"No problem." The man returned her smile. Chip Atwood. Her future construction manager. She had hired him a few weeks ago when it was clear that the expansion of her architecture firm would be successful. In addition to his professional qualifications, Chip was tall, athletic, blond, and had unmistakably well-toned shoulders that brought her firmly back to the present. "I just wanted to congratulate you. Great concept, great planning, well-deserved win. You beat some pretty prestigious competition. And that-"
"I know. I am pretty good", she interrupted him with a wink before he could make a comment about her gender. She wouldn't be able to stomach another ‘And that from a woman’ today. "And my father's name gives the company some gravitas."
“But it were my daughter's courage and vision that have won that contract for us.” Her father slid in next to her, two champagne glasses in his hands, one of which he handed to her. "Congratulations from me too, Vicky. I didn't expect you to crown your start in London with a project like this. You are..."
Victoria stared at her glass. Tiny bubbles bubbled in the golden champagne. They rose. Broke on the surface. Her father's voice faded. The music, the people around her, became a kaleidoscopic mass of twisting shapes and swirling sounds.
A hand rested on her shoulder and she flinched.
The glass shattered in her hand.
“Vicky!”
The sudden silence was louder than anything before.
The color made me think of Katja, devoted wife whose love to her husband isn't returned; pliant daughter, whose place in the family business is restricted to spectator; wild girl, who grew into a perfectly adjusted woman.
