But it was that conversation I'd overheard by accident that finally made everything clear.
The juice. Everard had been lacing it with depressive hormones.
That was why I'd developed depression. Why I'd slashed my wrists over and over, why I'd stood on the terrace more times than I could count, imagining I was a butterfly with wings, ready to fly off the edge.
If the housekeeper hadn't pulled me back in time, I'd already be six feet under with a smile frozen on my face.
"Iris, what are you thinking about? Why aren't you drinking?"
Everard frowned when he noticed my silence, his face the picture of concern.
"I don't want to drink it."
I shook my head, but he just sighed, sat down beside me, and coaxed me in that low, gentle voice of his.
"Come on, be good. The doctor said your depressive episodes are caused by a vitamin deficiency, remember? This juice will help."
I tilted my head up to look at him.
"Do I have to?"
Everard smiled down at me, and I knew he wasn't giving me a choice.
I lowered my head, let out a small laugh, then took the glass and drained it in one go.
He rubbed the top of my head, satisfied. "Get some rest. I'm going to finish up some work in the study, and I'll come to bed soon."
I watched his retreating figure.
Then I ran my fingers over the scars lining my wrist. One after another after another. Each one a souvenir of a suicide attempt.
My gaze went cold.
Everard. Madge.
Every single wound on my body is a gift from the two of you. And I will repay it all. With interest.
I drifted into a hazy sleep, only to be woken in the middle of the night by rustling sounds.
Madge had changed into something skimpy and revealing. She pushed open the master bedroom door, there to seduce Everard.
He panicked instantly, glancing back at me asleep in bed before scrambling up to shove her out into the hallway.
His voice came next, deliberately kept low.
"Madge, why are you here now?"
"Iris is back. What if she sees us? How would we explain this?"
Madge shot a contemptuous look in my direction.
"So what if she sees?"
"Everard, you promised me tonight. You said tonight you were mine."
"Wasn't she supposed to stay at the beach house for another two months? What the hell is she doing back here, ruining our plans..."
Everard's expression darkened. He reached out and clamped a hand over her mouth.
"Keep your voice down. She's emotionally unstable right now. If she makes a scene, none of us walk away clean."
Madge pried his hand away, her eyes burning with resentment.
"She's just being dramatic."
"It's a little bit of depressive hormones. She throws herself off ledges and slits her wrists every other day, and she still hasn't managed to die."
"If she wasn't squatting in the seat of Mrs. Delgado, would we even need to sneak around like this?"
Inside the room, I opened my eyes slowly. My fingers twisted into the sheets.
Outside the door, Madge nestled into Everard's arms, her voice dripping with honeyed petulance.
"Everard, I don't care. I want you with me right now. Knowing she's lying in there makes me sick."
He was quiet for a moment. Then his tone softened, caving.
"Fine. But you have to promise to keep it down. Tonight, I'm all yours..."
The two of them fell onto the couch in a tangle of lips and limbs.
It didn't take long.
Madge's moans spilled out, rising and falling in shameless rhythm.
Everard kept craning his neck toward the bedroom door, freeing one hand to cover her mouth.
"You little temptress. You're going to be the death of me."
"Not a sound."
Madge's eyes were glazed, her face smug.
"What are you so worried about? That glass of juice you handed Iris yourself? I slipped sleeping pills into it."
Everard exhaled in relief. He gripped the back of her head and kissed her.
"Clever girl."
The two of them wrapped around each other, lost in their tender little affair.
