Chapter 4

April POV:

I fumbled in my clutch, my fingers shaking so badly I could barely grasp the small, plastic pill bottle. It was my lifeline, the one thing that could pull me back from the edge of the abyss Hamilton had thrown me into. The psychiatrist had called it severe PTSD, a cocktail of anxiety and disassociation triggered by overwhelming trauma. Hamilton just called it being dramatic.

I managed to twist the cap off, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Just as I was about to shake a pill into my palm, a voice, sharp and saccharine, cut through the haze.

"Well, well. Look what we have here."

I looked up. Brittany Mccray stood a few feet away, a triumphant smirk on her perfectly painted lips. Before I could react, her leg shot out, and she kicked the bottle from my hand. It skittered across the polished marble floor, the little white pills scattering like fallen teeth. She then deliberately, slowly, ground the bottle under the heel of her Louboutin shoe until it was nothing but a mess of plastic shards.

"Oops," she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Clumsy me."

A primal rage, hot and fierce, surged through me. But I choked it down. Dudley. I had to think of Dudley. I couldn' t afford to lose control, not now.

I ignored her, my eyes scanning the floor for any stray pills. I saw one near the baseboard and scrambled for it.

Brittany was faster. She snatched it up just before my fingers could close around it. She held it up between her thumb and forefinger, examining it like a curious jewel.

"So it' s true," she mused, a cruel glint in her eyes. "You really are crazy. A bona fide psycho. What a shame."

She popped the pill into her mouth, chewed it with an exaggerated grimace, and swallowed. "Tastes like chalk. You know, I told Hamilton you were unstable, but I don' t think he truly believed it until now."

"Give me my medication, Brittany," I said, my voice dangerously low.

She laughed, a high, tinkling sound that grated on my nerves. "Why? So you can keep pretending to be a functional human being? Don' t you get it, April? You' ve lost. He' s mine. He was always mine."

She leaned in closer, her perfume, a cloyingly sweet floral, making me gag. "You want to know something funny? The night your father died, Hamilton was with me. He held me all night, telling me how brave I was, how he' d protect me. He was so tender. So caring. While you were watching your father take his last breath, your husband was in my bed."

The world tilted on its axis. The air was punched from my lungs.

"And your mother..." she continued, her voice a gleeful whisper. "When we heard she' d jumped, Hamilton' s first thought was for me. He was worried the news would upset me, that it would trigger my 'delicate condition' . He spent the entire day catering to my every whim, while you were identifying your own mother' s broken body."

Every word was a perfectly aimed dagger, each one striking a vital organ.

"Why won' t you just leave?" she hissed, her face contorting with a sudden, vicious anger. "Why do you keep clinging to him? He doesn' t want you! Nobody wants you! Your family is gone, your name is dirt, and you' re nothing but a pathetic, mentally ill burden!"

"Shut up," I warned, my control slipping.

"Or what?" she taunted, her eyes dancing with malice. "You' ll hit me? Go on. Do it. Give him another reason to see you as the unhinged monster I' ve told him you are."

Then she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that held the key to my entire nightmare.

"You know, it was all so easy," she said, a proud, twisted smile on her face. "Framing your idiot brother. All I had to do was cry to Hamilton, show him a few doctored emails and bank statements. I knew he couldn' t resist playing the white knight. His ego, his savior complex... it' s his greatest weakness. And his greatest strength, for me."

She straightened up, admiring her nails. "He fought so hard for me in court. Against his own brother-in-law. Against his own wife. It was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me."

That was it. The final snap.

The sound of my hand connecting with her cheek echoed in the empty hallway.

But the satisfaction was fleeting. Because Brittany didn't recoil. She didn't even look angry. She just smiled, a slow, triumphant smile.

And then she started to scream.

"Help! Somebody help me! She' s trying to kill me!"

It happened so fast. One moment, I was standing over her, my hand raised, my mind a blur of red fury. The next, Hamilton was there. He rushed past me, his eyes filled with a panic and concern I hadn' t seen directed at me in over a year. He didn' t even look at me. He went straight to Brittany, who had collapsed onto the floor, sobbing hysterically.

"Brittany! Are you alright? What did she do to you?" he asked, his voice thick with alarm.

He knelt beside her, gathering her into his arms, shielding her with his body as if I were a wild animal. I stumbled back, my heel catching on the leg of a console table. I went down hard, my arm striking the marble edge. A sharp, searing pain shot from my elbow to my wrist, and I looked down to see blood welling up, bright red against my pale skin.

The pain was nothing compared to the agony in my chest. He hadn' t even glanced my way.

I looked at him, cradling her, whispering soothing words, and a single, devastating thought pierced through the chaos in my mind: he loves her. He doesn' t just feel responsible for her. He loves her.

Tears blurred my vision. He was my husband. I was his wife. I was the one bleeding on the floor. And he didn' t care.

He finally got Brittany calmed down enough to stand. He kept his arm securely around her, his body a protective barrier. Only then did he turn his gaze on me. It was glacial.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snarled, his voice dripping with contempt.

My mouth opened, but no words came out. I just pointed a trembling finger at Brittany. "She... she told me... she framed Dudley. She admitted it."

Hamilton' s face hardened. He looked from my desperate, tear-streaked face to Brittany' s innocent, victimized one.

"Don' t be ridiculous, April," he said with chilling certainty. "Why would she do that? She sacrificed her reputation to put a rapist behind bars. She is the victim here."

He spat the word 'rapist' like a curse. My brother. He was talking about my brother.

"But she told me..." I choked out. "Hamilton, please, you have to believe me."

He just stared at me, and his next two words shattered the last microscopic fragment of my heart.

"You' re delusional."