The Call Back

*Decline 05. Insufficient Funds.* Let him explain that at the hotel.

Elena stared at the screen, a grim satisfaction settling in her stomach. It was a temporary victory, a paper cut on a man bleeding to death financially, but it was something. She needed more.

She shut the laptop and shoved it into her tote bag, along with the loan documents, the photos she had printed, and her personal checkbook. She couldn't stay here. The office door lock was flimsy, and Marcus—or Seraphina—would eventually come looking.

She listened at the door. The house was silent.

She unlocked it and slipped into the hallway. The lights were dim, the shadows stretching long and distorted across the floor. She moved towards the back stairs, intending to slip out through the kitchen and take her car.

But as she passed the library, a sound stopped her.

A voice. Low, angry, and familiar.

"I don't care what the card says! Run it again!"

Marcus. He wasn't at the Ritz. He was in the library.

Elena froze, pressing herself against the wall. The heavy oak door was ajar, a sliver of light illuminating the hallway.

"It's a mistake," Marcus hissed into his phone. "A bank error. I have a credit limit of... yes, I know what the screen says. Let me speak to a manager."

He paused, listening.

"Fraud?" His voice pitched up. "Who reported it as fraud?"

Elena held her breath. He knew.

"My wife," Marcus said, the word dripping with venom. "Of course. She's... she's having a breakdown. She's not lucid. You need to reactivate the card immediately. I am the primary account holder on the—"

He stopped.

"Authorized user?" he repeated, his voice dangerously quiet. "I am not an authorized user. I am Marcus Hawthorne."

A pause.

"Fine. Fine! I'll use another card."

He hung up. There was a sound of glass shattering against the fireplace.

Elena flinched.

"She cut me off," Marcus said. He wasn't speaking to the phone anymore. He was speaking to someone in the room.

"I told you she was unpredictable," Seraphina's voice replied, cool and unbothered. "You underestimated her survival instinct."

"She's not surviving," Marcus snarled. "She's dismantling us. If she freezes the trust accounts next, we can't make the balloon payment on the villa. We lose it, Seraphina. We lose everything."

"We won't lose it," Seraphina said. "We just need to accelerate the timeline."

"Accelerate?" Marcus paced, his shadow flickering in the doorway. "How? She knows, Seraphina. She knows about the baby. She knows about us. The police were here! If anything happens to her now, we're the prime suspects."

"Not if it's an accident," Seraphina said. "A tragic, hormone-induced accident. Dr. Evans will testify to her instability. Eleanor will testify to her drinking. Bella will testify to her erratic behavior."

"And the body?" Marcus asked.

"The lake is frozen," Seraphina said simply. "People slip on the dock all the time. It's a tragedy."

Elena felt the blood drain from her face. The lake. At the edge of the property.

"I don't know," Marcus said, his voice wavering. "It's risky."

"What's the alternative?" Seraphina asked. "Bankruptcy? Prison? She has the loan documents, Marcus. She has the proof of bigamy. If she walks into a courtroom, we're done."

There was a silence. A long, heavy silence.

"Where is she now?" Marcus asked.

"In her office. Crying."

"Go check on her," Marcus said. "Make sure she's still there. I need to... I need to find something to calm my nerves."

"Don't drink too much," Seraphina warned. "You need steady hands."

"Just go."

Elena heard Seraphina's footsteps approaching the door. She looked around frantically. There was nowhere to hide in the hallway. The back stairs were too far.

She darted into the coat closet next to the library door, pulling it shut just as Seraphina stepped into the hall.

She watched through the slat in the door. Seraphina walked past, her silk robe swishing around her ankles. She looked like a ghost. A beautiful, deadly ghost.

As soon as she turned the corner toward the office, Elena slipped out.

She didn't go to the kitchen. That was too obvious.

She went into the library.

Marcus was standing by the fireplace, staring into the flames. He held a glass of scotch in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other.

Elena stepped into the room.

"Marcus."

He spun around, nearly dropping the glass. "Elena? I thought you were upstairs."

"I was," she said. "I heard you on the phone. With the bank."

He stared at her, his eyes wide. He looked terrified. Not of her, but of the situation.

"You cut me off," he said.

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because I'm done paying for your mistress," she said.

"She's not my mistress!" he shouted. "She's my wife!"

The confession hung in the air, stark and undeniable.

"Yes," Elena said. "I know."

She looked at the bottle of pills in his hand.

"Are those for me?" she asked.

Marcus looked down at the bottle. He seemed to realize what he was holding. He put them on the mantle.

"No," he said. "They're for me. I... I can't sleep."

"Liar," she said.

"Elena, please," he stepped toward her. "Let's just talk. We can fix this. We can work something out."

"There's nothing to work out," she said. "I'm leaving. And I'm taking my money with me."

"You can't leave," he said. "The roads are iced over."

"I have four-wheel drive."

"Elena," he said, his voice pleading. "Don't go. Please. I... I love you."

"Do you?" she asked. "Or do you love the fact that I pay your bills?"

"I love you," he insisted. "Seraphina... she's complicated. But you... you're good. You're real."

"I'm a wallet with legs," she said. "Bella told me."

Marcus flinched. "Bella is a child. She repeats things she doesn't understand."

"She understands plenty," Elena said. "She understands that her mother is a sociopath and her father is a weak, spineless fraud."

Marcus's face twisted. "Don't talk about them like that."

"Or what?" Elena challenged. "You'll push me in the lake?"

Marcus went white. "You heard."

"Every word."

She turned to leave.

"Elena, wait!"

She didn't wait. She walked out of the library, into the foyer. She grabbed her coat from the rack.

She opened the front door.

And then she stopped.

Parked in the driveway, blocking her car, was a black SUV.

The driver's door opened.

A man got out. He was tall, wearing a long coat. He walked up the steps, his face grim.

It wasn't the police.

It was Seraphina.

But she wasn't wearing the silk robe. She was dressed in black. And she wasn't holding a baby.

She was holding a bottle of champagne.

"Going somewhere, Elena?" she asked, her voice light and bubbly. "We're just about to pop a cork. To celebrate."

"Celebrate what?" Elena asked, gripping her keys.

Seraphina smiled. It was the smile from the wedding photo. Radiant. Predatory.

"New beginnings," she said.

She held up the bottle.

It wasn't just champagne.

It was *Dom Pérignon 2008*. The vintage from their wedding.

Champagne. For a recovering addict.