Spare Part Wife: Liver For His Mistress

Jada woke up on the floor. Her neck was stiff, and her mouth tasted like metal and exhaustion. The digital clock on the bedside table read 7:00 AM.

Click.

The bedroom door unlocked automatically. The smart home schedule. Darius hadn't overridden the morning routine.

She stood up, her legs shaky. She was still wearing the ruined green dress. She didn't care. She walked out into the living area like a ghost.

Darius was there. He was sitting at the kitchen island, dressed in a fresh navy suit, drinking espresso and reading news on a tablet. The domestic normalcy of the scene was grotesque.

He didn't look up as she entered. "Eat something," he commanded, his eyes scanning a headline. "You need your strength. Your iron levels were borderline last month."

Jada walked to the fruit bowl. She grabbed a red apple. For a second, she considered eating it. She was starving. But the thought of taking anything from him made her gag.

She threw the apple into the stainless steel sink with a loud thud.

"Rot in hell," she said, her voice raspy.

She went to the fridge to get a bottle of water. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

Darius stood up. The chair legs scraped loudly against the tile. The atmosphere in the room tightened instantly, like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point.

He walked over and stood in the archway that led to the foyer, blocking her path to the front door.

"We are going to the hospital for pre-op testing at nine," he stated. It wasn't a question.

Jada gripped the cold water bottle. "I'm not going."

She saw a steak knife on the counter-leftover from his dinner, presumably. A dinner he ate while she was locked in the bedroom.

She grabbed it.

Darius watched her, his expression bored. He took a step closer.

"Stay back," Jada warned, pointing the serrated tip at his chest. Her hand was shaking violently.

Darius didn't flinch. He stepped right up to the blade until the tip was pressing against the fine wool of his lapel.

"Do it," he challenged softly. His eyes bore into hers. "It would solve a lot of problems, Jada. I wouldn't have to watch you destroy yourself with this stubbornness."

Jada stared at him. She hated him. She hated him so much it consumed her. But could she stab him? Could she drive steel into the heart she used to rest her head on?

Her hand wavered. A sob trapped in her throat. She couldn't do it. She wasn't him.

The knife clattered to the floor.

Darius sighed, a sound of disappointment mixed with relief. He reached out and grabbed her shoulders, his grip bruising. He shook her, just once, hard.

"Stop fighting me, Jada! You are making this harder than it needs to-"

Piano music.

A ringtone cut through the air. It wasn't a standard ringtone. It was Debussy's Clair de Lune.

Darius froze. His grip on Jada loosened instantly. His eyes went wide, the aggression evaporating, replaced by a sheer, naked terror that Jada had never seen on his face before.

He pulled his phone from his pocket.

Caller ID: Hazel.

Jada watched the transformation. The monster vanished. The husband vanished. In their place was a desperate, terrified boy.

He answered immediately, pressing the phone to his ear with a trembling hand.

"Hazel? What's wrong?" His voice cracked.

Jada leaned back against the counter, clutching her chest. Seeing him panic for another woman hurt more than his cruelty.

Darius listened to the voice on the other end. All the color drained from his face.

"I'm coming," he said breathlessly. "I'm coming right now. Don't close your eyes, Hazel. Listen to me. Stay with me."

He hung up and spun around, grabbing his car keys from the counter. He ran toward the door, his movements frantic. He had forgotten Jada existed.

Jada pushed off the counter. She grabbed his arm as he passed.

"So that's it?" she screamed. "You leave me in prison to run to her? Because she called?"

Darius stopped. He looked at her hand on his arm with revulsion. He ripped his arm away with excessive force, sending Jada stumbling back. She hit her hip against the granite island and cried out.

"She stopped breathing for ten seconds," Darius snarled, his eyes wild. "She is fighting for every breath she takes. Don't you dare compare yourself to her. You are healthy. You are fine. She is dying."

The cruelty of the comparison hung in the air, toxic and heavy.

Darius didn't wait for a response. He sprinted to the private elevator. The doors slid open, he jumped in, and they slid shut.

Jada was alone in the silence of the penthouse.

She rubbed her bruised hip. She looked at the steak knife on the floor.

Then, her eyes drifted to the front door.

Darius had been in such a panic, such a rush to get to his beloved Hazel...

He hadn't re-engaged the lockdown. The door was unlocked.