The paper was cut off, the rest torn away.
Behind me, the upstairs bathroom door creaked open. A figure stepped out, a woman in a crisp white blouse, hair pulled back, a badge clipped to her lapel that read “C. Donovan.” Her eyes met mine, cold and calculating.
“You really think you could ruin everything with a laxative?” she said, voice flat. “You’ve only delayed the inevitable.”
I stared, the realization hitting me like a wave. She wasn’t a secretary. She was the one pulling the strings, the one who had orchestrated the entire affair, the one who now stood in my house, uninvited, unmasked.
She smiled, a thin, practiced smile. “I’m sorry you had to learn this the hard way.”
My mouth opened, then closed, the words stuck. The house seemed to spin, the walls closing in, the scent of perfume still hanging in the air, now a reminder of betrayal.
