He blinked, then smoothed his face into that patronizing calm. “What are you talking about, Nicole?? You’re making things up now.” His thumb rubbed my wrist as if soothing a child. “You’ve been tense lately. Stressed. Maybe you’re imagining slights where there aren’t any.”
My laugh died on my lips. “Imagining?” I repeated.
“Yeah.” He stepped closer, voice soft and dangerous. “You always see conspiracies. You blow every little thing out of proportion. It’s exhausting.” He scanned the guests like they were witnesses to my supposed instability. “People are starting to notice. You don’t want a scene.”
I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. “Nicole—” he said, gentler now, “you need to rest. Seriously. You look pale. Go home. Sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow when you’re calm.”
Of course. But this time, I didn’t argue. There is no point.
I let him think he’d won, that his words had tamed me again. As I walked out of the hall, the laughter and music behind me felt like a cruel echo of what we used to be.
On the drive home, memories flooded in—our first date, the promises he made under the rain, the nights he swore I was his everything. I used to believe him.
I used to think love could change him, that I was the exception to his reputation. That maybe, just maybe, I was the woman who made James Wilson settle down.
What a fool I’d been.
Back home, I gather all the files. The proof wasn’t complete without his email threads, the offshore transfers, the meeting notes. I needed every piece before Oliver moved. I packed them onto an encrypted drive, checked twice, then typed a quick message.
Oliver — Files uploaded. Pick me up tomorrow at noon. Ready to marry you.
I hit send and sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the house breathe. For the first time in a long while, I felt steady. The plan was in motion.
That night I couldn’t sleep. At 1:12 a.m., the living room phone rang. James. I didn’t pick up. A few minutes later, he was in the cell in the kitchen—loud enough for me to hear through the thin walls.
“Okay, Sasha,” he said, voice careful. “Listen. I’m sorry, all right? My mother—Jonah—she’s said if we break the marriage now, I lose everything. My inheritance, the company stake. I can’t risk that.”
A soft laugh from Sasha. “So what? You want me to play the good mistress? To kiss your ring in public while you keep your wife and the business?” Her tone was amused, sharp.
“No,” James replied. “I want you to come tomorrow. Apologize to her. Make it look real. Tell her you’re sorry. Play the part. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll make sure Nico remains the heir. Don’t, don’t do anything drastic, okay? Nicole already knows everything and it’s a miracle she hasn't sent you to jail yet. She’s been… unpredictable.”
Sasha’s next words made my blood run cold because she said them like a joke. “She’s faking it? Perfect. Then we fake it better. Don’t worry. We’ll make it look like we’re ashamed. Then—later—when they’re on the cruise, we push her overboard. Easy. No more problems.”
The spoon I’d been mindlessly twisting dropped into the sink with a sound that felt loud in the kitchen. My stomach flipped, bile rising. Push her overboard. The plan was casual on their lips, like scheduling a meeting. I pressed my back against the wall until my legs stopped shaking.
They didn’t notice me. They never did.
I listened until the call ended and the house fell back into its false quiet. I cried then—short, hard sobs. But the tears didn’t clear anything. If they could plan murder with such ease, if my husband and my “friend” could talk about my death as a strategy, then whispering and legal papers weren’t enough.
The morning was crisp. James was already in the kitchen when I went down as if nothing had happened. He was humming as he set plates on the table, so casual it made my skin crawl.
“Morning,” James said, smiling as if nothing had happened. “I made breakfast. I just… want to apologize, Nicole. For everything. For the fights, the distance.”
Sasha stepped forward, eyes wide, voice soft. “Nicole, I’m sorry too. For that night—for pushing you. I panicked, I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
I stared at her, expression unreadable.
James reached for my hand. “Let’s stop this, please. Think of Nico and Sasha. We can start over, be a family again—just like before. No more anger. No more blame.”
For a moment, silence filled the room. Then I gave a small nod. “All right,” I said quietly. “Let’s not argue anymore. I will forget everything you've done to me.”
Sasha smirked. “Great, and we can share James, you know. Like my sister. I mean, we shared everything back then. We will prepare something special for tonight—a surprise. Just be ready. Okay? Let’s go now, James.”
James hesitated for a moment, then let Sasha tug him away. If only he knew this was the last time he’d see me.
I stood at the window, watched them drive off—James and Sasha, arm in arm—cold and smiling. My lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.
A few minutes later a black car arrived. As the SUV pulled away from the Wilson estate, the marble and roses shrinking behind us, I clenched my fists until my knuckles burned. The hate that had lain quiet for months flared hot and steady.
They would regret everything they’d done to me.
