My Husband Buried Me to Protect His Mistress

Diana called me Thursday morning.

"Caspian wants to meet," she said. "Face-to-face. At the Hamptons estate."

I was in my parents' kitchen. Helena was making eggs. The smell of butter and salt filled the room.

"Why?" I asked.

"He says he wants to accelerate settlement. Avoid months of litigation. He's offering to sign revised terms if you'll meet him privately."

I heard the skepticism in her voice. She didn't believe him.

Neither did I.

But I was tired. Tired of the motions and counter-motions. Tired of Raymond Cho's stalling tactics. Tired of waking up every morning still legally bound to a man who'd given my jewelry to his mistress.

"When?" I asked.

"Tonight. Eight o'clock."

Helena turned from the stove. She was already shaking her head.

"Don't," she said quietly.

"I'll have my driver wait," I told Diana. "I won't stay long."

"Magnolia—" Diana started.

"Set it up," I said.

I hung up.

Helena set the spatula down. Crossed to where I sat.

"This is a mistake," she said.

I looked up at her. At the woman who'd brought me chamomile tea at midnight. Who'd sat beside me in the kitchen while Walter dismantled Caspian's entire professional life.

"I know," I said. "But I need this over."

She studied my face. Then she pulled me into a hug. Held me tight.

"Call me the second you're done," she whispered into my hair.

I promised her I would.

---

The drive to the Hamptons took two hours. My driver—Marcus, who'd worked for my family for fifteen years—kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

"I don't like this, Miss Elliott," he said as we pulled through the estate gates.

"I'll be fine," I said. "Wait here. I'll call when I'm ready to leave."

He didn't look convinced. But he nodded.

I walked up the stone path to the main house. The same house where I'd stood at the wrong grave for three years. The same house where Cecile Fontaine had told me about the real ceremony.

The front door was unlocked.

I stepped inside.

The foyer was dark. Just one lamp lit in the sitting room beyond.

Caspian stood by the window. He turned when he heard me.

He looked different. Thinner. There were shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there a month ago.

"Magnolia," he said. His voice was soft. Almost gentle.

I stayed near the door. Kept my purse on my shoulder.

"Diana said you wanted to talk about settlement terms," I said.

He nodded. Gestured to the sofa. "Sit. Please."

I didn't move.

He crossed to the bar cart. Poured two glasses of wine. Red. The kind I used to drink.

He brought one to me. Held it out.

"I know I don't deserve your time," he said quietly. "But I'm asking for it anyway."

I looked at the glass. At his hand. At his face.

For the first time in weeks, he looked like the man I'd married. The one who'd carried my books in the rain. Who'd remembered I liked cupcakes from the bakery on Lexington. Who'd held me through the worst depressive episode of my life and never once made me feel like a burden.

I took the glass.

He exhaled. Something that might have been relief.

We sat. Not close. I chose the chair across from the sofa. Put space between us.

Caspian sipped his wine. Set it down.

"I've been thinking," he said. "About everything that's happened. About what I did. What I didn't do."

I waited.

"You deserved better," he continued. His voice was steady. Sincere. "You gave me everything. And I—" He stopped. Looked down at his hands. "I threw it away."

I drank. The wine was good. Familiar.

"I want to make this easy for you," he said. "No more fighting. No more lawyers. I'll sign whatever terms you want. I just—" He looked up. Met my eyes. "I needed to tell you that. Face-to-face."

My left thumb found my right wrist. Pressed.

I drank again. Deeper this time.

"Why now?" I asked.

He smiled. Sad. Tired. "Because I finally understand what I lost."

The room tilted.

Just slightly. Just enough.

I blinked. Set my glass down. Missed the table. It fell. Red wine spread across the hardwood like blood.

Caspian stood.

I tried to stand too. My legs didn't work.

"Caspian—" My voice came out slurred. Wrong.

He crossed to me. Crouched down. His face was close to mine.

And his expression—

It wasn't apologetic anymore.

It was calm. Resolved.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But she needs this."

I tried to speak. Tried to move. Tried to reach for my phone.

Nothing worked.

The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was Caspian lifting me from the chair.

The last thing I felt was his arms around me.

Not like a husband.

Like someone carrying a body.

And the last coherent thought I had—clear and cold and absolutely certain—was that I'd walked into this knowing it was a trap.

And I'd done it anyway.