The File

The bedroom door closed behind me. Rex had not followed.

I stood in the dark and pressed my hand to my mouth. Isabella's words were still burning in my chest. I have been sleeping with Father for three years. You are payment.

I should have felt rage. I felt relief.

Now I did not have to pretend. Now I could destroy them both without guilt.

The bed was empty. Rex was somewhere else in the house. I walked to the window and looked out at the garden. Isabella was gone. The roses swayed in the wind. My mother's roses.

I needed to contact Lin.

My phone was still missing. Rex had taken it. But Mrs. Park had said to come to her if I needed anything. I slipped out of the bedroom and down the hall.

Her door was at the end of the corridor. I knocked twice. Soft.

She opened it immediately. Like she had been waiting.

You heard? I asked.

Mrs. Park nodded. Her face was hard. I heard everything. Your sister is a monster.

So is my father.

She stepped aside. Let me in. Her room was small. A single bed. A crucifix on the wall. A photograph of a young girl on the nightstand.

Your daughter? I asked.

Mrs. Park nodded. She is safe now. Far from here. Because of your mother.

I did not have time for stories. I need a phone.

She reached under her mattress. Pulled out an old burner phone. Pressed it into my hands.

I have kept this for ten years, she said. Waiting for you.

I typed Lin's number from memory. The phone rang twice.

A voice answered. Tired. Female. Accented.

You are late.

I know. I need everything on Rex Marchetti. Everything.

Lin sighed. I have been waiting for you to ask. Sending it now.

The phone buzzed. A file. Pages and pages. I scanned quickly.

Rex Marchetti. Age twenty-nine. Took over the family business at twenty-two after his father's death. Suspected of killing his own uncle. No criminal record. No previous marriages. No children.

No children.

I stopped scrolling.

Lin, I typed. Does he know?

A pause. Then Lin's response.

About your tubes? Yes. He has known for two years.

My blood went cold.

Two years. Before the contract. Before the wedding. Before any of this.

He knew I could not give him an heir. And he married me anyway.

Why?

Lin's answer came slow. That is the question, is it not?

I closed the phone. Stared at the wall.

Mrs. Park was watching me. Her eyes were soft.

You look like you have seen a ghost, she said.

I have seen something worse, I said. I have seen a man who does not make sense.

I found Rex in his study.

The door was open. He sat behind a massive desk. A glass of whiskey in his hand. His shirt was unbuttoned. His hair was messy. He looked up when I entered. Did not smile.

You are not sleeping, he said.

You knew, I said. About my tubes. You knew before the wedding.

He did not deny it. Did not flinch. Just set down the whiskey and leaned back in his chair.

Yes.

Two years. You have known for two years.

He nodded. I have known since your mother's doctor told me.

I froze. My mother's doctor?

Rex stood. Walked around the desk. Stopped in front of me.

Your mother asked me to watch over you, Mira. Before she died. She came to me. A thirteen-year-old girl with a monster for a father. She asked me to protect you.

I shook my head. That is not possible. You were fifteen.

I was fifteen, he agreed. And I gave her my word.

The room was spinning. I grabbed the edge of the desk.

She knew? My mother knew you?

Rex reached out. Touched my face. I let him.

She knew everything, he said. She knew you would need someone. Someone who could match your father. Someone who would not break.

I slapped his hand away.

You married me because she asked you to? That is pity. That is charity. I do not want either.

His eyes darkened. He grabbed my wrist. Pulled me close.

I married you because I have been watching you for ten years, Mira. Because you are the strongest person I have ever met. Because you built an army in the dark while your sister played with dolls. Because you are the only woman in the world who does not make me feel like a monster.

His mouth was inches from mine.

I married you because I wanted to. Not because of a promise to a dead woman.

I should have pushed him away. I should have run. But his hand was on my wrist. His body was against mine. And for the first time in ten years, someone saw me. Not Mira the forgotten daughter. Not Sable the avenger. Just me.

You should have told me, I whispered.

He shook his head. You would not have believed me. You trust no one. Your mother taught you that.

She was right.

She was wrong about one thing, he said. She said you would never need anyone. She was wrong. You need me. And I need you.

I kissed him.

I do not know who moved first. Maybe me. Maybe him. But his mouth was on mine. Hot. Desperate. His hands fisted in my hair. My back hit the desk. Papers scattered.

He pulled back. Breathing hard.

Tell me to stop, he said. Tell me you do not want this.

I could not. The word would not come.

Because I did want it. I wanted him. Not for revenge. Not for strategy. For me.

I pulled his mouth back to mine.

The desk was hard against my back. His hands were everywhere. My dress. His shirt. Skin on skin. He lifted me onto the wood. Spread my legs. Stepped between them.

His mouth found my throat. My collarbone. The edge of my bra.

I should stop this, I thought. I am using him. He is using me. This is not real.

But his hand slid under my dress. Found the heat between my legs. And I stopped thinking.

You are wet, he said against my ear. His voice was rough. Was that for me?

I did not answer. I could not. His finger was inside me. Curling. Pressing. My head fell back.

Say my name, he said.

Rex.

Again.

Rex.

He added a second finger. I gasped. My nails dug into his shoulders.

He lowered his head. Bit my neck. Not hard. Not soft. Just right.

I want to hear you come, he said. Then I am going to carry you to bed and do it again.

His thumb found the small bundle of nerves. Circled. Pressed. My hips bucked.

Look at me, he said.

I opened my eyes. His storm-cloud gaze was locked on mine.

Do not look away, he said. I want to see your face when you fall apart.

I came. Hard. My body shaking. His name on my lips. He watched every second. Did not blink.

When I stopped trembling, he lifted me off the desk. Carried me to the bedroom. Laid me on the black silk sheets.

That was just the beginning, wife.

He undressed me slowly. The dress. The bra. The underwear. His eyes on every inch of skin.

Then he undressed himself.

He was beautiful. Scars and all. Hard and ready. He climbed over me. His body covered mine.

Last chance, he said. Tell me to stop.

I wrapped my legs around his waist.

Do not you dare.

He pushed inside me. Slow. Deep. I gasped. He groaned.

And then we were not enemies anymore. We were not strangers. We were two people who had been alone for too long, finally not alone.

He moved. I moved with him. His forehead pressed to mine.

I have waited ten years for this, he said.

Then wait no longer, I said.

He kissed me. And the world outside disappeared.

Later, I lay in his arms. The sheets were tangled. My body was sore. I had never felt more alive.

Rex traced patterns on my back. His breathing was slow. His heart was steady.

I need to tell you something, he said.

I tensed. What?

Your father, he said. Victor. He is not...

The door slammed open.

Isabella stood in the doorway. Her face was white. Her eyes were wild.

Get dressed, she said. Both of you. Father is dead.

I sat up. The sheet fell away. I did not care.

What do you mean?

Isabella's voice shook. Someone killed him. Tonight. In his study.

Rex was already out of bed. Pulling on pants. Grabbing his gun.

Who? he asked.

Isabella looked at me. Her eyes were hollow.

The cameras show no one entering, she said. But his body... his body is cold. He has been dead for hours.

I looked at Rex. His face was unreadable.

If Victor has been dead for hours, I said slowly, then who came to dinner?

No one answered.

Because there was no answer.

The man who sat at my father's table. The man who touched Isabella's knee. The man who smiled and drank wine and called me darling.

He was not my father.

And somewhere in this house, the real killer was still here..