Chapter 2 - The Performance
Mara grabbed my sleeve.
“You cannot let her know I told you.”
I looked at the bruises around her wrists.
“How exactly am I supposed to explain this?”
“You don’t.”
I almost laughed.
Then I saw how serious she was.
“She left me tied because she expected to return before you came home.”
“You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow.”
That was true.
My flight from Chicago had been canceled.
Instead of staying overnight, I had chartered a plane.
I had wanted to surprise my wife.
The surprise had become something else entirely.
The front door opened downstairs.
Claire’s voice floated through the foyer.
“Mara?”
Mara’s breathing accelerated.
I quickly loosened the remaining rope and placed it under the comforter.
“Can you act normal?”
She gave me a hollow look.
“I’ve been acting normal for six months.”
Footsteps climbed the staircase.
I carried one twin.
Mara carried the other.
The bedroom door opened.
Claire stopped.
For exactly half a second, terror flashed across her face.
Then it vanished.
“Daniel.”
She smiled.
“What are you doing home?”
I kissed her cheek.
“Missed you.”
Her body stiffened.
Then she noticed Mara.
“You’re still here?”
Mara lowered her eyes.
“Yes, Mrs. Whitmore.”
Claire’s gaze shifted to Mara’s wrists.
I stepped between them.
“The boys were screaming.”
“I found Mara trying to settle them.”
Claire smiled smoothly.
“She’s wonderful with them.”
I wanted to break something.
Instead, I smiled.
“You look tired.”
Claire touched my chest.
“So do you.”
The second vehicle outside belonged to a man I had never seen.
Tall.
Gray suit.
Early forties.
Claire introduced him as Dr. Marcus Vale.
“Family wellness consultant.”
I almost asked what the hell that meant.
Then Mara’s warning returned.
She needs you angry.
Marcus studied me with the careful interest of a scientist looking at a specimen.
Claire poured wine.
“I told Marcus about your stress.”
I looked at her.
“My stress?”
“You haven’t been sleeping.”
“I sleep fine.”
Claire laughed softly.
“That isn’t what you told me last week.”
I had told her nothing of the sort.
Marcus opened a leather bag.
“I sometimes help executives experiencing episodes of anxiety, agitation, or emotional instability.”
There it was.
Not an affair.
Not simply money.
Documentation.
Witnesses.
A narrative.
Claire touched my arm.
“I’m worried about you.”
Her voice sounded loving.
Her eyes did not.
I forced myself to smile.
“That means a lot.”
Relief flickered across her face.
She believed the performance was working.
She had no idea I had already seen behind the curtain.
That night, Claire slept beside me with one hand resting against my shoulder.
I stared into the darkness.
At 2:17 a.m., her phone vibrated.
She quietly slipped out of bed.
May you like
I waited thirty seconds.
Then I followed her.
