Chapter 3

I couldn't live like this, a prisoner in my own home, tormented by a dog possessed by my husband's dead, manipulative ex-fiancée.

Enough was enough.

One evening, after Lucky "accidentally" tripped me on the stairs, sending me sprawling, I confronted Mark.

Chloe was there, of course, always present.

"Mark, we need to talk about Lucky," I said, my voice steady, surprising even myself.

He looked up from petting the dog, a slight frown on his face. "What about him, honey?"

"His behavior is unacceptable. He's destructive, he's growling at me, he urinated on our bed. This isn't working."

Lucky, hearing his name, thumped his tail, looking up at Mark with adoring eyes. Olivia was a good actress, even as a dog.

Chloe scoffed. "Sarah, you're exaggerating. He's just a dog settling in."

"I'm not exaggerating, Chloe," I said, my gaze fixed on Mark. "I want him rehomed. Or I want a divorce."

The word hung in the air.

Mark's eyes widened. "Divorce? Sarah, are you serious? Over a dog?"

"It's not just about the dog, Mark. It's about how you refuse to see what's happening, how you dismiss my feelings."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, okay, let's not talk about divorce. We can get a trainer for Lucky. We'll work on it."

I knew a trainer wouldn't fix Olivia.

But I had planted the seed. And I had another plan.

Olivia, in Lucky's body, clearly enjoyed the comforts of her new canine life, especially the gourmet dog food Mark bought.

I started supplementing it.

Small amounts at first, bits of rich cheese, a spoonful of leftover gravy, a piece of buttery steak fat.

Things a dog's digestive system wasn't meant to handle in large quantities.

Lucky (Olivia) devoured them greedily.

Soon, the elegant Greyhound started looking a little less elegant.

He became gassy. He had frequent, messy accidents in the yard. He started to gain weight, his sleek lines blurring.

Mark worried. "I don't understand, he's on the best food."

Chloe eyed me suspiciously. "Are you giving him table scraps, Sarah?"

"Of course not," I said, all innocence. "Why would I do that?"

Olivia, in Lucky, seemed miserable. The constant stomach upset, the bloating. Her new vessel was becoming a prison of discomfort. Good.

One evening, I was in the kitchen, pretending to read, while Mark was in the living room with Lucky.

The dog was whining, pawing at Mark.

Mark stroked him. "What is it, boy? Are you feeling bad again?"

Lucky let out a series of yips and low growls, a strange, almost conversational pattern.

Mark listened, nodding slowly. "I know, I know. The anniversary is coming soon. We just have to be patient a little longer."

My blood ran cold.

Lucky whined again, then nudged Mark' s hand towards a framed photo of me on the mantelpiece.

Mark sighed. "Yes, the Miller family fortune. It will all be ours, Olivia. Soon. Just hold on."

He was talking to the dog. He was talking to Olivia.

And Olivia was responding.

He could understand her. He knew.

The full scope of their greed, their long-term plan, hit me. It wasn't just about reuniting with Ethan. It was about my family's money.

My father' s money.

The quiet fury inside me solidified into a diamond-hard resolve.

They would get nothing.