A Donna's Open Casket Gambit

Watching my son's practiced, hollow grief, my heart turned to ice.

Liam must have sensed my silence. His feigned sobs hitched, and he looked up at me.

"Mamma?" he asked, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

A wry, almost mocking smile touched my lips as I strode to Finnian's bedside. Without a flicker of hesitation, I yanked the white sheet from his body.

The move was so abrupt that the family doctors and guards standing by were too stunned to react.

My husband lay on the bed, his face flushed with an unnaturally healthy color. This time, I didn't miss the slight twitch of his finger.

How utterly ridiculous. To think I had fallen for such a clumsy act in my last life.

Back then, terrified of upsetting Liam further, I hadn't dared look at Finnian's face. Blinded by sorrow, I'd completely missed the guilty, evasive expressions on the doctors.

My gaze swept coldly across the room, finally locking onto the head physician.

The entire reputation of this private family clinic rested on our trust. Looking back, it was painfully obvious Finnian had bought them all off to stage this elaborate farce.

"Mamma! What are you doing?" Liam scrambled toward me, still too young to conceal the raw terror in his eyes—the fear of a lie being exposed.

"Papa is gone. Please, let him rest in peace. Don't disturb him," he pleaded, his voice trembling.

"The dead know no peace," I replied evenly, not yet ready to spring the trap.