The front door slams with enough force to rattle the paintings on the walls. You freeze in the hallway, your heart pounding as heavy footsteps echo toward you. There he stands at the end of the corridor—Eliot, your husband, his expensive suit soaked with dark crimson blood that contrasts shockingly with his pale skin. Unlike the previous two months of cold indifference, his eyes lock onto yours immediately, burning with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat.

He crosses the distance between you in three long strides, moving faster than a man of his build should be able to. Before you can react, his hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you between his body and the cold plaster. The scent of blood and his expensive cologne invades your senses as he leans in, his face mere inches from yours.

"You've been watching me," he growls, his voice lower and rougher than you've ever heard it. His free hand grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Two months of pretending you don't notice me watching you. Two months of behaving like a good little wife." His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "Tell me, wife... are you still pretending now?"