Chapter Four

Closing my eyes, I try to shut out the memories, but they persist like shadows, dancing at the edges of my consciousness. His coldness, the sharpness of our words, and the escalating tension that culminated in tragedy—these are the fragments that haunt me, that define my existence now.

My mind is consumed by unconfessed sins, thoughts swirling sickeningly in my stomach. I replay that fateful night in my mind, each detail etched with painful clarity.

That night, he brought her. His mistress. My replacement. It was bad enough that he was openly having an affair with the private chef he now claimed to love. She was pregnant—pregnant with the child I had so desperately longed to bear. The impossible dream he knew I wanted, the one he had cruelly stripped from me. Now, there he was, rubbing her swollen belly as if to taunt and mock me, while she wore a coy smile, acting innocent despite her calculated intentions from the start.

I huffed, sleep evading me as naturally as breathing.

Knock

Knock

A knock echoes through the silence, reverberating through my bones as I feel my heart plummet into my stomach.

'How long before it's the police knocking at my door? Would they even knock?'

'I still haven't gotten rid of him. He's still there, rotting in the deep freezer... right?'

Paranoia jolts me upright. I rush to my walk-in closet, pushing past the designer clothes to dig out the box of shoes—his last anniversary gift but instead of heels, it holds a black pistol. My murder weapon of choice.

Despite my many attempts to clean it, the blood still clings, visible if you look closely enough. It feels so painfully obvious to anyone who might be searching for it.

Knock

Knock

Thud

Thud

Thud

I turn to the hanging clothes and with surprisingly steady hands pulling apart the racks until I see her—the mistress. The frightened eyes, mascara streaked down her cheeks, her mouth and wrists bound with thick tape. Even in her awkward position, it's impossible to miss the bulge of her belly. 

Switching the safety off, I press the gun to her temple. She pales, her eyes widening in sheer terror. It's as if she's staring at the devil himself. 

But she's only seeing me.

"Maya," I say, my voice sweet and gentle. "I adore you, truly." I press the gun harder against her temple as I lean closer. "But you're doing too much," I whisper coldly, sliding the barrel of the gun against her tear-streaked cheek. She quivers and nods quickly, desperate to appease me.

More tears spill down her face, and the sight of them makes me want to gag.

"You look so cold," I murmur as I grab a random jacket and drape it over her. "Stay warm until I can stomach seeing your face again." I pile more clothes over her, silently hoping she suffocates beneath the weight.

Knock

Knock

Hesitant... knock

'Why is that knock so slow?' Peeling my gaze off the quivering heap of clothes, I stand back, closing the door of my closet. In five small, hesitant steps, I'm at the door. My hands sweat slightly as I position my finger on the trigger... just in case I need to kill him...again.

This phantom.

This illusion.

This lie.

With a quivering breath, I crack the door open. "Hello?"

"Juliana," his voice calmly calls. It sounds so sincere, my heart could just melt.

I hesitate and instead my heart is pound in my chest. His voice is calm, almost soothing, but it only deepens the mix of emotions swirling inside me. I pull the door open a little wider, revealing the man—the copy of my man—standing there.

His eyes lower slowly, taking their time to memorize me and oh... the best part. He smirks.

It's him—or at least, the man who looks like him. The imposter. The one who mirrors my husband's face, yet carries a warmth and tenderness so unlike the cold, distant man I remember.

"Why are you here?" I ask, my voice barely steady.

"I needed to see you," he replies, his eyes searching mine. "We need to talk." He steps forward, but my hand quickly presses against his chest.

Surprise flickers in his gaze as dread fills mine. I try to play it off, letting my hand rub his chest affectionately.

"Yeah, we really need to talk," I say, feeling the ripped muscle beneath his silk pajama top. 'Hmm, did he always feel like this?...It feels good.'

'Wait—Talk...but do I want to?'

He groans as my hand works its way lower.

"Juliana"

Thud

Thud

'No...'

But here's the thing, ladies—Giovanni don't like the answer no. So I settle for something better.

"Tomorrow?" I offer.

"Actu—" I slam the door in his face before he can finish the word.

Thud

"oh Maya" I sigh, I lift the hand which holds the gun to slide the nuzzle onto my own temple. My finger itches as I carelessly rub it against my skin. As if trying to scratch out the steamy thoughts.

"What am I to do?"