Chapter 22
“Well done,” I murmured with my hand on Victoria’s back.
To anyone watching, we looked like the perfect couple. Her arm looped through mine, her head slightly bowed as if she were the devoted, obedient wife she was meant to be. It was a bloody good act. Top-notch, an award-winning performance.
Knowing her the way I did, I understood that beneath her calm exterior, defeat was waiting. The doorman in his tailored coat opened the door. His smile was bright and oblivious, his accent crisp and pleasant.
“Thank you for staying with us. Have a lovely morning.”
I returned the courtesy with a polite nod. Victoria’s perfume—something new, soft, and expensive—rose when she shifted closer. My lungs seized mid-inhale, and my jaw locked before I could stop it. The muscle near my temple twitched.
The scent change was a small, insignificant thing really, yet with it came a burning rage.
It pressed against my ribs, begging for release.
This fucking bitch. Just another way she betrayed me.
I masked every urge in me to not lash out as acid curled low in my gut. I needed to get her to the damn car.
Each step forward was one step closer to the fun really starting.
While devastating and crushing Andrew had been priceless, and for the first time in years, there was a level of vindication—it did nothing to tame the hunger for more.
It was an ache that settled deep and was impossible to quiet.
My heart rate kicked up several notches in anticipation.
Nigel’s presence behind us was steady, a shadow protecting me from any potential attempts—although from the look on Andrew’s face, he was probably crying into a fucking pillow right about now.
The only man I truly trusted moved with precision, circling around the vehicle, opening the door before we reached it.
Everything looked to be under control.
But it wasn’t. She thought she’d get away with this. That she could make a fool of me in front of him.
And that filthy, pathetic excuse for a man thought he could have what was mine. The taste of betrayal and humiliation lingered on my tongue. Rules had been broken, and her judgement thrown out the window. Stupid bitch. I should have known better. She was a whore after all.
After sliding into the car, she smoothed her shirt down over her stomach, her movements demure and refined. What a joke. As if she hadn’t spent the entire night fucking my goddamn enemy like a bitch in heat.
I inhaled sharply, forcing my expression into something neutral before following her in. Nigel handed me her bag and shut the door behind us with a solid thunk. The moment we were sealed inside, the illusion shattered.
My fingers flexed against my thighs as I turned my head to look at her.
She flinched and shrunk away, anticipating my fists—I was sure.
The car eased into motion, but I barely felt it.
I was too busy memorizing every detail of her face.
The way her jaw clenched, the way her hands shook, and the fear in her eyes.
“You think you’re so damn clever, don’t you?”
“No, Master.”
I let the silence stretch between us, thick and suffocating. Then I reached out, brushing a knuckle along her jaw, my touch deceptively gentle. “Tell me, Dolly.” My lips curled, voice dripping into a mocking whisper. “Was it worth it? Destroying our family this way?”
“No, Master.” The pathetic tears fell.
“You perpetrated the ultimate betrayal. You were going to leave and take my son?”
Nigel’s body tensed behind the wheel. My mind slipped back to the recording I damn near had memorized. I’d overheard everything. The conversations where she spilled our secrets, how I treated her, and the entire time I couldn’t get over what a fucking fool I had been.
“Answer me,” I hissed.
“I…yes,” she breathed, her voice so low I might have thought I hadn’t heard her at all, but her head nodded, giving the evidence of her confession.
“You’re dead to me. And by the end of the day, you’ll be dead to the world. Tonight, I’ll be placing a phone call to the police. Would you like to know what I’m going to tell them?”
“If it pleases you, Master.”
“Oh, it does, it truly does. Tonight, The MET will receive a very distraught call from a man in shock having stumbled upon a grisly scene. A murder.”
“Jenny?” Her voice broke.
I nodded. “But it won’t only be a report of murder. No, this will be the classic murder-suicide. My recently estranged mentally ill wife turned on the nanny in a fit of jealousy and rage. Killing her in the most brutal manner possible. Then, realizing what she’d done, she ended her own life.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You don’t have to do this. I can be good. I can play any part you want or need. I did good. Andrew believed it. You saw his face.”
“Yes, we’ll get to him. I’m not quite done with what I plan to say on my call. Not only did my wife commit such a horrific act. But she did it all in front of our six-year-old son.”
The color drained from her face so fast that I thought she might faint. That was the response I was looking for. Her breath hitched—a sharp, almost deafening gasp she tried to smother, but I caught it.
I fucking felt it.
Her fingers trembled, chest rising and falling rapidly. But it was her eyes. Her goddamn eyes said it all. Stark terror. The sweet kind that came from true helplessness, from the sharp, gutting realization that she’d fucked up and that there was no coming back.
She wanted to leave me. Fine. A pine box would be her ticket out. I smiled, letting the tension out of my shoulders as the full weight of the plan settled between us.
“And the timing couldn’t be more perfect.
Divorce and custody papers were filed the morning after I overheard your pathetic confession.
It will lend just the right amount of credibility.
Not only that, but when I placed the call into the camp asking Jenny to bring Declan home early, I let them know you were potentially coming for him.
Nigel even brought a copy of the papers showing I had a temporary restraining order against you. ”
She hung her head in abject resignation, her shoulders slumped. Time for some pre-warm-up fun.
“Open your bag and get the envelope with the pictures.”
My voice was calm, but I saw the way she flinched at the command. She knew better than to hesitate, and her hands shook as she reached for her bag. It was subtle, so much so that most people would never notice.
But I always did. The tiny tremors, the way her breath hitched as she fumbled with the zipper, the way her fingers curled inward. It was her small way of protesting. As if she could refuse. The sound was loud between us, and her chest heaved as she withdrew the envelope.
“Would you like to know how I accomplished it?” I indicated the envelope she clutched.
“If it pl-pl-pleas-pleases…” Her words broke off.
“Bribery. I used some of that extra money I received for backing off these last few days. You’d be surprised what money can do to change a person’s life.
The hotel staffer was beyond happy to help me.
Again. Yes, he was the same one I paid to bug the hotel.
My instincts served me well. So very, very well. I knew you’d cave.”
The smallest sob emerged. I tilted her face to mine, caressing her cheek. There it was. Shame. Recognition that I’d heard every moan, every cry of pleasure—every sordid moment between her and her lover.
“Take the pictures out,” I hissed.
Her fingers fumbled with the clasp, and she pulled out the stack of images from inside. The moment her eyes fell on the first one, her whole body locked up, a full-body freeze so absolute it almost made me laugh. Almost. A sharp inhale, and now her lower lip trembled as well.
I relished the moment because in the seconds for her breathing to hitch it came. Pain—not fear, not shock. Just raw, aching pain. Her hand clenched around the edges of the picture as if gripping it harder could somehow change what she was seeing.
Declan.
In his purest form, wearing his practice gear. His face was solemn. It was taken from the camera I had strategically placed in front of the door to her favorite place in the world. The basement. His hand rested on the doorknob.
She blinked rapidly, struggling to swallow the emotions she was experiencing. She was on the verge of tears. How poetic. Turning on me wasn’t her brightest idea, but then again, I didn’t keep her for her intellect. I couldn’t help but want to prolong the suffering.
“You know, you were the first person he asked about the minute he walked through the door. ‘Where’s mummy?’ He asks that a lot, poor little guy. Once he sees what you’ve done, he’ll never speak about you again. No, he’ll be too ashamed, horrified by what a monster you were,” I taunted.
She didn’t answer. Her wide, desperate eyes locked onto the image of our son. Her precious boy. A shudder wracked through her. The knuckles on her hands went white around the photo. She was no doubt imagining him walking through the door and seeing the horror that lay within.
I leaned in close enough that I could practically taste her misery. “Don’t stop there,” I murmured, nodding toward the pictures. “Let’s look at the next one—together. It’s my favorite. You have no idea how fun that was.”
She refused. The fucking bitch had the audacity to defy me. I snatched the first photo from her grasp and flung it away. Her whole body jolted, as if I’d physically struck her with a cane. And then her eyes landed on photo number two.
Face to face with the reality of her choices, a strangled noise clawed its way up her throat. It was the sweetest sound. A half gasp, half choke before she clamped a hand over her mouth.
Her pupils dilated, swallowing the pretty hazel color until there was nothing left but horror. She wasn’t breathing. Not properly, anyway. All she could afford at the moment was little shallow pants, each one more panicked than the last.