Elfrieda Stewart POV
The Daily Grind was supposed to be neutral territory.
It was a coffee shop on the edge of the financial district, sanitized and bright, far from the dark corners of the Outfit's clubs.
Janice’s text had been explicit.
*We need to talk. Woman to woman. Come alone, or I send the wedding photos to your father.*
My father had a heart condition.
She knew that. She had done her research.
I walked in, my movements stiff.
My arm was in a sling.
Janice was sitting in a booth by the window, wearing white.
She looked pristine. She looked like the grieving bride, or perhaps, the perfect wife.
I sat down opposite her.
"What do you want?" I asked.
She slid a piece of paper across the table.
It was a copy of their marriage license.
"I want you to stop embarrassing yourself," she said, her voice smooth. "Jaxon is disgusted by you. Your innocence? It's pathetic. He comes home to me and laughs about how he has to pretend to like your violin music."
"Then why doesn't he leave?" I asked.
"Because of the money, honey." Her smile was razor-sharp. "Denzel left a trust fund. It only unlocks if Jaxon marries the girl Denzel picked. That's you. Once he gets the money, you'll have a tragic accident."
The air left my lungs.
Jaxon wasn't just using me for status.
He was planning to kill me for cash.
"You're lying," I said, though the pit in my stomach told me she wasn't.
"Am I?"
She signaled the waitress.
"More coffee," she ordered.
When the waitress placed the steaming mug on the table, Janice didn't drink it.
She looked at me, her eyes devoid of humanity.
"You need to learn your place," she said.
In one fluid motion, she grabbed the mug.
And flicked her wrist.
The liquid was scalding.
It lashed across my chest and my injured arm.
I screamed.
The pain was immediate and searing, soaking through my bandages like acid.
Janice threw the mug on the floor, shattering it.
Then she flung herself backward out of the booth.
"Help!" she shrieked. "She's crazy! Help me!"
The door to the coffee shop flew open.
Jaxon rushed in.
He had been waiting outside.
It was a choreographed setup.
He saw me, dripping with coffee, gasping for air.
He saw Janice on the floor, heaving with dry tears.
He stepped over me.
He knelt beside Janice.
"Baby, are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with performative concern.
"She attacked me, Jaxon!" Janice cried. "I just wanted to make peace, and she threw hot coffee on me!"
Jaxon stood up.
He turned to me.
His eyes were full of hate.
"What is wrong with you?" he yelled. "Are you insane? You're harassing my wife!"
The word hung in the air.
*Wife.*
He had said it in public.
"She threw it," I whispered, my voice trembling from the shock of the burn. "Jaxon, look at me. I'm the one who's burned."
"Liar," he spat.
He grabbed a napkin and dabbed at a non-existent spot on Janice's dress.
A waitress stepped forward.
She was young, with piercings in her lip.
"Actually," the waitress said, her voice shaking. "I saw it. The lady in white threw the coffee. The other lady didn't do anything."
Jaxon froze.
He looked at the waitress.
"Shut up," he growled, his mask slipping just enough to reveal the monster beneath. "You didn't see anything unless you want your shop burned down."
The waitress went pale and stepped back.
Jaxon looked at me.
There was no apology in his eyes.
Only calculation.
"Get out of here, Elfrieda," he said. "Before I forget my brother's promise."
I stood up.
My skin was blistering.
My chest felt like it was on fire.
But the pain radiating through my body was nothing compared to the ice spreading through my soul.
I didn't argue.
I didn't cry.
I walked out of the coffee shop, past the staring customers, into the cold Chicago wind.
I was done being the victim.
I was done being the task.
If they wanted a villain, then I would give them one.
