Ellen POV:
"Pancakes. Make them quick, I have a nine a.m. meeting," Adrian ordered, not even looking away from the mirror as he adjusted his tie knot.
I walked past him, keeping my head down. I moved quickly down the hallway, but instead of turning left into the kitchen, I ducked right and slipped back into the master bedroom. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I knew exactly how long his morning routine took. I had three minutes.
I dropped to my knees beside the bed. I pulled the black iPhone from my pocket and shoved it back into the dusty waterproof bag. I zipped it shut, the metal teeth gliding smoothly.
I pushed the bag deep into the dark space, grabbed the loose composite floorboard, and snapped it back into place. It fit perfectly. I grabbed the Dyson vacuum wand and ran it over the area twice, leaving fresh vacuum tracks on the rug to mask any disturbance.
I jumped up, my chest heaving, and sprinted down the hall to the kitchen.
I twisted the gas knob on the stove. Blue flames flared to life. I dropped a thick square of butter into the cast-iron skillet. It immediately began to sizzle and melt. I grabbed a bowl, cracked two eggs, and dumped in flour and milk. My arms moved mechanically, whisking the batter with aggressive, violent strokes, but my eyes were fixed on the granite countertop, cold and dead.
Ten minutes later, I heard the sharp click of Adrian’s leather oxfords hitting the hardwood floor. He walked into the dining room, pulled out his chair, and sat down. He tapped his knuckles impatiently against the mahogany table.
I picked up the plates of steaming pancakes and crispy bacon and walked over. I set them down in front of him and poured a cup of black coffee from the French press.
He picked up his knife and fork, sliced off a piece of pancake, and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed once, and his face twisted into a scowl.
"These are tough," he complained, dropping the fork onto the porcelain plate with a loud clatter. "Did you overmix the batter again?"
I stood behind the kitchen island, gripping the cold marble edge to keep my hands from shaking. I forced a gentle, yielding smile. "I'm sorry. The supermarket was out of our usual brand of flour. I had to buy a cheaper one."
Adrian scoffed, taking a sip of his coffee. "Everything is getting more expensive in California. The company's revenue is down this quarter. We have to cut back on useless expenses. You need to be more mindful of the grocery budget, Ellen."
Listening to his lecture on frugality made my skin crawl. I wanted to grab the skillet of boiling butter and pour it over his perfectly styled hair.
Instead, I took a breath and tested the waters. "Speaking of expenses," I said softly, keeping my tone submissive. "Cameron's public school is offering an extracurricular swimming program starting next week. It's only three hundred dollars for the whole semester. Can I sign him up?"
Adrian’s face darkened instantly. He slammed his coffee mug down, splashing dark liquid onto the table.
"Three hundred dollars?" he snapped, his voice sharp and punishing. "Do you have any idea how much electricity that pays for? Cameron is a normal kid. He doesn't need fancy country club lessons. Tell him to run around in the backyard for free."
I stared at his angry, righteous face. In my mind, the image of Angel riding a custom Trek bicycle overlaid his features. My maternal instinct flared into a blinding rage, but I locked it down behind an iron cage.
I lowered my eyes and nodded meekly. "You're right. I'll email his teacher today and decline the spot."
Adrian’s posture relaxed. My absolute submission stroked his ego perfectly. He wiped his mouth elegantly with a linen napkin and stood up, grabbing his leather briefcase from the chair.
I walked around the island and followed him to the entryway, playing the role of the devoted housewife seeing her provider off to work.
As he bent down to slip on his suit jacket, I reached out to adjust his collar.
The moment I leaned in, a scent hit my nose. It was incredibly faint, masked by his standard deodorant, but I caught it. It was a rich, woody scent with hints of cardamom and leather. Le Labo Santal 33. A luxury perfume that cost hundreds of dollars a bottle. It was not the cheap Old Spice he claimed to wear.
My fingers stiffened against his lapel. My eyes darkened, but I kept my smile plastered in place.
Adrian finished putting on his shoes and leaned down, pressing a dry, obligatory kiss to my forehead.
"I have to fly out to Austin this Friday," he said smoothly. "Big client meeting. I won't be back until Sunday. You and Cameron handle the weekend yourselves."
Austin. The name of the city sounded like a death sentence ringing in my ears.
"Of course," I smiled warmly. "Have a safe flight. Don't work too hard."
He opened the front door and walked out. The heavy door swung shut behind him. The deadbolt clicked with a final, heavy sound.
The smile instantly vanished from my face. I turned around, walked straight to the dining table, grabbed his plate of half-eaten pancakes, and hurled it into the stainless steel trash can.
"Go to hell, Adrian."
