The next morning, Clara was a masterclass in domestic perfection. She didn’t sabotage his clothes, scramble his passport, or throw a dramatic tantrum. No, she packed his premium suitcase with unsettling, terrifying precision. She neatly pressed his finest custom suits, packed his favorite expensive cologne, and made sure his luxury ties were perfectly rolled.
She needed him to feel absolutely relaxed, completely victorious, and entirely unsuspecting of the storm brewing on the horizon. “You’re a lifesaver, genuinely,” Marcus said, checking his watch as he grabbed his briefcase. He gave her a quick, routine kiss on the cheek—the kind of dismissive kiss given to a pet before leaving the house. “Don’t wait up for me this weekend. I’ll be in back-to-back meetings.”
“Work hard, Marcus,” Clara replied, her voice smooth and entirely devoid of emotion. The moment his Uber pulled away from the driveway, the soft smile completely dropped from her face. Her hands ceased to tremble. She changed into a sharp, tailored outfit, grabbed her sunglasses, and headed out the door.