When My Husband Framed Me for Killing His Brother’s Heir

The wail of sirens pierced the air as police cars and black SUVs with tinted windows swarmed the Harper estate. I stood frozen on the terrace, watching as uniformed officers and men in dark suits flooded the manicured lawns. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat echoing the chant forming in my mind: *This isn't happening. This isn't happening.*

"Mrs. Harper." A woman's voice cut through my panic. "I'm Detective Rodriguez. We need to ask you some questions about what happened to Melissa Donovan."

I turned to face her, my mouth dry as sandpaper. "I didn't do anything. The tea was just herbal—"

"Ma'am, please keep your hands where I can see them." Detective Rodriguez's eyes were hard, her hand hovering near her holster.

Behind her, paramedics loaded Melissa into an ambulance. Even from this distance, I could see the blood staining her white dress. The sight made me sick.

"Reed!" I called out desperately, scanning the crowd for my husband.

He stood near the fountain, his face a mask of cold calculation. Our eyes met across the lawn, and for one wild moment, I thought he would come to my defense.

"Mr. Harper," Detective Rodriguez called, beckoning him over. "We found this vial in your wife's bag. Can you identify it?"

Reed approached slowly, his gaze flicking to the small glass container in the detective's gloved hand. I watched his face, searching for any sign of the man who had once defended me against Victoria Ashworth's barbs.

"It's not mine," I said, my voice breaking. "Someone planted it—"

"Reed," Camille's voice cut through my protest like a blade. She appeared at his side, her eyes red-rimmed and glistening with tears that looked so genuine I almost believed them myself. "Tell them what you know."

She pressed against him, her hand clutching his arm. The diamond bracelet I'd seen in her jewelry box—the one that matched the necklace she'd worn to dinner—glinted in the sunlight.

Reed's jaw tightened. His eyes darted between Camille and me, calculating, weighing.

"Reed," I pleaded, taking a step toward him. "You know I would never—"

"Mr. Harper," Detective Rodriguez interrupted, "can you vouch for the contents of your wife's bag?"

The question hung in the air between us. I watched Reed's face, waiting for him to remember the three years we'd shared, the quiet moments when he'd almost seemed to care.

"My wife has been unstable lately," he said finally, his voice devoid of emotion. "She was jealous."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I staggered backward, my legs threatening to give out beneath me.

"Jealous?" I whispered.

"She knew about Melissa's condition," Reed continued, his eyes never leaving Camille's face. "She's been... erratic. Making accusations."

Camille's tears flowed freely now, her shoulders shaking with sobs that seemed to pierce Reed's heart. He pulled her closer, his arm wrapping protectively around her waist.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "No, Reed, please—"

"Mrs. Harper," Detective Rodriguez said, her voice suddenly softer, almost apologetic. "We're going to need you to come with us."

Two officers moved toward me, their faces grim. I backed away, looking frantically around the garden for any escape.

"Reed!" I screamed as they grabbed my arms. "Don't do this!"

But he had already turned away, cradling Camille against his chest as she buried her face in his shoulder.

"Get her out of here," I heard him murmur to someone. "I can't look at her right now."

Cold metal closed around my wrists as the officers snapped handcuffs into place. The metal bit into my skin, drawing a gasp from my throat.

"Reed!" I called out one last time, my voice breaking. "You're making a mistake!"

He didn't turn around. Didn't even flinch.

The officers began dragging me toward a waiting police car, its lights flashing blue and red against the pristine white of the Harper estate.

"Ma'am, stop resisting," one of them warned as I struggled against their grip.

"I didn't do it!" I screamed, twisting in their grasp. "Reed! Tell them the truth!"

But Reed was already walking away, his arm still around Camille, who had stopped crying and was watching me with a small, satisfied smile playing at the corners of her lips.

The officers shoved me into the back of the police car. As they slammed the door shut, I caught one last glimpse of the Harper estate—the manicured gardens, the white tents billowing in the breeze, and Reed's retreating figure with Camille clinging to his side.

The car pulled away, carrying me from the life I'd thought I wanted into a nightmare I couldn't yet comprehend.