I Was His Wife, Now I'm His Ruin

und; it was a physical weight, heavy and suffocating, like a woo

ing table that was long enough to seat

everberations moved through the floorboards, traveling up the

e mincing of mushrooms anymore. She had ordered the components from a high-end caterer and spent an agonizing hour assembling them, her right hand trembling as she applied the egg wash, biting her lip against the spasms shooting

ed wood. The vibration was startlin

the screen. A notifi

just poste

t her ribs. She knew she shouldn't look. She knew that unlocking her phone was an act

ned. The ph

in the center of the frame cast a soft, romantic glow over two glasses of red wine. But

ested on the w

strap. She knew the grain of that leather. She knew the weight of that watch face. She had spent six months' worth

d the c

being my safety net

the solar plexus. It wasn't a sharp pain. It was a dull, expanding a

t messages. The last message from Harris

wait up. Deal with the Jap

azy, effor

nd a wine glass across from a woman who had made it he

over her, ac

e floor with a screech that sounded like a scream. She grabbed the

cessed lighting. She didn't bother with the garbage disposal. She walked straight to t

. Sp

of trying, three years of perfecting her appearance

. She turned the faucet on full blast. T

tric jolt of pain shot

ess the nerves that were misfiring. It was a phantom reminder. A legacy of the "accident" three years ago. The doctors

ran along the inside of her wris

in, Dr. Julian St. James had told her,

scholarship to Juilliard. All to be the wife Harrison Vanderbilt needed. To

ly at Le Bernardin

r had shifted. The despair was evaporating, replaced by a cold, hard clarity. It was a terrifyin

the grand staircase, her hand trailing along the banister. She pa

. Seraphina looked small, her smile fragile, he

he looked at h

, she wh

d them. And for the first time in three years, she believed them. She turned from the paint