After His Mistress Framed Me, I Took Everything

Lacey made me wash the breakfast dishes. Then she made me wash them again because she said I left spots.

I stood at the sink with my hands in cold water and watched her through the window reflection. She was sitting at the table with the children, laughing. Her hand kept drifting to the necklace. My necklace. She touched it the way you touch something you won.

"Evelyn," she called. "When you're finished, the nursery needs tidying."

I dried my hands. "Of course."

She smiled. "You're a treasure. Honestly, I don't know how we managed before you arrived."

That afternoon, she found me folding laundry in the hallway. She leaned against the doorframe, one hand on her belly.

"Hayden and I went to the Maldives last Christmas," she said. "Have you ever been?"

I kept folding. "No."

"Oh, it's paradise. We stayed in one of those overwater bungalows. You know the ones—glass floors, private pools." She sighed. "Hayden proposed to me there, actually. Well, proposed again. He's terribly romantic."

I set down the towel. Looked at her.

She tilted her head. "I'm sorry. Is that inappropriate? I forget sometimes that staff might find these conversations awkward."

"It's fine," I said.

She smiled wider. "You're very professional."

At dinner, she sat at the head of the table with Hayden beside her. I served the roast chicken I'd spent two hours preparing. She took one bite, paused, and set down her fork.

"It's a little dry," she said gently. "Maybe next time, baste it more often?"

Hayden didn't look up.

I nodded. "I'll remember."

"Thank you, darling." She reached over and squeezed my hand. Her fingers were warm. The diamond pendant caught the light.

That night, I heard them through the walls again. Her laugh. His voice. The sound of a door closing. I lay in the narrow bed and stared at the ceiling. My hands didn't shake. My chest didn't hurt. I felt nothing at all.

On the third day, I made tea.

Lacey had asked for chamomile. I boiled the water, steeped the bag, added honey the way she liked. I set the cup on the counter and turned to put the kettle away.

When I turned back, she was lifting the cup to her lips.

She drank half of it. Then she set it down, pressed a hand to her mouth, and walked into the hallway.

Thirty seconds later, she screamed.

I ran. She was on the floor, doubled over, clutching her stomach. Her face was white. The teacup had shattered beside her.

"The baby," she gasped. "Oh God, the baby—"

The housekeeper appeared. Then Hayden. He dropped to his knees beside Lacey.

"What happened?" His voice cracked.

Lacey looked up at him. Tears streamed down her face. "The tea," she whispered. "Evelyn made me tea."

Hayden's head snapped toward me.

I opened my mouth. "I didn't—"

"She poisoned me." Lacey's voice broke. "She poisoned me."

Hayden stood. His face was white. Then red. He crossed the space between us in two steps and grabbed my arm. His fingers dug in hard enough to bruise.

"What did you do?" he said.

"Nothing. I made tea. That's all."

"You're lying."

"I'm not—"

He dragged me toward the basement door. I tried to pull back. His grip tightened.

"Hayden, please—"

He shoved the door open and pushed me down the stairs. I stumbled, caught myself on the railing. He followed. The door slammed shut behind us.

The basement was cold. Concrete floors. Exposed beams. A single bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Hayden pulled a length of rope from a shelf and grabbed my wrists. I tried to twist away. He yanked my arms over my head and tied the rope to an overhead pipe. The knots bit into my skin.

"Hayden, stop—"

He walked to the far wall and took down a leather belt. Then he filled a bucket with water from the utility sink and dumped salt into it. He submerged the belt. Pulled it out dripping.

"You tried to kill her," he said.

"I didn't."

"You tried to kill my child."

"I didn't do anything!"

He raised the belt.

The first strike tore the air from my lungs. The second made me scream. By the tenth, I tasted blood. By the thirtieth, my voice was gone.

I looked up.

Lacey was standing at the top of the stairs. One hand rested on her belly. She was smiling.

Hayden didn't stop. Forty. Fifty. Sixty.

I stopped screaming. Not because the pain lessened. Because something else took over.

I started counting.

Seventy. Eighty. Ninety.

Each number was a brick. I was building something. A structure. Cold and precise.

One hundred.

Hayden dropped the belt. His chest heaved. He looked at me like I was something he needed to dispose of.

Then he walked upstairs.

Lacey followed.

The door closed.

I hung there in the dark. Blood ran down my back. My wrists were raw. I couldn't feel my hands.

But my mind was clear.

I knew exactly what I was going to do.