Chapter 3

I went home and acted as if I knew nothing. The mask of the loving, albeit terminally ill, wife was one I had perfected over the years. It was easy to slip back into.

In the days that followed, I was busy. I liquidated my personal assets-stocks from my father, jewelry from my mother, everything I owned that wasn't tied to Cole.

I used the money to establish a charitable foundation in my parents' names, dedicated to providing legal aid for the wrongly accused and scholarships for architecture students from low-income families.

I threw myself into the work, drafting bylaws, meeting with lawyers, interviewing staff. It was a race against the clock.

My body was failing. The pain in my chest was a constant companion, a dull, heavy pressure that sometimes sharpened into a blinding agony. I grew weaker, more breathless, with each passing day.

Cole played the part of the concerned husband beautifully.

"Eleanor, you're pushing yourself too hard," he'd say, trying to take the files from my hands. "Let my people handle this. You need to rest."

I would smile weakly and push his hands away. "It's my parents' legacy, Cole. I need to do this myself."

"I'm sorry," he would say, his brow furrowed with fake concern. "I know how much this means to you. After the transplant, when you're all better, we'll run it together."

He promised to be at the launch event, a gala I had planned to officially announce the foundation.

That night, as he got ready for a "business dinner," I noticed a long, blonde hair on the collar of his white shirt. Not my dark brown. I felt nothing. The part of me that could feel jealousy or hurt had died.

The night of the gala, I was propped up by a cocktail of painkillers, my smile painted on. The ballroom was filled with the city's elite, all there to support a noble cause.

Then, a sudden shriek cut through the polite chatter.

The crowd parted. There, in the center of the room, was Karma Smith. She was on the floor, clutching her pregnant belly, her face a mask of terror.

I just stood there, my mind numb. Of course. Of course she would be here. She couldn't even let me have this one last thing. She had to poison my final act of love for my parents.

Cole rushed to her side just as the reporters surged forward, their cameras flashing like a violent storm.

"Eleanor, please!" Karma sobbed, crawling on her knees towards me. "I'm so sorry! I had to leave all those years ago! They were threatening me, my family... they made me frame your father! Please, forgive me!"

It was a masterful performance. The victim, forced into an impossible choice, now begging for forgiveness.

"Mr. Solomon!" a reporter shouted. "What is your relationship with Ms. Smith?"

Cole ignored them, his security team moving to clear the room. He reached down to help Karma, then seemed to think better of it, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air.

He turned to me, his face a thundercloud. "Eleanor, why is she on her knees? What did you say to her?"

I looked past him, my eyes fixed on Karma. "Why are you here?" My voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

Tears streamed down her face. "I... I just wanted to apologize. Please, Eleanor, don't hurt my baby. He's innocent."

Cole stepped between us. "That's enough, Eleanor. She came here to apologize. You don't have to be so aggressive."

Aggressive? I wanted to laugh. I was a breath away from death, and he called me aggressive.

The pain in my chest flared. I had to get out of there. I turned, holding my head high, and walked away from the scene, my dignity the only shield I had left.

The moment I was in the car, the facade crumbled. I broke down, sobs wracking my fragile frame. I saw his face, the way he looked at her, his eyes full of a tenderness he hadn't shown me in years.

My phone started ringing off the hook. Voicemails filled with curses. Texts calling me a monster.

I pulled up a news site. The headlines were brutal. "Jilted Wife Bullies Pregnant Mistress." "Architect's Daughter Viciously Attacks Father's Victim."

They had twisted the story completely, painting me as the villain, Karma as the saint. They dredged up the lies about my father, calling him a disgrace. My foundation was labeled a sham, a way to launder our family's "dirty money."

I tried to post a comment, to explain, but my words were deleted instantly. A flood of hate filled the screen.

"The driver's voice was tense. "Ma'am, there's a car behind us. They've been on our tail for miles."

I looked back. A black SUV was weaving through traffic, closing the distance with a terrifying speed. They weren't paparazzi. This was something else.

I fumbled for my phone, my fingers shaking as I dialed Cole.

In his penthouse, Cole stared at the trending news, his jaw tight.

"Get this scrubbed," he ordered his assistant. "All of it."

Karma clutched his arm, her body trembling. "Cole, I'm so scared. What if those things they're saying online... what if people believe them?"

He looked at her, then at the picture of her crying on the floor. "Did you really have to go there tonight, Karma?"

Her face crumpled. "I just wanted to make things right!" she cried, burying her face in his chest. "I know Eleanor hates me, but I never thought she'd be so cruel in public."

He softened, wrapping his arms around her. "I know, I know." He thought of her "bravery" in high school, how she had supposedly stood up for him. He owed her everything. His loyalty was a blinding, fatal fog.

My call came through. He saw my name on the screen. He saw the picture of Karma's tear-streaked face. His thumb hovered over the green button, then jabbed the red one, ending the call.

His anger, fueled by her lies, had just signed my death warrant.