Poisoned By My Husband, Saved By His Eldest Brother

"Would you like me to box the lamb, Mrs. Lawson?" the waiter asked.

"No," I said, staring at the untouched food on the opposite side of the table. "Give him ten more minutes."

"The kitchen is closing, ma'am."

"I understand. Just leave the check."

I picked up my phone and dialed Bray's number for the eighth time.

Straight to voicemail.

I dropped the phone onto the table. The screen lit up with a photo of us from last summer. He looked so happy then. Tonight, he was just absent.

I signed the receipt, grabbed my coat, and walked out into the cold night air.

The drive to our suburban house took exactly twelve minutes. I pulled into the driveway. His car wasn't there.

I unlocked the front door and pushed it open.

"Bray?"

Nothing but the low hum of the refrigerator answered me.

I flipped the light switch. The living room sat perfectly still. I walked down the hall and opened the bedroom door. The bed was made. The closet was closed.

He hadn't been home at all.

I pulled my phone back out and dialed his office. It rang four times before the automated system picked up.

Fine. If he wouldn't answer the phone, I would ask him in person.

The security guard at the front desk of Lawson Consulting looked up from his monitor when I walked through the revolving glass doors.

"Evening, Mrs. Lawson," he said.

"Is Bray still upstairs, Marcus?"

"Yes, ma'am. Hasn't come down since lunch."

I walked to the elevators and hit the button for the fourteenth floor. The ride up felt agonizingly slow. The metal doors slid open with a soft chime.

The corridor was mostly dark, save for the light spilling out of Bray's suite at the far end of the hall.

I walked toward it.

Before I reached the threshold, the heavy oak door swung open.

A woman stepped out.

She wore a sleek beige coat, her blonde hair pulled into a tight knot. She clutched a leather tote bag against her chest.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

Dr. Mila Thorne. My doctor.

She turned, her shoes making no sound on the plush carpet, and froze when she saw me.

"Dr. Thorne?" I asked.

Her eyes darted left, then right. Her grip on the bag tightened so much her knuckles turned pale.

"Lina," she said. Her voice dropped, losing its usual warm bedside manner.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "It's past eleven at night."

Mila glanced back over her shoulder toward Bray's open door. She quickly shifted her gaze back to me.

"I had a late meeting in the building," she said. "I just stopped by to drop some paperwork off for your husband."

"Paperwork? At midnight?"

"I really have to go," Mila said. She sidestepped me, keeping a wide distance between us. "Take care of yourself, Lina."

"Wait," I said, reaching out.

She didn't stop. She hurried down the hall, jabbing the elevator call button repeatedly until the doors opened. She stepped inside and disappeared.

I turned back to Bray's office and walked in.

The sight stopped me cold.

Files covered the mahogany desk in messy, overlapping piles. Stacks of paper spilled over the edges onto the rug. Folders lay open on the floor, their contents scattered everywhere.

Bray stood behind the desk. His tie hung loose around his neck. His collar was unbuttoned.

"Bray," I said.

He snapped his head up. His eyes widened in pure shock.

"Lina. What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," I said, stepping over a manila folder. "I waited at the restaurant for three and a half hours."

He dragged a hand down his face. "The restaurant. God, Lina, I forgot. I'm so sorry."

"You forgot our fifth anniversary?"

"Things got out of control here."

"I can see that," I said, sweeping my arm toward the chaotic floor. "Did a tornado hit this room?"

"I was looking for a specific document."

"And Dr. Thorne was helping you find it?"

Bray stiffened. His jaw locked tight.

"You saw Mila?"

"She practically ran past me in the hallway," I said, my tone sharpening. "Why is my physician leaving your office at midnight?"

"Keep your voice down," he said, stepping around the desk.

"Don't tell me to keep my voice down. Answer the question. What is going on?"

"I sat at that corner table for three hours, Bray. The waiter asked me five times if I wanted to box up your food."

"I had my phone on silent," he said.

"I called you eight times. I texted you twelve. You didn't check your screen once?"

"I was buried in paperwork!"

"Paperwork?" I laughed, a harsh, empty sound. "Is that what you call this?"

I kicked a stack of papers at my feet. They slid across the carpet.

"Stop it, Lina."

"No, you stop it. You leave me sitting alone on our anniversary, I come here, and my doctor is sneaking out of your office."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "We were discussing your test results."

"My test results? From last week?"

"Yes."

"Why wouldn't she discuss them with me? I'm the patient."

Bray picked up a stray piece of paper from the rug and tossed it onto the desk. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

"She wanted to run something by me first."

"That makes no sense. Doctors don't make midnight house calls to a husband's workplace to discuss routine bloodwork."

"It wasn't routine," Bray snapped.

The room went dead silent.

I stared at him. The anger drained out of me, replaced by a sudden, icy fear.

"What do you mean, it wasn't routine?" I asked.

He sighed heavily. "She found something, Lina. In the scans."

"And she told you before she told me?"

"She knows how anxious you get. She wanted my advice on how to break the news."

I shook my head. "No. That violates every medical protocol in the book. Mila wouldn't do that."

"She did it because she cares about you," Bray insisted.

"She cares about me so much she avoids looking me in the eye in the hallway?"

"She was startled."

"She looked guilty, Bray."

"You're overreacting."

"Am I?" I challenged.

I looked away from him, my eyes scanning the mess on the floor. Right by the edge of the desk, half-hidden under the leather guest chair, lay a thick, glossy folder.

The bold red letters across the top caught my attention.

I bent down and picked it up.

"Lina, put that down," Bray said, lunging forward.

I stepped back, flipping the folder open.

It wasn't a medical report.

It was a life insurance policy.

My name was listed as the insured.

Bray was the sole beneficiary.

And the payout amount had just been increased to five million dollars.

"If you two were just talking about my health," I said, holding the document up, "why are you adjusting my life insurance?"