POV: Clara
For one whole week I keep playing the part of the blind wife, and I let Alexander lead me around the house and pour my tea while he thinks he is the smartest man alive, and everyday I watch him wipe down surfaces and hide his phone whenever I walk into the room.
"How are your eyes feeling today, honey?" Alexander asks me on Tuesday morning while we sit at the kitchen table eating breakfast, his face wearing that fake sweet expression he always uses when he wants to trick me.
"They still hurt from the bright light, so I am keeping them closed most of the time," I reply, keeping my voice soft and weak as I feel around the table for my cup of tea.
"You do not need to worry about anything because I am right here to help you, and I am going to make sure you have everything you need," he says, patting my hand across the table with a chuckle that he tries to hide behind his coffee mug.
Just then the doorbell rings, and Alexander jumps up from his chair in a hurry, opening the front door to let in my cousin Elara who walks right into the kitchen with a big bag of groceries.
"Hi Clara, I brought some fresh fruit for you because I know you love apples, and I wanted to check in on you since Alexander has to work late today," Elara says, walking over to give me a hug while her clothes still smell like the same perfume from the bedroom.
"Thank you so much, Elara, you are always so kind to come visit me and keep me company while Alexander is busy," I say, leaning into the hug and staring right over her shoulder at Alexander who is smiling behind her back.
"She does not have to worry about a thing because I take great care of her," Alexander chimes in, walking over to put his arm around Elara's waist for a second before pulling away when I turn my head.
"I know you do, Alexander, and Clara is lucky to have such a dedicated husband," Elara giggles, sitting down across from me and crossing her legs while she watches him pour more coffee.
Later that afternoon after Alexander leaves for work and Elara goes home, I sit in the living room and pull my phone from my pocket, locking the door and dialing the number for the family lawyer who has tried to reach me for months.
"Hello, this is Clara Hart," I whisper into the phone, making sure to keep my voice down so nobody in the hallway can hear me.
"Clara, oh my goodness, we have been looking everywhere for you," Mr Vance says on the other end of the line, sounding completely shocked and relieved at the same time.
"What is going on, Mr Vance, why have you been calling me so much?" I ask, leaning back against the couch cushions.
"Your grandfather passed away six months ago, and according to his will, you are now the sole heir to the multibillion-dollar empire, and we have been trying to track you down through your husband but he told us you were too sick to speak to anyone," the lawyer explains in a rush.
"Alexander told you that?" I ask, my teeth gritting together as the full picture of his lies becomes crystal clear.
"Yes, he said you were incapacitated and tried to gain control of your corporate shares, but now that you are on the phone, we can start transferring everything directly to your personal private account," Mr Vance says.
"Send me the papers right now, and let us get everything done quietly without letting a single person know," I tell him, giving him instructions to draw up my divorce papers as well.
Over the next few days I play my role while I sign the legal documents on my phone, and on Friday night Alexander sits next to me on the couch rubbing my back while he talks about our future.
"Clara, we should combine our bank accounts and put all your family inheritance into a joint fund so I can manage the investments for you while your eyes heal," Alexander says smoothly, thinking he is about to hit the jackpot.
"That sounds like a good idea, Alexander, let us talk about it tomorrow morning," I reply, leaning my head on his shoulder and pretending to yawn like I am ready for bed.
"Great, get some good sleep because tomorrow we will sort it all out," he says, kissing my forehead before we head upstairs to our bedroom.
While Alexander falls fast asleep beside me and starts snoring loudly around two in the morning, I quietly get out of bed and pack my clothes into a single suitcase, moving carefully across the floor so I do not wake him up.
I take my laptop and all my important documents, walking down the stairs and turning on the lights for the first time in three years, and I open the front door and step outside into the cool night air to wait for the car I called.
Before I pull the door closed behind me for good, I walk back inside to the dining table and place a thick white envelope right in the center where he will see it first thing in the morning.
Alexander comes downstairs the next morning and finds an empty house...
except for one envelope on the dining table.
