After His Mistress Framed Me for Killing Her Baby

The text came at midnight.

*Warehouse 7. Waterfront. Come alone.*

I stared at the screen. Raiden never summoned me like this. We lived in the same house. Slept in the same bed, though we hadn't touched in weeks. If he wanted to talk, he just walked into whatever room I was in and started talking.

But I went.

I drove through empty streets, past closed storefronts and flickering streetlights. The warehouse district smelled like salt water and rust. Warehouse 7 was at the end of a long pier, isolated. Dark except for a single light over the entrance.

I pushed through the door.

Raiden stood in the center of the space under a hanging work light. Six of his enforcers lined the walls. I recognized Victor Hale, the lead. His face was blank. They all were.

The door locked behind me. Heavy bolt sliding home.

"Raiden?" My voice echoed.

He turned. His face was stone. "Tell me what you did."

"What I—what are you talking about?"

"Estella's baby." Each word was precise. Controlled. "My baby. Tell me what you did."

My stomach dropped. "What happened to Estella?"

"Car accident. Yesterday afternoon. She lost the child." His hands were fists at his sides. "The police found evidence. Brake lines tampered with. Witness statements placing you near her usual route that morning. A text from your phone to a mechanic in Queens."

"That's insane."

"Is it?" He moved closer. "You've hated her since she arrived. You've made that clear."

"I don't trust her. That's different from—" I stopped. Forced myself to breathe. "Raiden, I didn't touch her car. I didn't send any texts. I don't even know a mechanic in Queens."

"The phone records say otherwise."

"Then someone's lying."

His jaw tightened. "Confess."

"There's nothing to confess!"

"Lilliana." He said my name like a warning. Like a threat. "I have given you everything. This house. This life. All I asked was that you give me a son. An heir. And instead you—"

"I didn't do this!" My voice cracked. "You think I'd kill a baby? Any baby? You think I'm capable of that?"

"I think you're capable of anything when you're angry." He gestured to Victor. "Show her."

Victor disappeared through a side door. Came back dragging something. A duffel bag. Large and heavy. It hit the concrete with a thick sound.

Something inside it moved.

I stepped back. "What is that?"

"Leverage," Raiden said. "Since you won't tell me the truth, maybe this will help you remember."

The bag shifted again. A small sound came from inside. Muffled. Frightened.

"Raiden, what did you do?"

"What you made me do." He walked to the bag. Pulled out an iron rod from somewhere behind him. Three feet long. Heavy. "You killed my child. So now you get to watch me kill one."

My heart stopped. "You're bluffing."

"Am I?"

I looked at his face. Searched for something familiar. Some trace of the man who'd held me on our wedding night and promised he'd protect me from everything, including himself.

Nothing.

"Confess," he said quietly. "And I'll let this one go."

"I can't confess to something I didn't do."

"Then you're choosing this." He raised the rod.

"Raiden, stop!" I lunged forward. Victor caught me. Held me back. "Please, whoever's in there, they didn't do anything—"

"Neither did my son." The rod came down.

The sound was horrible. Wet and heavy. The bag jerked.

I screamed. "Stop it! Stop!"

He hit it again. And again. Methodical. Controlled. Like he was driving fence posts. Like it was work.

I fought Victor's grip. Clawed at his arms. "Raiden, please, I'm begging you—"

The bag stopped moving.

Raiden dropped the rod. It clanged against the concrete. He was breathing hard. His shirt was spattered with something dark.

"Open it," he said.

Victor let me go. Walked to the bag. Unzipped it slowly.

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't look away.

The bag fell open.

A child's face. Eyes closed. Blood in his dark hair.

My son's face.

Thomas.

The scream that came out of me wasn't human. I hit the ground. Crawled toward him. Pulled him out of the bag. His body was small and broken and still warm.

"Thomas," I sobbed. "Baby, no, no, no—"

Behind me, Raiden's voice was confused. "What did you call him?"

I pressed my face against Thomas's hair. Rocked him. His blood soaked into my clothes. My hands. My hands were covered in my son's blood.

"Lilliana." Raiden's voice was closer. Sharp now. "Who is that?"

I looked up at my husband. At the man who'd just beaten our son to death.

"His name," I whispered, "was Thomas Payne."

Raiden went white. "That's not—"

"He's four years old. I gave birth to him in Boston. I hid him to keep him safe from your world." My voice was breaking. "I was going to tell you. I had a plan. I was going to bring him home."

The rod slipped from Raiden's hand.

"You're lying," he said. But his voice was hollow.

I pressed my thumb against Thomas's small wrist. No pulse. Just cold skin and absence.

"I'm not," I said. "And now he's dead. You killed him. You killed our son."

Raiden staggered backward. Hit the wall. Slid down it.

Victor was staring at the bag. At Thomas. His face was gray.

I gathered my son against my chest and stood. My legs shook. Everything shook.

"Lilliana—" Raiden reached for me.

"Don't." My voice was flat. Empty. "Don't ever say my name again."

I walked toward the door. Victor unlocked it without being asked. His hands were shaking.

I carried Thomas out into the night. Behind me, I heard a sound like an animal dying.

It was Raiden.

I didn't look back.