CHAPTER TWO #2
I thought about Luca, about the brother I hadn't spoken to in two years. He'd be angry, probably. Furious that I'd run away, that I'd married some nobody without his permission, that I'd rejected the life he'd planned for me.
But he'd also help me. I knew he would. Because despite everything, despite his controlling nature and his dangerous world, Luca loved me. He'd always protected me, always put my safety first.
And Deangelo... God, Deangelo. What would he think when he found out? Would he be angry too? Disappointed? Or would he just be relieved that he'd dodged a bullet, that he hadn't ended up married to someone as stupid and naive as me?
I couldn't think about that now. I couldn't let myself go down that road.
I needed to focus on the immediate problem: Henrik, the affair, and what I was going to do about it.
I looked at the clock. It was barely nine in the morning. Henrik wouldn't be home until late—he'd said he had a late meeting, but now I knew that was code for seeing Amelia. I had all day to figure out my next move.
I could call Luca. I could pack my bags. I could confront Henrik when he got home.
Or I could do nothing. I could pretend I didn't know, could go back to the comfortable numbness of ignorance, could keep playing the role of the perfect wife while my husband fucked his mistress.
No. I couldn't do that. I wouldn't.
I'd spent too much of my life being passive, letting other people make decisions for me. Luca had decided I should marry Deangelo. I'd decided to run away and marry Henrik instead. Henrik had decided to cheat.
It was time I decided something for myself.
I picked up my phone—my actual phone, not Henrik's—and stared at it for a long moment. I had Luca's number memorized, even though I'd never called it. I'd been too afraid, too ashamed of what I'd done.
But maybe it was time to stop being afraid.
My finger hovered over the keypad, ready to dial.
But something stopped me. Pride, maybe. Or fear.
Or the knowledge that once I made that call, there was no going back.
Luca would come for me, would extract me from this situation, and I'd be right back in his world, under his protection and his control.
Was that what I wanted?
I didn't know anymore.
I set the phone down and walked to the window, looking out at the quiet street. A car drove by slowly, and I felt that familiar prickle of unease. Was someone watching me? Or was I really just paranoid, like Henrik said?
I thought about the strange occurrences over the past few weeks. The feeling of being followed. The unlocked window. The moved items. At the time, I'd thought maybe it was connected to Luca somehow, that he'd found me and was keeping tabs on me.
But what if it wasn't? What if someone else was watching me? Someone with bad intentions?
Henrik had dismissed my concerns so easily, so completely. He'd made me feel crazy for even bringing it up. But what if I wasn't crazy? What if I was in actual danger, and he was too wrapped up in his affair to notice or care?
The thought sent a chill down my spine.
I needed to talk to him. Not about the affair—not yet. But about the other things, the dangerous things. I needed to make him understand that something was wrong, that I wasn't just being paranoid.
And if he still didn't listen... well, then I'd know for sure that he didn't care about me at all.
I spent the rest of the morning in a daze, going through the motions of my daily routine without really being present.
I cleaned the kitchen, did laundry, tried to read a book but couldn't focus on the words.
My mind kept circling back to those messages, to the explicit photos, to the casual cruelty of Henrik discussing me with his mistress.
By afternoon, I'd made a decision. I would confront him tonight. I would show him the messages, demand an explanation, and tell him about the strange things that had been happening. And depending on his response, I would decide whether to stay or go.
It felt good to have a plan, even if the thought of actually executing it made me want to vomit again.
I was in the bedroom, trying to decide what to wear for this confrontation, when I heard it—a sound from downstairs. A door closing, maybe, or footsteps.
Henrik wasn't supposed to be home for hours.
My heart started racing, that familiar fear flooding through me. I stood frozen, listening. There it was again—definitely footsteps, moving through the house.
"Henrik?" I called out, my voice shaking.
No answer.
I grabbed my phone, my hands trembling so badly I almost dropped it. I should call 911. I should hide. I should do something other than stand here like an idiot.
But before I could move, I heard the footsteps on the stairs, coming closer.
"Henrik?" I called again, louder this time.
Still no answer.
The footsteps stopped right outside the bedroom door.
I held my breath, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst from my chest. This was it. This was the danger I'd been sensing, the threat I'd tried to warn Henrik about.
And he wasn't here to protect me.
The door handle started to turn, and I opened my mouth to scream—
But then my phone rang, the sound so loud and unexpected that I jumped, nearly dropping it. The footsteps retreated quickly, running back down the stairs. I heard the front door slam.
I stood there, shaking, as my phone continued to ring. I looked at the screen with trembling hands.
It was Henrik.
I answered, my voice barely a whisper. "Hello?"
"Hey, I'm going to be even later than I thought," he said, his tone casual, like he hadn't just saved my life by calling at exactly the right moment. "Don't wait up for dinner."
"Henrik, someone was in the house," I said, the words tumbling out. "I heard footsteps, and they were coming upstairs, and—"
"Bryony, stop." His voice was sharp, annoyed. "You're being paranoid again. It was probably just the house settling, or a neighbor's cat, or something. You need to stop with this."
"But I heard—"
"I don't have time for this right now. I have to go. We'll talk later."
He hung up before I could respond.
I stood there, staring at my phone, as the reality of my situation crystallized with perfect, painful clarity.
My husband was cheating on me. Someone was stalking me, possibly trying to hurt me. And Henrik didn't believe me, didn't care, was too busy fucking his mistress to protect his wife.
I was completely, utterly alone.
And I was done being passive.
I grabbed my purse and Henrik's old phone—the evidence I needed—and headed for the door. I didn't know where I was going, didn't have a plan beyond getting out of this house, away from the danger I could feel closing in.
I just knew I couldn't stay here anymore.
As I climbed into my car, I didn't notice the vehicle parked down the street, the one that had been there for weeks. I didn't see the person behind the wheel, watching me with cold, calculating eyes.
I didn't know that my decision to leave, to confront Henrik, to finally take control of my life, would set in motion a chain of events that would nearly kill me.
All I knew was that I needed answers. I needed to look Henrik in the eye and make him acknowledge what he'd done, what he was still doing.
I needed him to see me, really see me, one last time before I walked away forever.
I started the car and pulled out of the driveway, heading toward the Riverside Bar where I knew he'd be. Where he always was on his "late meeting" nights.
I didn't know that I was being followed.
I didn't know that someone wanted me gone, wanted me out of Henrik's life permanently.
I didn't know that in a few hours, I'd be fighting for my life on Route 9, my car a twisted wreck, my body broken.
All I knew was that I was done being the perfect wife to a man who didn't deserve me.
And that decision, that moment of courage, would change everything.