She Died His Wife, She Returns His Enemy

Elise Caro had been taught that silence was a virtue.

From the moment she could walk in heels and smile without showing teeth, she was raised to be someone’s prize. A good daughter. A good wife. A pretty thing to look at. Say the right thing. Sit straight. Don’t question. Don’t raise your voice. And above all, never embarrass the family.

Tonight, that training served her well.

She sat across from her husband, wrapped in cream silk, the clink of crystal and silverware filling the long silence between them. A city stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, glittering like it had no idea what was about to happen.

Cassian D’Amaro poured her wine with steady hands.

He smiled at her.

She smiled back.

The same way she had a hundred times before. A soft curve of her lips, practised and polite.

"Four years," Cassian said, lifting his glass. "Can you believe it?"

Elise lifted hers, too. Her fingers barely touched the stem. She didn’t trust them not to shake.

“I can,” she murmured, barely touching her own.

The stem trembled in her fingers. Not from nerves. From fury.

The wine tasted like ash.

She should have left two nights ago, when she found the file hidden in his laptop. The one with the numbered offshore accounts, the names of politicians, shell companies, wire transfers, and her own signature forged across them. A scapegoat with a wedding ring.

She hadn't screamed then. Not when she realised what it meant. Not when she understood the only reason she was still alive was because she hadn’t confronted him yet.

Not until now.

The penthouse lights dimmed to a candlelit flicker. The city beyond the windows glowed like a promise she’d never get to keep. Elise watched him eat, drink, laugh softly like nothing in the world could touch him.

Her husband.

Her executioner.

He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers warm against her cheek.

"You’re quiet tonight."

Elise blinked.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to smash the crystal glass and drive the jagged stem into his throat. To tell him she knew. That he didn’t win. That she wasn’t afraid.

But she didn’t.

She smiled again. The way she was raised to. The way her mother would have wanted.

"Just thinking," she said.

"About?"

She hesitated. Just for a second.

"You."

His gaze deepened. "Dangerous."

You have no idea, she thought.

She didn’t remember falling asleep — only waking up in the car.

She was cold. Her dress was too thin. No coat. Her skin prickled with awareness as she looked around.

Rafe and Gino sat in the front. Silent. Unreadable.

Cassian sat beside her, scrolling through his phone like it was just another night. As if nothing was about to happen. As if she weren’t being driven to her death.

Her heart began to pound, a sick rhythm climbing her throat.

This was it.

The moment she’d imagined in nightmares. The one she always woke from before the final blow. But this time, there was no waking up.

She turned to him slowly.

"Where are we going?"

He didn’t look at her. "Someplace quiet."

Her stomach twisted. "You forgot my coat."

"No," he said.

He hadn’t forgotten anything.

The woods were still. Too still.

That kind of silence that made your ears ring. That reminded you, nature didn’t scream. It just swallowed.

She stumbled on a root, nearly fell. Rafe grabbed her arm without looking back.

Cassian lit a cigarette.

The scent hit her like a wall. Tobacco, spice, cedarwood — the same cologne he wore on their wedding night. The one that used to make her feel safe. Loved.

Now it made her nauseous.

"Any last words?" Rafe asked, tone dry.

She turned to Cassian. Her eyes burned. "I gave you everything."

He exhaled smoke. "That was your first mistake."

"And your last," she whispered.

One of them raised the gun.

She didn’t scream.

Not for mercy. Not for help.

The shot came fast.

A crack that shattered the silence.

And then — nothing.

But death didn’t come. Not really.