Chapter 41 – Chrissy
Chapter
Forty-One
CHRISSY
Ashgrove House
December 23, Late Evening
I watched the security feeds from Henry’s cramped office in the servants’ quarters, heart hammering against my ribs.
Every camera in the public rooms was live, recording in crisp 4K with crystal-clear audio.
Henry had triple-checked it himself. Lucia sat beside me, silent and tense.
Ben was upstairs in the master suite, waiting for his cue.
The front door burst open without a knock. Vivian swept in like she’d never left, fur coat swirling, platinum hair perfect despite the flight. She looked exactly like the poison she was.
“Where is he?” she demanded of the empty foyer. “Henry! Get out here!”
Henry appeared from the side corridor, calm as ever.
“Mrs. Stonewood. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
Vivian’s laugh was sharp enough to cut glass.
“I decided to come claim my house early. Harris told me Benjamin moved back in just to spite me, the pathetic recluse. Well, it’s almost midnight tomorrow, and he still hasn’t fulfilled that clause, has he?
Everything becomes mine at twelve-oh-one Christmas morning.
So, tell your scarred little master to pack his bags and get the fuck out of my house right this minute. ”
Henry inclined his head, the picture of deference.
“I’ll inform the master of the house that you’ve arrived.”
He disappeared up the back stairs. On the monitor, Vivian paced, checking her reflection in the hall mirror, utterly convinced she’d already won.
Perfect. Arrogant, overconfident Vivian was exactly who we needed on tape.
Lucia squeezed my hand.
“It’s showtime, cara.”
Ben’s voice drifted down from the grand staircase, cool and controlled.
“We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow, Vivian.”
She looked up, smirking like a cat who’d swallowed the entire aviary.
“I figured I’d come take my victory lap early. Harris was kind enough to keep me updated, you know. You fucked things up with the girl you were planning to marry, didn’t you? Too bad, so sad, Benny-boy.”
Ben descended slowly, favoring his stitched side but never breaking eye contact with the bitch.
“How charming of you. It’s a bit tacky to gloat, though. A real lady would know better.”
Vivian crossed her arms, red nails flashing.
“I might not be a lady by your snobbish standards, but as of tomorrow, your standards won’t matter one bit.
I’m the lady of this house now, thanks to that delicious little clause I convinced your sentimental fool of a father to write.
I always knew you’d never settle down and get married… one way or another.”
Her smile was pure venom. She thought she’d delivered the killing blow.
I slipped out of the office, heels silent on the runner, and stepped into the foyer’s shadows just out of her direct line of sight. Ben’s gaze flicked to me for the briefest second, steady and ready to watch my plan unfold.
My pulse roared in my ears, but my voice came out smooth as silk.
“Actually, that’s where you’re wrong,” I said. “As it happens, I am the lady of this house as of this afternoon. And to be quite frank, I don’t appreciate the way you’re speaking to my husband.”
“You.”
“Me.”
I stepped fully into the light, letting her see the rings on my finger — his mother’s emerald and the new wedding band glinting side by side.
Her gaze darted from the rings to Ben, then back to me, calculating.
“This is a joke. A sham. You two threw together some courthouse farce at the last second.”
Ben’s mouth curved faintly.
“Our marriage is hardly a farce.”
Vivian laughed, high and brittle.
“Please. It’s a business arrangement at best. That clause requires a legally recognized spouse, not some desperate gold-digger he paid to sign a piece of paper. When my lawyers finish with you, the courts will laugh this so-called marriage right out of existence.”
I tilted my head.
“You seem awfully sure this isn’t real.”
“Because it can’t be,” she snapped. “No one could possibly love that scarred, broken monster. You’re using each other, nothing more. And everyone will see it.”
The word monster echoed off the marble, ugly and deliberate. Ben didn’t flinch, but I felt the blow land on him all the same.
Keep right on talking, Vivian, I thought. Every word is being recorded.
I smiled, slow and sharp.
“Wrong again, I’m afraid.”
Her bravado flickered, just for a second.
I reached into the inner pocket of my blazer and pulled out a crisp photocopy of the marriage license, holding it up between two fingers.
“Signed this afternoon in the solarium,” I said pleasantly. “Filed with the Baldwin County Courthouse an hour later. Officiant, witnesses, the whole legal package. The original is already locked in the safe, by the way — you won’t be ripping that one up.”
Vivian snatched at it. I lifted it higher, out of her reach.
She scanned the page anyway, lips moving as she read the names, the date, the official seal. Her face drained of color, then flushed crimson with rage.
“This is forgery,” she hissed. “Or coercion. Or both. No judge will uphold it.”
“Feel free to waste your money on lawyers,” Ben said quietly. “They’ll tell you the same thing ours did: it’s ironclad.”
Vivian’s manicured hands curled into fists.
“You think a piece of paper changes anything? That clause was written to force Benjamin to grow up, not to let him buy himself a convenient wife at the eleventh hour.”
I folded the photocopy and slipped it back into my pocket.
“Funny. It doesn’t say anything about love or convenience. Just a legally recognized spouse. Which I am.”
Her eyes blazed.
“You’re nothing but a transaction.”
I smirked.
“You seem awfully sure of yourself for a woman without a legal leg to stand on.”
Vivian took a step closer, voice dripping contempt.
“You can’t possibly love a monster like him. Look at him — scarred, reclusive, twisted inside and out. No woman in her right mind would choose that willingly. This marriage is a fraud, and when I’m done, the entire estate will still be mine.”
I let the silence stretch just long enough for her to feel triumphant.
“You know what?” I said softly, almost conversationally. “You’re right. I shouldn’t love a monster like Ben, should I? He lied to me. Manipulated me. Hurt me terribly. Tricked me into signing a contract that bound my life to his.”
Vivian’s eyes lit with vicious glee. She whirled on Ben, practically crowing.
“I knew it! You pathetic, desperate—”
“But,” I cut in, voice like a blade, “as it happens, I do love Ben. Despite everything he put me through, despite every mistake he made, I love him. We married because we choose each other, not because of the clause, not because of the money. Because we want to. So you lose, you fucking greedy bitch.”
The satisfaction of watching her triumph curdle into shock was one hundred percent worth every tear I’d cried over the last twelve days.
Vivian’s face twisted into something feral. Realization crashed over her — she’d been played, baited into revealing exactly how much she hated us both.
“You little—”
She lunged at Ben, hand raised high, manicured nails ready to rake across his scarred cheek.
I was faster.
I caught her wrist mid-swing, twisted hard, and yanked her arm up behind her back in one smooth motion, making a mental note to thank Henry later for the crash course in self-defense he’d given me while Vivian was on her way here. She yelped, stumbling forward, but I didn’t release my grip.
“You will not lay a finger on my husband,” I growled into her ear, tightening my grip until she gasped. “So help me God. Haven’t you already hurt him enough?”
She struggled, but I had leverage and fury on my side.
“I know you tampered with his brakes,” I said, loud and clear for every microphone in the house. “I know you caused his accident. I know you tried to pull the plug while he was in a coma. And I know you murdered his father by messing with his medications until his heart gave out.”
Vivian went very still, then laughed, the sound high, reckless, unhinged.
“Yeah,” she spat, “I fucking did it. I did all of it. And I’ll do even more. My lawyers are going to eviscerate you both in court. You’ll wish—”
I leaned close, smile sharp as broken glass.
“Oh, you think so?”
From the shadows of the hallway, Henry stepped forward, phone in hand, expression calm and utterly satisfied.
“Recording stopped,” he announced. “Audio and video saved to the cloud — and already emailed to Sheriff Delgado, along with a time-stamped copy of the full security feed.”
Vivian’s head snapped toward him, eyes widening with raw panic.
“You can’t—”
Henry lifted a hand in signal. The front door opened immediately — two Baldwin County deputies and Sheriff Delgado himself strode in, badges glinting under the chandelier. They’d been parked just out of sight down the drive, waiting for Henry’s text.
“Vivian Leigh Rogers-Stonewood,” the sheriff said, voice flat and official, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Jacob Stonewood, attempted murder of Benjamin Stonewood, and conspiracy to commit fraud.”
Vivian went berserk.
She jerked against my hold so violently I nearly lost my grip.
“This is bullshit! You have nothing! I’ll have your badges — let go of me!”
I released her, stepping back beside Ben. She spun, swinging wildly at the nearest deputy. He dodged; she lunged again, nails clawing for his face.
The sheriff didn’t hesitate.
The taser crackled — a sharp, electric pop — and Vivian dropped like a stone, convulsing on the marble with a strangled shriek.
Lucia winced and crossed herself.
“Madonna mia.”
Henry’s lips twitched.
“Effective.”
Ben’s arm slid around my waist, steady and warm. I leaned into him as the deputies cuffed a twitching, cursing Vivian and hauled her to her feet.
“You’ll never prove anything!” she screamed, mascara streaking down her cheeks as they dragged her toward the door. “I’ll be out by morning! You hear me? This isn’t over!”
The sheriff tipped his hat to us.
“We’ll be in touch for formal statements. Y’all have a good night now.”
We watched from the porch — Ben, me, Henry, Lucia — as the cruiser lights painted the gravel drive red and blue. Vivian’s muffled shrieks faded as the car pulled away, tires crunching toward the gate.
The night settled back into quiet, cold and crisp, the house lights glowing soft behind us.
I exhaled, slow and steady, and murmured to the retreating taillights, “Checkmate, bitch.”