No Sex for Six Years Because of Her? I'm Done novel Chapter 703

Chapter 703 Conspirators

+5 Pearls

Not long after, Amelia caught the faint sound of Faye and Hannah talking in low voices somewhere below.

She pushed the attic door open the rest of the way and stepped inside.

She picked her way carefully through the accumulated clutter, her gaze moving along the shelves and the surfaces of the old trunks as she searched.

There were plenty of vintage design books here, their covers decorated with Art Nouveau fashion illustrations and classical Western patterns, yellowed and worn through with age but still beautiful in the

y that well-made things tend to remain beautiful.

gside them were pieces of unfinished work: cut panels of silk fabric, an embroidered phoenix design halfway completed, scattered beads and decorative clasps. Each piece reflected the style of a different and together they created the impression of someone who had bent over this work with real passion.

nelia settled in and worked through the manuscripts and design sketches methodically.

Demi’s design sense was remarkable, inventive and elegant in equal measure, but Amelia had already known as much from everything Lenny had shared.

What she was hoping to find here was something more personal, something that said more about who Demi had been rather than what she’d created. The materials she found didn’t offer much in that

direction.

She was close to accepting the visit as a lost cause when her eye caught something on the deepest part of the shelf that didn’t belong with the rest.

It was a thick, substantial reference book, its cover bound in dark burgundy leather, the edges worn through from heavy use. It had clearly been important to whoever owned it.

Amelia worked it free from the shelf. The pages had the particular brittleness that came from age.

She flipped through it at random. The contents were design references, embroidery patterns, fabric

textures.

Then, something hidden between the pages caught her attention.

She stopped. Tucked between the pages was a small journal, its cover stitched together with black thread Amelia’s heart gave a sharp, involuntary beat. Something in her responded to the object immediately, a deep and certain instinct that this was what she had been looking for without knowing it.

She lifted the journal out with both hands and felt the fragility of the yellowed paper fingertips.

beneath her

She opened it

The handwriting

The er

unsteady, the pen strokes uneven, clearly not written from a place of calm.

red, mixing complaints about small daily frustrations with passage

Chapter 703 Conspirators

Faarls

that conveyed a pain that resisted easy description. Remembering what Lenny had told her about Demi, Amelia was fairly certain whose journal this was.

She kept reading, working to piece together the emotional arc from these fragmented entries.

The tone grew heavier as the pages went on. The mood darkened. The handwriting became less legible.

Demi’s mental state had been fragile when she wrote these things. That much was clear.

Then Amelia’s gaze stopped on one particular entry.

Demi had written in it with obvious shock. “Faye seems to have feelings for Lenny. How is that possible? We’ve known each other since childhood. We’ve told each other everything. How could she fall in love with my husband? She always said I was the only family she had.”

Amelia’s pupils contracted.

Faye’s face surfaced immediately in her mind, and everything she thought she understood about the woman began to shift.

2

She hadn’t known much about Faye coming in, only that she’d been Demi’s closest friend. But what this journal was telling her rewrote that understanding entirely.

The written entries ended after that page.

What followed wasn’t text. It was drawings, page after page of them, completely unorganized. Distorted faces, fractured heart shapes, and most of all, geometric figures with sharp angular edges, drawn over and over again, layered densely across the pages in a way that made the eye uneasy to look at them for long.

Amelia had read enough psychology to recognize what this pattern meant. This kind of compulsive. negative-affect imagery, repeated with this intensity, was usually a sign that the artist had been close to a mental breakdown.

She turned the remaining pages and confirmed it. The second half of the journal held nothing else. No words, only these deeply unsettling drawings.

It was as though at some point, Demi had lost either the ability or the need to put her despair into language. These marks were what remained.

Amelia felt a sorrowful, unsteady feeling move through her. She could almost see Demi sitting here, in this cramped and dusty space, pressing these shapes into paper in the dark.

Then she turned toward the final page, and a single drawing stopped everything.

It was a pendant, sketched in loose but confident strokes.

The shape was smooth and rounded, carved with several distinctive markings that had been rendered with surprising clarity.

And beneath it, written in a hand that was shaking but still legible, were four words: A gift for Amelia Amelia’s breath caught and held.

No Sex for Six Years Because of Her? I’m Done!