Chapter 4

The next morning, I scoured the balcony for any sign of the truth—a shed scale, a trail of slime, anything.

But snakes weren't like dogs; they didn't leave behind evidence.

Now I pushed food around my plate at the breakfast nook, the smell of maple syrup and coffee turning my stomach.

Across the long mahogany table, my husband, General Frederick Alston, cut into his steak with effortless precision.

Blood oozed from the center.

Rare. Practically raw.

I lost my appetite.

How had I never noticed before?

Frederick's head lifted with that predator's awareness. "Not hungry?"

I forced myself to nibble a slice of dry toast. "I heard weird noises last night on the balcony. Sounded like..." I met his gaze head-on. "Rattlesnakes."

He didn't even blink. "You must have been dreaming."

Oh, so he was going to play dumb.

I met his gaze evenly. "Good. Because I hate snakes."

His knife slipped, screeching against the porcelain plate in a sound that set my teeth on edge. Frederick's eyes flickered to mine before he calmly wiped his mouth.

"Noted," he said.

Somewhere, I could practically hear the internet cackling.

[LOL! Y'all see how he just FLINCHED at "rattlesnakes"?]

[Snake boy really thought he could fool her.]

[This is gonna be GOOD.]