The Three-Year Lie: A Wife's Vengeance

ion to our old penthouse in the city. He called it "reintegrating" me, a step

usea washed over me. It was our home, the place where Edgar and I had

e was a riot of plush velvet furniture, ornate gold accents, and garish abstract

ace. She was draped in a silk gown, the color a shocking fuchsia that made my eyes ach

-designed light fixture once was. I remembered spending weeks with a renowned artisan, designing that pie

and, "is our home, Elise. Edgar let me redecorate completel

ys praised my taste, my eye for detail. Or so I thought. I remembered him saying, years ago, when I was agonizing over a pa

He had denied me a simple change of curtain fabric when I' d asked for it, claiming the ex

pointment in Amelie's eyes, quickly replaced by a smug satisfaction. Sh

e, I told you she'd be surprised, Amelie." He kissed my temple.

between us. "It's certainly... bold," I said, a faint, sardonic smile tou

ould celebrate. Just the two of us. I have a bottle of that vintage champagne y

e wanted to maintain the facade of my "lover," his "wife." But he

ct oppo

I'll just go lie down. All this... change is a bit overwhelming." I rubbed my temples, feig

alicious glee. She probably thought I was finally ac

ident. She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly st

ed to be my private study, then my art studio, both now redecorated beyond rec

it open with a flourish. "Here

rom the master suite. My stomach clenched. This used to be the guest room. The room Am

ers from the main redecorating. On the dresser, a collec

e so many, I don't even know what to do with them all. Edgar is so generous." She picke

iversary of my "deat

walked over to a glass display cabinet, filled with spar

pping with affected casualness. "Edgar insisted. After all,

e, nestled on a velvet cushion, was my mother's emerald pendant. The one I had worn on my w

ndant. My wedding jewelry. Was nothing sacred to them? My eyes w

a gift from my grandmother, specially designed with the Everett crest. It wasn't flashy, but it h

ssive flick of her wrist. "Edgar said it was from your grandmother. So antique. I don't know

andmother's brooch. My family's legacy.

" I said, my voice tig

e you would like it. You always were so... classic." She smiled, a taunting, hateful s

me was far greater. He had called me that? The

voice deliberately calm. I turned to leave

ering you. He's all mine tonight. We have some... catching up to do." Her meaning wa

clenched at my sides. I could hear Ameli

a heavy crystal vase from a nearby table. My intention was just to smash it, to make a

eyes

the amnesia facade momentarily c

mugness momentarily replaced

he still held. My hand shot out, trying t

y voice ringing with a fury

chest. "Get away from me, you crazy bitch!" S

lap. That was it. My control snapped. The years of gaslighting, the stolen life, the

rop my grandmother's brooch. It clattered to the marb

it!" I spat, my voi

ntorted in a mask of pure hatred.

ing. We stumbled, tripping over a plush rug, crashing to the floor. She scrabbled

to be dead!" she screamed, her voice ho

s of repressed rage. I kneed her, shoved her, tri

h big, frightened eyes, her face morphing into an innocent victim. Her hair was messy, a few scratches on her arm, a single

ng a trembling finger at me. "She went c

m. They grabbed my arms, pulling me up r

led, struggling aga

self appeared in the doorway, his face a thunderc

ace, my disheveled, bleeding appearance, the scattered handbags, t

ng on here?" he roared, hi

o his arms. "She's mad! She remembers things, she s

She was mocking me! She tried to break my grandmother's brooch!"

at the brooch, then back at me.

dgar. Jealous that I'm your wife now. Jealous that I'm Elise Everett."

he sheer audacity. T

words tearing from my throat. "You are Amel

igned shock. "She knows!" she whispered, her voice laced with

light. He stalked towards me, his steps heavy. The guards

" He reached out, his hand wrapping around my chin, forcing my head up. His grip w

ir ruthlessness. My outburst had been a

I said. My head... it really hurts. I just..." I tried to appear confused, disoriented, as if the memory had come and gone.

My heart pounded, a frantic drum against my ribs. I had to co

posure. She walked towards the crumpled brooch, picking it up. "She needs to know who's in charge n

horror. My grandmot

ne wail of pain escapi

nger. She needs to be disciplined." She tossed the broken pieces onto the floor at

racked with pain and fresh humiliation. My grandmother's

of emotion. "She needs to learn her place. And Amelie is right

e polished floor. I twisted my head back, meeting Ameli

room," a euphemism for another level of torture, another layer of his control. But

ce of my family's history. He had just made his mistake. He had given me a ne

lent vow to myself, as the door of the "therap