"Punch in the code, Julian."
"Relax, Harper. She left for the hotel over an hour ago."
"Are you absolutely sure? What if she stayed behind? You know how intensely paranoid she gets."
"I literally tracked her car's GPS. She's parked downtown at the Vanguard. We have the entire house to ourselves."
Beep. Beep. Beep. *Click.*
The heavy oak door downstairs swung inward, the hinges whining a sickeningly familiar tune.
I crouched in the pitch-black corner of the master walk-in closet, my fingers digging desperately into the cold metal of a bronze horse statue. The digital clock on the shelf above me flashed 2:50 PM. Wednesday afternoon.
"Leave the boots by the door," Harper's voice echoed up the stairwell, carrying a tone of ownership. "I don't want mud on the carpets."
"You're already redecorating?" Julian asked, laughing lightly.
"Someone has to fix this tragic interior. Clara has terrible taste."
"You always told her you liked her rugs."
"I lied to her face, Julian. It's called acting."
Heavy footsteps hit the hardwood stairs. I pressed my spine hard against the cedar panels, willing my breathing to stop entirely.
A navy-blue Amazon delivery jacket sailed through the bedroom doorway. It landed in a crumpled heap at the foot of my bed.
That cheap polyester fabric violently crushed the last, fragile sliver of denial I had been desperately hoarding.
My husband was the stalker.
"I absolutely hate that costume," Harper complained loudly, stepping fully into the doorframe.
"It served its purpose perfectly," Julian replied, his voice drawing closer to the closet.
I peered through the slanted wooden louvers of the closet door, my vision narrowed to a terrifying slit.
Julian walked past the vanity. He didn't step on the center of the Persian rug. He hugged the perimeter tightly, his expensive loafers sliding silently along the baseboards. He perfectly, mathematically bypassed the hidden pressure sensors he had personally installed just last month.
He stopped near the window and yanked off the navy baseball cap. Shadows fell away. Sunlight caught his sharp jawline.
Julian Sterling. My husband. The man who repeatedly swore to protect me from the evils of the world.
"Pour the wine," Julian ordered, tossing the cap casually onto my reading chair. "We have an hour before I actually have to leave for Chicago."
Harper moved into my direct line of sight. She held two of my expensive Waterford crystal glasses, filled to the brim with my absolute favorite Cabernet. She set one down with a sharp, disrespectful clink right on my nightstand.
"A toast," Harper announced, raising her glass high.
"To what?"
"To the brilliant, terrifying BeverlyWatcher."
Julian chuckled. It was a low, grating sound that scraped agonizingly against my eardrums. He tapped his glass against hers.
"To a flawless execution," he said smugly. "She really thinks a maniac is actively hunting her."
"You should have seen her face yesterday," Harper said, taking a long, luxurious sip. "She was trembling in the hallway. The poor, naive little housewife."
"She bought the hotel trick?"
"Hook, line, and sinker. I practically packed her bag for her."
"Did she ask any questions about the reservation?"
"None. She trusts me implicitly. It’s almost pathetic how much she leans on me."
I clamped my teeth down violently on the back of my hand. The metallic taste of copper flooded my tongue as my canines broke the skin. I welcomed the sharp, grounding sting. It kept the scream trapped firmly in my throat.
"Did she suspect anything when you dropped the hotel keycard?" Julian asked, moving smoothly to pour himself a second glass from the bottle.
"She didn't bat an eye," Harper laughed cruelly. "She picked it up like a good little maid and handed it right back. I told her it was from a spa trip."
"You need to be more careful, Harper. If she realizes I'm actually staying at the Summit, the whole narrative falls apart."
"She won't realize anything. Her brain is completely fried from the sleep deprivation."
"The night visits worked wonders," Julian agreed with a smirk.
"You actually stood outside her window at 4:00 AM?"
"I had to make the fear authentic. I rattled the glass, scraped a key against the frame. She spent the entire night curled up on the bathroom floor weeping."
"You're terrible," Harper said, though her tone was entirely laced with deep admiration.
"I'm efficient. Fear is the greatest motivator."
"When do we finally finish this?" Harper asked.
"Friday. I'll stage a massive break-in while I'm 'out of town'. She'll sign the trust over to me just to escape this place."
"Are you absolutely sure she'll sign?"
"She thinks the estate is cursed now. She's desperate for me to sell it."
"And the money?"
"Transferred to the offshore accounts the minute the ink dries on the paper."
"And then?"
Harper stepped much closer to him, her voice dropping to a sultry purr. "Then my lawyer files the medical papers. She gets committed to a private psychiatric facility for her paranoid delusions, and I get all the assets."
"Just the assets?" Harper pouted playfully. She trailed a manicured finger down his chest.
"And you, of course."
Julian grabbed her waist possessively. He pulled her flush against him and crashed his mouth fiercely onto hers. They kissed right there, stumbling backward until the backs of Harper's knees hit the mattress. My marital bed.
The springs groaned in protest as they fell onto the expensive silk duvet.
A strange, hollow laugh bubbled deep in my chest. I didn't cry. The tears simply refused to form. My heart didn't break; it calcified instantly into a heavy, unmovable stone.
"Wait," Harper murmured, pushing him back slightly.
"What is it?"
"You promised me a reward for playing the concerned best friend all week."
Julian smirked, rolling lazily off the bed. "Impatient."
"I earned it, Julian. I had to drink her terrible coffee and pretend to care about her pathetic feelings."
"You want your prize right now?"
"I want to wear it while we celebrate."
He walked over to the discarded Amazon jacket on the floor. He crouched, digging deep into the plastic-lined pocket.
"Close your eyes," he commanded.
"They're closed," Harper giggled. She sat up, sweeping her blonde hair seductively over one shoulder.
Julian pulled out a square, black velvet box.
My grip on the bronze statue turned bone-white. I recognized that box instantly. I had found the jeweler's invoice hidden in his study six months ago.
"Open them," Julian said.
He snapped the lid open. A dazzling, custom-cut diamond pendant rested beautifully on the white satin. The anniversary necklace. The one I had been waiting for. The one he promised would symbolize our fresh start after my mother's tragic funeral.
"Oh, Julian," Harper gasped, her eyes flying open in sheer greed. "It’s absolutely stunning."
"Only the best for my queen," he whispered.
"Did she ever ask about the massive charge on the credit card?" Harper asked, admiring the diamond.
"She saw the invoice," Julian admitted smoothly. "I told her it was a surprise for our anniversary. She actually cried."
"Tears of joy?"
"Tears of gratitude. She thought I was finally forgiving her for being so distant lately."
Harper scoffed loudly. "She always plays the victim."
"She won't be playing anything soon. Just the role of the crazy wife locked away safely in a padded room."
"Put it on me."
He stepped directly behind her. He lifted the heavy diamond and draped the cool platinum chain around her neck. The jewel settled directly over her collarbone, catching the afternoon light brilliantly.
He fastened the clasp.
Every warm memory, every ounce of love I ever harbored for the man standing in my bedroom, evaporated into absolute nothingness. The woman crouching in the dark was no longer a terrified wife. I was a ghost watching two thieves violently divide my life.
"How does it look?" Harper asked, turning to face the mirrored closet door.
She was looking right at me. Through the wooden slats, her reflection stared directly into my eyes.
"Perfect," Julian said, kissing the soft spot just below the diamond. "It belongs on you."
"It feels heavy," she observed, touching the cold stone.
"It's three carats. You'll get used to the weight."
"Clara would have ruined it with her tacky sweaters."
"Clara isn't getting it. Clara is entirely out of the picture."
I lowered the heavy bronze statue. The metal felt warm in my grip. I didn't want to hide anymore.
"Should we test the bed?" Julian asked, his voice thick with lust.
"Make me forget her entirely," Harper whispered back.
My thumb traced the sharp ears of the bronze horse. The closet door was unlocked from the inside. One hard push, and I would be standing right in front of them.
Could I really stay completely silent and watch them defile my bed, or was it time to tear their perfect plan to shreds?
