My Husband Burned My Lover’s Building to Get Me Back

The fog didn’t lift gently; it shattered. For two years, my mind had been a room filled with cotton—muffled, white, shapeless. But when I opened my eyes that morning, the world was violently sharp. The intricate plaster molding on the ceiling wasn’t just a blur of shadows anymore; I could trace every acanthus leaf, every crack in the paint.

I was Everleigh Brooks. I was twenty-six. And three years ago, I had married Hudson Kelly.

The memories of the car accident slammed into me, followed by the humiliating realization of what I had become: a cognitively regressed invalid, a child in a woman’s body. My breath hitched, panic rising in my throat, but the sound of the bedroom door creaking open froze me. Instinct, primal and terrified, forced my eyelids down.

"She’s still asleep," Hudson’s voice said. It was deep, familiar, but stripped of the warmth I remembered from our engagement. Now, it carried the heavy friction of annoyance.

"She’s always asleep, Hudson. Or staring at walls. It’s pathetic." The second voice was like spun sugar laced with arsenic. Lila Hunt.

I felt the mattress dip as Hudson sat, not near me, but on the edge, as far away as possible. "Don't start, Lila. It’s complicated."

"It’s not," she countered, her heels clicking on the hardwood as she paced. "Put her in the facility upstate. The one with the high walls. She won't know the difference. She’s just... a broken doll, Hudson. You can’t play house with a vegetable forever."

"I promised her father," Hudson muttered, though his conviction was as thin as the silk sheets covering me. "Just give it a few more months."

"A few months turns into years," Lila whispered. I heard the rustle of fabric, the wet sound of a kiss. "I want to be Mrs. Kelly, Hudson. Realistically, I already am in every way that matters."

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I forced my breathing to remain shallow, rhythmic. They thought I was empty. If I revealed the light was back on, they wouldn’t celebrate; they would extinguish it.

***

By evening, the Kelly estate was a cacophony of crystal glasses and hollow laughter. It was a gala, ostensibly for charity, but really for the elite to preen. I was dressed in a pale pink chiffon dress that felt infantile, my hair tied back with a ribbon. I sat in a corner of the ballroom, clutching a glass of water, my face a mask of vacant innocence while my mind raced with cold, hard clarity.

"Look at her. Poor thing."

"Hudson is a saint for keeping her."

The whispers were loud, assuming I couldn’t understand. I focused on the condensation sliding down my glass to keep from screaming.

"Everleigh, darling!" Lila appeared, a vision in crimson silk that clung to her like a second skin. Her smile didn't reach her eyes; they were predatory. "Come. Let’s go look at the view. Hudson is busy."

She gripped my arm. Her nails dug into my bicep, sharp enough to bruise. I let her lead me, stumbling slightly to maintain the charade. She marched me out to the rooftop terrace. The autumn air was biting, the wind whipping my hair across my face. We were alone. The party noise was muffled behind the heavy glass doors.

Lila guided me to the stone parapet. The city lights of New York sprawled below, a dizzying grid of electricity.

"Do you see that?" Lila pointed to a silver balloon caught on a gargoyle extending off the ledge. It bobbed precariously over the drop. "It’s a magic balloon, Evie. If you catch it, you get a wish."

I stared at her. She thought I was stupid enough to die for a balloon.

"Go on," she urged, her voice dropping an octave, losing its sweetness. "Get it. Be a good girl."

I hesitated, trembling—not from the cold, but from the sheer malice radiating off her. I took a step toward the ledge, feigning clumsy obedience. I needed to see how far she would go.

"That's it," she hissed.

I stopped three feet from the edge. I turned to look at her, widening my eyes. "Scary," I whispered.

Lila’s patience snapped. "Useless idiot."

She shoved me.

It wasn't a playful nudge. It was a two-handed thrust against my chest. My heel caught on the uneven stone. I didn't go over the edge, but I went down hard. My head cracked against the corner of a stone planter, and my ankle twisted with a sickening pop.

Pain blinded me. Warm blood trickled into my eyebrow. I gasped, clutching my head, curling into a ball.

The terrace doors burst open.

"Lila?" Hudson’s voice.

My heart leaped. He would see. He would see the blood, the bruise forming. He would see what she did.

"Oh, Hudson!" Lila shrieked, throwing her hands over her mouth. She collapsed against the railing, sobbing theatrically. "She... she tried to jump! I tried to stop her, but she’s so strong!"

I looked up through the curtain of blood clouding my left eye. Hudson rushed forward. He didn't look at me. He didn't kneel to check my pulse. He went straight to Lila, pulling her into his arms, shielding her from the sight of me.

"It’s okay, shh, I’ve got you," Hudson cooed, stroking Lila’s hair.

"I was so scared, Hudson! She’s dangerous!" Lila wailed into his expensive suit, her eyes meeting mine over his shoulder. She wasn't crying. She was smirking.

Guests began to spill onto the terrace, gasps rippling through the crowd. I lay on the cold stone, throbbing, bleeding, and utterly invisible.

Hudson finally looked down at me. His eyes were devoid of concern. They held only disgust and exhaustion. He turned to the head of security.

"Get the car," Hudson barked, tightening his hold on his mistress. "And have someone clean up this mess."

He didn't mean the blood. He meant me.

As the darkness of unconsciousness finally began to creep in, I stopped fighting it. The Hudson I had married was dead. And if I wanted to live, the 'simple' Everleigh had to die too.