The Wife He Buried Alive

“Once signed, the exclusive cooperation agreement cannot be modified. Please confirm.” Donna tapped ‘Confirm.’ Every stifled gasp in the room tightened her grip on the pregnancy test, turning her knuckles white. Today marked the anniversary of Terry’s death after the kidnapping. She had been on her way to Roger’s private morgue to give him the good news—she was pregnant again. She never imagined walking into this. Roger lounged against the headboard, a string of blood-red prayer beads lying against his taut neck. His long fingers gripped the slender waist of the woman straddling him, letting her nuzzle open his shirt and press kisses to his chest. “Nancy, the ‘nutritional shots’ I give her every night are specially formulated contraceptives, developed by experts. She will never get pregnant with my child again.” Roger’s low voice drifted out, casual and unconcerned. Each word was a dagger to Donna’s heart. Five years. A full five years. She had always believed her own poor health was to blame for not conceiving again. Because she trusted him—the forensic pathologist—her entire arm and even her back were covered with dark, bruised needle marks. But those weren’t nutritional shots. They were the special drugs he had meticulously prepared for her. Donna bit her lower lip until she tasted blood, rooted to the spot, refusing to leave. “I’ll kill every child she bears, just like I personally killed Donna’s child six months ago.” “If her father hadn’t saved me back then, she wouldn’t hold that debt over my head to force this marriage. Then *you* would be my rightful wife today—the lady of Roger’s Group.” “But it’s fine. As long as you carry my child, I’ll make him the happiest in the world. And you, just as I promised when we were kids, will become the happiest woman.” Their panting grew louder. Donna wanted to leave, but her body felt like lead. The bead engraved with “Donna”—her supposed talisman—swung mockingly, turning her stomach. Six months ago, distracted for half a second—thinking about buying Roger a watch—she had let Terry be snatched by a criminal. The kidnapper demanded a billion. Roger mobilized every last bit of liquid capital from Roger’s Group and paid it, down to the last cent. The kidnapper demanded he kneel all night. Roger, a man who’d never bowed to anyone, knelt. But in the end, what was delivered back was only Roger—unconscious, one leg brutally broken—and Terry, smothered to death by someone’s hand. Yet Roger had used every means at his disposal and still couldn’t uncover who was behind it. She thought she’d never learn the truth in this lifetime. She never imagined hearing the man himself tear it open today. So Terry’s death wasn’t an accident. Her years of infertility weren’t an accident either. It was her most beloved, most trusted husband, clearing obstacles for his true love. In Roger’s eyes, she and their child were nothing but stumbling blocks keeping him and Nancy apart. The commotion in the room grew more intense, even knocking over the vigil light beside the plaque. After Terry’s death, Roger—the lifelong skeptic—had forged his own strange religion of guilt: a shrine, a perpetual flame, rituals of abstinence. All for Terry. Donna had thought it was his heartache over their child’s wrongful death. Now she saw it was only his own guilty conscience. “You like the shrine? I’ll build you a cathedral of candles.” Roger’s voice was full of tender affection as he kissed the top of Nancy’s head. Nancy let out a soft, light laugh. Her hand snaked down and grasped him. “Roger, shouldn’t you go back? It’s so late. Sister Donna must be waiting anxiously at home.” The words were for Roger, but her eyes never left Donna’s—unblinking, scornful, dripping with provocation. Roger’s entire focus was on Nancy. Her feigned resistance only stirred him more. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Be good, one more time, hmm? Even if she died right now, I wouldn’t go back, okay?” Donna’s heart was already numb, but the words still found their mark. Slowly, she pushed herself up to leave. Then a sharp smoke alarm blared through the morgue. Donna turned to see flames suddenly erupting. Terry! Her Terry was still in there! Donna had just rushed in when she saw Roger, without hesitation, shove Nancy toward the door. “Get out! Don’t let anyone see you!” Nancy met Donna’s terrified gaze and curved her lips into a smile. With a sweep of her arm, she slammed the door shut, sealing Donna’s only exit. In the sealed, burning room, Donna felt the searing heat on her skin. Blood streamed down, pooling on the floor. She collapsed, clutching the small, cold body of her son to her chest with her last strength. *BANG—* Firefighters broke down the door. The world spun. The last thing Donna saw was Roger’s retreating back as he carried Nancy away. Her husband never looked back. Not once.