Chapter 2

I sat in my car, hands still trembling on the steering wheel. The dashboard clock read 4:45 PM—forty-five minutes before I would have walked into our bedroom and found them together. Forty-five minutes before my heart attack.

Not this time.

"Mrs. Blackwood?" My driver's voice came through again. "Do you need assistance?"

"No," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "Actually, I need to make one more stop."

I pulled out my phone and searched for the nearest electronics store specializing in security equipment. There was one three blocks away—close enough to make this work.

"Take me to TechSecurity on 57th," I instructed the driver.

The store was sleek and modern, with glass displays showcasing the latest in home security. I bypassed the standard cameras and went straight to the specialist section.

"I need something completely undetectable," I told the salesperson, a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses. "Wireless, high-definition, with remote access."

"May I ask what you're using it for, Mrs...?" He hesitated.

"Blackwood," I supplied. "And I'm monitoring my household staff. I've had some... issues with theft."

He nodded sympathetically and led me to a display case containing tiny cameras disguised as smoke detectors, air vents, and even light switches.

"These transmit directly to your smartphone or laptop," he explained. "Completely invisible to the naked eye."

I purchased four units, paying cash. "I need these immediately," I said. "And I'll need instructions on how to access the feed remotely."

Twenty minutes later, I was back in our building. The doorman tipped his hat again as I entered.

"Mr. Blackwood is in his study, ma'am," he informed me. "He's been taking calls for the past hour."

Perfect. Alexander always retreated to his study when handling delicate business matters—which meant I had time.

I slipped into our bedroom, the champagne and lingerie still in my hands. I placed them carefully on the dresser, exactly where I would have left them in my previous life.

Then I went to work.

The first camera went into the air vent above our bed—a perfect vantage point. The second became part of the bedside lamp. The third was embedded in the television mount, angled to capture the entire room. The fourth went into the bathroom vent—just in case.

My hands were steady now, my mind clear. This wasn't the desperate act of a betrayed wife. This was strategy.

"Mrs. Blackwood?" Alexander's voice called from the hallway. "Are you home?"

"Just getting ready for tonight," I called back, my voice light. "Don't come in—I want to surprise you!"

"Take your time," he replied, his footsteps retreating. "I need to finish some work anyway."

I waited until I heard him return to his study before slipping out of the apartment and taking the service elevator down to the garage. I needed distance for what came next.

The hotel across the street had a room available—a suite with a clear view of our building. I checked in under my maiden name and set up my laptop on the desk facing the window.

The camera feed appeared on my screen, four different angles of our bedroom displayed in quad view. I adjusted the settings, making sure the audio was crystal clear.

At 5:30, Alexander's study door opened. He checked his watch, then walked to our bedroom, straightening his tie.

"Chloe should be here any minute," he muttered to himself, loosening his collar.

I watched him pour himself a drink, then sit on the edge of our bed—my bed—and check his phone.

The doorbell rang at 5:45.

"Right on time," he said, setting down his glass.

I switched to the camera with the best view of the door as Chloe entered. My best friend since college. My maid of honor.

"Did you miss me?" she purred, wrapping her arms around him.

"Every second," he replied, kissing her deeply.

I felt nothing. No pain, no shock. Just cold, clinical observation.

"Let's watch something," Chloe suggested, reaching for the remote.

My wedding video appeared on screen again.

"I want to try something new," Alexander said, his voice low. "I want to recreate your wedding night."

Chloe laughed, a sound I once thought was so familiar. "You mean when you couldn't get it up because you were so nervous?"

"Tonight will be different," he promised.

I watched as Chloe removed her dress, revealing lingerie that looked suspiciously like mine.

"That's not all I brought," she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small bottle. "This will help us both... relax."

They took turns drinking from it, their movements becoming more fluid, more urgent.

"We need to talk about our plan," Alexander said suddenly.

My attention sharpened.

"What about it?" Chloe asked, straddling him.

"After the anniversary party," he said, "we'll stage the break-in. The insurance company will never suspect a thing."

"And then?" she prompted.

"And then we'll be free," he said. "Five million dollars, a new identity... anything we want."

I switched cameras, making sure to capture every expression, every word.

"We need to make sure the timing is perfect," Chloe insisted. "What if someone sees us together before then?"

"No one will," Alexander assured her. "Everyone thinks we're just friends. No one will question it."

I watched them for hours, documenting every detail. The role-playing of my wedding night. The mockery of my body, my voice, my love for him. The casual discussion of my murder.

Then I discovered something worse.

Alexander's phone buzzed with a notification. He glanced at it, then quickly closed it.

"Who's that?" Chloe asked.

"No one," he said. "Just work."

But I knew that tone. I'd heard it before.

I pulled up his cloud storage account on my laptop—we shared passwords for everything—and began searching.

There were folders. Dozens of them.

Each named with a woman's name.

I clicked on one labeled "Eleanor."

My sister.

Photos appeared on screen—explicit ones. Messages. Video calls.

"Oh my God," I whispered.

There were forty-seven folders total. Forty-seven women.

Including my mother.

I documented everything methodically, my hands steady despite the rage building inside me. This wasn't just betrayal. This was systematic predation.

At 8:00 PM, I called the event coordinator for our anniversary party.

"I need to add a special surprise video," I told her. "For my husband."

"Of course, Mrs. Blackwood," she replied. "What did you have in mind?"

"Something... memorable," I said. "I'll send you the footage shortly."

I edited the video carefully, selecting the most damning moments. Alexander and Chloe discussing my murder. The mockery of our marriage. The wedding dress around her waist.

Then I dressed for the party, choosing a gown of crimson silk—the color of blood.

The ballroom glittered with chandeliers and champagne glasses when I arrived. Two hundred guests—Manhattan's elite—gathered to celebrate our marriage.

Alexander's father, Arthur Vance, stood near the entrance, his expression stern but approving as I approached.

"Seraphina," he greeted me warmly. "You look lovely tonight."

"Thank you, Father," I replied, kissing his cheek.

Across the room, Isabella Rossi, CEO of our largest client, raised her glass in acknowledgment. She'd always been kind to me.

And there was my sister Eleanor, laughing with a group of friends, unaware of how Alexander had violated her trust.

"Where's Alexander?" I asked, scanning the crowd.

"Last I saw, he was checking his phone in the corner," Arthur replied. "Probably work again."

I smiled, a perfect curve of lips that didn't reach my eyes. "He works so hard."

The party swirled around me in a blur of champagne flutes and congratulations. I played my part flawlessly—the adoring wife, the perfect hostess.

Inside, I was calculating every move.

Because tonight wasn't about celebration.

It was about war.

And Alexander had no idea what was coming.