Chapter 1 - THE DINNER THEY MEANT TO KILL ME WITH
The first thing I heard as my throat began to close was Adrian laughing.
The second was his mother whispering, “Let her die.”
My fork hit the marble floor with a hard crack. Heat rushed over my skin so fast it felt like fire beneath it. My tongue swelled. My chest tightened. Each breath became smaller, sharper, more impossible.
Across the long dining table, Adrian calmly took my untouched salmon plate and slid it toward Celeste.
“Try it,” he told her softly. “It was supposed to be Evelyn’s last family dinner.”
Celeste smiled and lifted her fork.
She was wearing the diamond bracelet Adrian had given me on our fifth anniversary.
I dropped to my knees and clawed for my purse.
Empty.
Margaret leaned down beside me, perfume thick and sweet enough to make me sick even without the allergic reaction.
“Looking for this?” she asked.
My EpiPen gleamed between her fingers.
Then she slipped it into the pocket of her navy dress and planted her heel on my trembling hand.
“Choke to death, bitch,” she hissed. “My son is marrying his real woman tomorrow.”
Charles sat at the far end of the table, silent, elegant, watching me die as calmly as if I were a candle burning too low.
Adrian crouched and shoved divorce papers toward my face.
“Sign,” he said. “Sign, and maybe I’ll call an ambulance.”
That was when everything became clear.
The shellfish oil hadn’t been an accident.
The empty purse hadn’t been an accident.
The divorce papers waiting beside my plate hadn’t been an accident.
They had planned every second.
What they did not know was that I had spent eight months pretending to be weaker, duller, and more distracted than I really was.
Three nights earlier, I had discovered that Adrian’s first wife, Lydia, had not simply “run away.”
And yesterday, I had made sure I would not die the same way.
My shaking fingers slid beneath the hem of my dress and found the backup injector strapped inside my boot.
Margaret saw the movement too late.
I jammed the needle into my thigh.
The medicine tore through me like fire.
Air came back in ragged pieces.
Adrian lurched to his feet. “What did you do?”
I rolled onto my back, coughing, crying, breathing.
“Stayed alive,” I whispered.
Then red-and-blue light flooded the windows.
Heavy fists pounded against the front door.
Margaret’s face emptied of color.
I reached into my jacket, pulled out a small black flash drive, and held it up toward Adrian.
“You should have checked the security cameras,” I whispered, “before planning my murder.”
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And for the first time that night, my husband looked afraid.
Cliffhanger: The police were at the door—but the flash drive did not only contain tonight’s attempted murder. It contained something tied to Lydia Hawthorne… and the locked garden shed Adrian never let anyone enter.
