Thaddeus POV
I hear her scream before I reach the top of the stairs.
Not a scream of fear—a scream of rage.
The locked room door is open. Light spills into the hallway.
She found it.
My chest tightens with something between dread and inevitability. I knew this moment would come eventually. I just thought I'd have more time.
I walk toward the open door, each step feeling like walking toward my own execution.
Nerissa stands in the center of the room, surrounded by Isabella's photographs, holding the file folder in shaking hands. Her face is pale. Her eyes are wild.
When she sees me, she throws the folder at my chest. Papers scatter everywhere.
"You killed her!" She's crying and screaming at the same time. "You wrote it down! 'I won't lose another one!' You murdered your wife!"
"Nerissa—"
"Don't!" She backs away when I step forward. "Don't come near me! You're a murderer! Vivienne was right! Everything she said was right!"
"It's not what you think—"
"You wrote that you couldn't let her leave! That's a confession!" Her voice breaks. "How could you? How could you kill someone and then... then marry me like it's nothing?"
I pick up the note from the floor, reading my own handwriting. The words I wrote six years ago in grief and madness.
"I didn't kill Isabella," I say quietly.
"LIAR!"
"I wanted to." The admission costs me everything. "When I found out she was leaving me, I wanted to kill her. I was so angry, so devastated. I wrote that note in a moment of rage. But I never acted on it."
Nerissa stares at me, tears streaming down her face. "Then why keep the note? Why hide all of this?"
"Because I'm ashamed." My voice cracks. "I loved Isabella more than anything. And when she planned to leave me, my first thought wasn't to let her go—it was to stop her. By any means necessary. What kind of man thinks that way about the woman he loves?"
"A dangerous one." She's trembling. "A controlling one."
"Yes." I won't lie to her. Not now. "I am dangerous. I am controlling. I've built an empire by crushing anyone who threatens me. But I swear to you—I swear on everything I am—I didn't touch Isabella. Her death was an accident."
"The brake lines were cut!"
"Faulty maintenance. The mechanic who serviced her car admitted he made a mistake. He was prosecuted. I made the donation to the police department after the investigation was complete and the mechanic confessed."
Nerissa looks at the photographs covering the walls. "You were obsessed with her."
"I loved her." I follow her gaze. "These photos—I took them because I wanted to remember every moment. Every smile. Every laugh. When she died, this room became... my grief."
"This isn't grief. This is a shrine to obsession."
She's right. And I hate that she's right.
"After Isabella died, I promised myself I'd never let anyone close again," I say quietly. "I sealed this room. Locked away that part of myself. Focused only on business, on surviving."
"Until you saw me."
"Until I saw you." I meet her eyes. "Seven years ago. You walked into that family dinner in a blue dress, and everything I'd locked away came flooding back. The want. The need. The desperate desire to connect with someone real."
"So you waited." Her voice is hollow. "Waited for your stepson to destroy me. Waited until I was broken enough to accept your deal."
The accusation stings because there's truth in it.
"I waited because you weren't mine to have," I correct. "You were married. Off-limits. But yes—when I saw my chance, I took it. I'm not going to apologize for that."
"You should!" She gestures at the room. "Look at this! Look at what you did to Isabella! What makes you think you won't do the same to me?"
"Because I learned from losing her." I step closer, and this time she doesn't back away. "Isabella left because I suffocated her. Controlled her. Tried to own her completely. I won't make that mistake with you."
"You're already making it! The contract! The marriage! Taking over my life!"
"No." I shake my head. "The contract gives you power. Money. Freedom. When I die, you'll be wealthy enough to do whatever you want. Go wherever you want. You're not my prisoner, Nerissa. You're my choice."
"I don't feel like a choice." Her voice breaks. "I feel like a replacement. For the wife you lost."
The words hit like bullets.
"You're nothing like Isabella," I say fiercely. "She was gentle. Soft. Easily controlled until she finally found the courage to leave. But you?" I move closer until we're inches apart. "You're fire. You're strength. You walked into that hospital tonight and faced down a woman who wanted to destroy you, and you didn't flinch. You're not a replacement. You're an evolution."
"Pretty words from a man who keeps secrets in locked rooms."
"I'll tell you every secret." The offer comes out desperate. "Every terrible thing I've done. Every person I've destroyed. Every dark corner of my soul. Just don't leave."
"Why?" She searches my face. "Why do you care if I leave? The contract says one year. After that, I'm gone anyway."
"Because I'm dying." My voice cracks completely. "And I don't want to die alone in a room full of photographs of a woman who couldn't love me back. I want to die knowing someone saw all of me—the monster and the man—and chose to stay anyway."
Nerissa's crying again, but softer now. "You can't ask me that. You can't ask me to love a man who might be a murderer."
"I'm not asking for love." Though I am. God, I am. "I'm asking for a chance. One year. Let me prove I'm not the monster Vivienne thinks I am."
She looks around the room one more time—at Isabella's face repeated hundreds of times on the walls.
"Take them down," she says quietly.
"What?"
"All of it. The photos. The shrine. Everything." She meets my eyes. "If you want me to stay, if you want me to believe you're not obsessed—prove it. Let Isabella go."
It feels like she's asking me to cut out my own heart.
But I nod. "Okay."
"Now." Her voice is firm. "I'll help you."
For the next hour, we work in silence. Taking down photographs. Packing away memories. Dismantling the shrine I built to my dead wife.
Nerissa doesn't ask questions. Doesn't judge. Just helps me box up six years of grief.
When we're done, the room is empty except for one photo—Isabella's wedding portrait.
"Keep that one," Nerissa says softly. "She was part of your life. You shouldn't forget her completely."
I stare at the photo. Isabella smiling in her wedding dress. Young. Beautiful. Gone.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be what you needed," I tell the photo quietly. "I'm sorry I drove you away."
Nerissa touches my arm. "She's at peace now."
"How do you know?"
"Because if she wasn't, her ghost would be haunting you a lot worse than Vivienne is."
Despite everything, I almost smile.
We carry the boxes to the storage room. When we're done, it's nearly 3 AM.
Nerissa looks exhausted. Emotionally destroyed.
"You should sleep," I say.
"So should you." But neither of us moves.
We stand in the hallway between our separate bedrooms. The contract specified separate rooms. No intimacy. Professional distance.
But right now, neither of us wants to be alone.
"Nerissa—"
"I don't forgive you yet," she interrupts. "For the secrets. For Isabella. For any of it."
"I understand."
"But I'm not leaving tonight." She looks down at the diamond ring on her finger. "We made a deal. One year. I'm going to see it through."
Relief floods through me. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. I'm doing this for my mother. For my family. Not for you."
The words should hurt. Instead, they're honest. And I respect honesty more than empty comfort.
"Goodnight, Thaddeus." She turns toward her room.
"Wait." I don't know what makes me say it. "You don't have to sleep alone. If you don't want to."
She freezes. "The contract says—"
"Forget the contract. You've had the worst day of your life. So have I. Maybe we both just need... not to be alone."
She turns back slowly. "No sex."
"No sex," I agree.
"Just sleeping."
"Just sleeping."
She studies my face for a long moment. Then: "Your room or mine?"
"Yours. You should be comfortable."
We walk to her room together. She climbs into bed, still fully dressed. I lie down beside her, on top of the covers.
For several minutes, we just lie there in the dark.
Then Nerissa whispers, "I killed my baby today."
The words break something in my chest.
I pull her against me, holding her while she sobs into my shirt. She cries for the baby she lost. For the marriage that failed. For the life that exploded.
I hold her through all of it, stroking her hair, whispering that it's not her fault.
Eventually, her crying slows. Her breathing evens out.
"Thaddeus?" she murmurs, half-asleep.
"Mm?"
"If I ever try to leave you, promise you won't kill me."
My heart stops.
She's joking. Half-joking. Testing me.
"I promise," I say into the darkness. "If you want to leave, I'll let you go."
"Even if it breaks your heart?"
"Even then."
She's quiet for so long I think she's fallen asleep.
Then: "I think I believe you."
She drifts off in my arms, exhausted and broken and trusting me despite everything.
I lie awake, watching her sleep, and make a silent vow.
I will never give her a reason to leave.
I will never become the monster Isabella feared.
I will be better.
For her.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand. A text from an unknown number.
"Tick tock, Thaddeus. I gave her a preview tonight. Tomorrow, I give her the full story. Including the part about what really happened in that car. Sweet dreams. —V"
My blood runs cold.
Vivienne has evidence.
Real evidence about Isabella's death.
Evidence that could destroy everything.