Chapter 4

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed midnight as I made my final preparations. The house had settled into its nighttime rhythm—Isabella locked away in her grief, Luke probably plotting his next move from his stolen office, and Shawn... well, Shawn was about to play his unwitting part in the most crucial scene of my revenge.

I'd spent hours perfecting every detail. The wine I'd selected for dinner contained just enough sedative to make both men drowsy but functional—a delicate balance that had taken weeks of research to achieve. The timing had to be flawless, the staging perfect, because tonight would determine whether my plan succeeded or crumbled into nothing.

Shawn lay sprawled across our bed, his breathing deep and regular. The medication had worked exactly as intended—he was unconscious but would appear merely drunk to any observer. I'd positioned him carefully, his shirt partially unbuttoned, his hair mussed just enough to suggest intimate activity.

Downstairs, I could hear Lem's heavy footsteps as he made his nightly rounds through the house. Always the paranoid patriarch, checking locks and shadows before retiring. But tonight, his routine would lead him exactly where I needed him to be.

I slipped out of my evening dress and into the silk negligee I'd chosen specifically for this moment—cream-colored, expensive, the kind of thing that would photograph beautifully in dim lighting. My hands were steady as I applied the final touches to my appearance, though my heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird.

This was it. The moment that would either elevate me to the position I needed or destroy everything I'd worked for.

The sound of Lem's approach grew closer. I positioned myself at the vanity, brush in hand, playing the role of the dutiful wife preparing for bed. When his shadow appeared in the doorway, I didn't immediately acknowledge him—let him think he was catching me in an unguarded moment.

"Melanie?" His voice was slightly slurred from the wine, exactly as planned.

"Oh!" I turned, pressing a hand to my throat in manufactured surprise. "Lem, I didn't hear you coming. Is everything alright?"

His eyes were already moving over me with the predatory hunger I'd carefully cultivated over months of subtle encouragement. The negligee left little to the imagination, and I watched as his pupils dilated with more than just the dim lighting.

"I was checking the house," he said, but his attention was clearly elsewhere. "Where's Shawn?"

I gestured toward the bed with perfectly calibrated embarrassment. "He... he had too much wine at dinner. I'm afraid he's not feeling well."

Lem's gaze shifted to his unconscious son, and I saw the familiar flash of disgust cross his features. Shawn's weakness was a constant source of shame for him, and tonight that shame would serve my purposes perfectly.

"Pathetic," Lem muttered, moving closer to the bed. "Can't even hold his liquor like a man."

"He's been under so much stress lately," I said softly, playing the loyal wife even as I positioned myself between Lem and the door. "With Luke's arrival, the changes in the business... I think it's all been overwhelming for him."

Lem's laugh was harsh. "Everything overwhelms him. That's his problem."

The sedative was working on him too—I could see it in the slight sway of his posture, the way his words came just a fraction slower than usual. But he was still alert enough to be dangerous, still sharp enough to see through any obvious manipulation.

That's why what happened next had to appear completely spontaneous.

I moved toward the bathroom, letting my negligee catch the light in a way that emphasized every curve. "I should probably let him sleep it off. Perhaps I'll use the guest room tonight—"

"No." The word came out rougher than he'd intended, and I saw him realize it. "I mean... you shouldn't have to be uncomfortable because of his weakness."

I turned back to face him, letting confusion and something else—something that could be interpreted as invitation—flicker across my features. "What do you mean?"

He stepped closer, and I could smell the wine on his breath, could see the way the sedative had softened the hard edges of his usual control. "A woman like you... you deserve better than this."

His hand gestured toward the unconscious Shawn with obvious contempt. "You deserve a real man. Someone who can appreciate what he has."

The moment stretched between us, heavy with implication. I let my breathing quicken slightly, let my lips part as if I was struggling with some internal conflict. When I finally spoke, my voice was barely a whisper.

"Lem... I don't think we should..."

But even as I said the words, I moved closer to him, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from my skin. Close enough that the scent of my perfume—the same expensive fragrance I'd worn to seduce his son—would cloud his judgment even further.

"You're beautiful," he said, his voice thick with desire and wine. "So beautiful, and wasted on him."

His hand reached out to touch my face, and I let him, even leaned into the caress slightly. The revulsion I felt was so intense it nearly broke my composure, but I channeled it into the trembling that he would interpret as desire rather than disgust.

"This is wrong," I breathed, even as I let my own hand come up to rest against his chest. "He's your son..."

"He's a disappointment," Lem said harshly. "And you... you're magnificent."

The kiss, when it came, was hungry and possessive. I responded just enough to encourage him while maintaining the facade of reluctant surrender. Every second felt like an eternity, but I forced myself to think of my family, of the justice I was finally within reach of claiming.

When we broke apart, his breathing was ragged. "Come with me," he said. "Away from here. Away from him."

I glanced toward the bed where Shawn lay unconscious, then back at Lem with perfect uncertainty. "I... I can't. This is insane."

"Is it?" His hands were on my waist now, pulling me closer. "Or is it the first sane thing either of us has done in years?"

I let him guide me toward the door, my steps hesitant but not quite resistant. In the hallway, the dim lighting would create the perfect atmosphere for what came next. The security cameras in this section had been mysteriously malfunctioning for weeks—Patrick's handiwork, though Lem would never suspect.

What happened in the next hour would be carefully orchestrated theater, designed to plant the seeds of obsession in Lem's mind while giving me exactly what I needed to secure my position in this family forever.

As we moved through the darkened corridors toward his private study, I caught a glimpse of movement in the shadows near the servants' stairs. Patrick, keeping watch as always, ready to intervene if things went too far.

But they wouldn't go too far. I was in complete control of this situation, just as I'd been in control of everything else since the moment I'd set foot in this house.

By morning, Lem would be mine to manipulate. And the child I would soon carry—Patrick's child, though no one would ever know—would be the key to destroying everything the Castellano family had built.