My Husband's Twisted Secret Life

la for the weekend to honor the fift

my parents. They were bouncing a little boy on their laps-

wn mother looked at Annelise with a love she had never once shown me. My entire five-year marr

n he revealed their final plan: they had already arranged to have me involuntaril

in road, my life in ashes. With nowhere else to turn, I made a despera

pte

ears old, and it h

lly a comfort, was cloying tonight, thick with the smell of rain and deceit. A fine mist clung to my skin, seeping into the thin fabric of my d

She was laughing, a sound I hadn't heard in half a decade, her head thrown back as she looked up at my husband. My Mark. He was smiling down at her, a gentl

face alight with a joy I had never been able to inspire. My father stood beside M

," my mother said, her voice carr

d, her voice a ghostly echo from a life I thought wa

rash. We'd held a funeral. I had spent months comforting a shattered Mark, holding my ow

y father's voice was a low rumble, laced

She's so wrapped up in playing the dutiful, grieving wife she wouldn't notice the tr

o my mouth. The world tilted, the jasmine vines seeming to twist an

ed, with two tiny sapphire eyes. My grandmother's locket. My mother had told me, with tears in her eyes, that it had been lost in a robbery years befor

es. My entire life, a carefully constructed stage play designed to keep me occupied, to con

a daughter. I was a

rned through the shock.

king into the soft, damp earth. A twig snapped under m

direction. Mark's smile vanished, rep

ching at my dress, the wet leaves slapping against my face. I didn't know where I was going, only that

s hand clamped down on my arm, his grip like iron

. There was no anger, no panic. Only a chilling, tri

ou!" The words tore from

his cologne, a scent I used to associate with comfort, now smelled like deca

e. I dug my heels in, my heart hammering a

ld. "The paperwork is already filed. Dr. Evans has had you under observation for months. Your 'profound g

e from a lie anymore. It was an escape from a cage they had been building around me for years. They wouldn't just discard

ve leather shoe, and when he grunted in pain, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second, I wrench

es darted around, landing on a red can of fuel next to a lawnmower. An i

the corner. I didn't let myself think. I found a book of matches on a dusty workbench, my fi

began to billow, thick and acrid. I didn't wait to see more. I bolted out the door, leaving it wi

houting, the first panicked cries as they saw the smoke. I didn't look back. I just ran, my lungs burnin

ly from cold and terror. My purse. I still had my small evening bag clutched in my hand.

ths ago, a sleek, black card with a silver embossed name. Julian Thorne. His biggest business rival. The on

mb hovering over the numbers. This was insane. He wouldn't help me. Why would he? But w

number. It ra

deep and cold as t