He Tried to Kill Me for His Mistress

The sound of sirens pierced the air as I sat dazed in my crumpled car. Blood trickled down my forehead, warm and sticky against my skin. Through the shattered driver's side window, I could see my mother's car speeding away, tires kicking up gravel as she fled the scene.

"Eleanor!" Kian's voice carried across the lawn. He was running toward me, his face a mask of—what? Concern? Anger? I couldn't tell anymore.

For a moment, hope fluttered in my chest. Maybe this was it—the moment he'd finally prioritize me over everyone else.

But then I saw her. Ariana, stumbling out of the passenger side of my mother's car, her hand pressed dramatically to her forehead. "Kian," she called weakly, her voice carrying just enough to reach him. "I think I'm going to faint."

Kian hesitated mid-stride. I watched in disbelief as he turned away from me—away from his bleeding wife—and rushed to Ariana's side.

"Baby, are you okay?" he murmured, cradling her face as she leaned into him with practiced fragility.

"I just feel so lightheaded," she whispered, her eyes fluttering. "The impact must have affected me."

I pushed open my car door, ignoring the pain that shot through my side. "Kian, I'm bleeding."

He glanced back at me, irritation flashing across his face. "Eleanor, can't you see Ariana needs help right now?"

Before I could respond, strong hands gripped my shoulders from behind. "She's right," Saint's voice was steady as he assessed my injuries. "She needs medical attention."

"Saint?" I turned to find him kneeling beside me, his face tight with concern. "What are you doing here?"

"I followed you," he admitted, gently examining the cut on my head. "I was worried about you being alone with your family."

As the ambulance approached, Kian was still fussing over Ariana, who had miraculously recovered enough to stand but remained leaning against him. "She's just upset," he told the paramedics dismissively. "Eleanor's always been dramatic."

Saint's jaw tightened. Without a word, he helped me to my feet and guided me toward the ambulance, his arm steady around my waist.

"I've got her," he told the paramedics, his voice leaving no room for argument.

---

"A family Thanksgiving," my mother had insisted over the phone three weeks later. "One last chance to make things right."

I'd almost refused outright until she'd added, "I'm dying, Eleanor. The stress of all this is killing me."

So here I was, standing in my childhood home's dining room, watching Ariana float around in a cashmere sweater, playing the perfect hostess. She'd even prepared a special stuffing, she announced, her eyes meeting mine with saccharine sweetness.

"I made it just for you, darling. I know how much you love my recipe."

"I brought my own food," I replied coolly, setting down a container of store-bought sides.

"Don't be silly," Ariana chided, already spooning the stuffing onto my plate. "This is a peace offering. I promise there's nothing in it you can't eat."

Kian watched our exchange with narrowed eyes. "Eleanor, can't you just try to get along? One dinner won't kill you."

The irony of his words wasn't lost on me.

"Of course," Ariana added, her voice dripping with false remorse. "I was so wrong about... everything. Please, just one bite to show there are no hard feelings?"

My mother nodded encouragingly from across the table. Even Kian looked hopeful.

I took a small bite, the flavor familiar yet somehow off. Within minutes, my throat began to tighten.

"Is something wrong?" Ariana asked, her concern not quite reaching her eyes.

I reached for my water glass, but my hand knocked it over. "Walnuts," I gasped, feeling my airway constricting. "You put walnuts in the stuffing."

Ariana's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God! I forgot! Kian, do something!"

I fumbled in my purse for my EpiPen, but my fingers were going numb.

"You're ruining dinner," Kian hissed, not moving to help me. "It was an honest mistake, Eleanor."

"It's—not—a—joke," I wheezed, the room beginning to spin.

Suddenly, Saint was there, rushing through the door I'd left unlocked for him. "Eleanor!" He knelt beside me, taking the EpiPen from my trembling hands.

"Saint," I whispered, relief washing over me as he jabbed the needle into my thigh.

"I've got you," he promised, lifting me into his arms. "I'm taking you to the ER."

As he carried me past Kian, I saw something flicker in my husband's eyes—not concern, but annoyance at the disruption.

"Will she be okay?" Ariana called after us, her voice pitched perfectly between worry and exasperation.

"She would have been fine if you'd just told the truth," Saint snapped over his shoulder.

As the door closed behind us, I heard Kian comforting Ariana. "It was an innocent mistake," he soothed. "Don't blame yourself."

The last thing I saw before the darkness claimed me was Saint's face above mine, his eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness I'd never seen in Kian's.