I was flat on my stomach under the king-size bed, holding my breath like a foolish teenager.

My suit jacket was still on.

My bow tie was loose.

My cheeks were hot from all the dancing and the flashing cameras and the loud cheers at the wedding hall.

But none of that mattered anymore because the hotel room door just opened.

And the footsteps that entered were not my wife’s.

They were slow, careful, confident.

A woman’s heels clicked on the shiny floor.

Then the door locked from the inside.

I blinked fast in the darkness under the bed, confused.

Emerald was meant to come in first.

She was meant to scream when she saw me jump out.

We would laugh.

We would finally be alone.

That was the prank.

But the voice that spoke next made my stomach twist.

“Emerald,” the woman said softly. “Come and sit. We must talk now.”

It was her mother, Mrs. Genevie Hawthorne.

And the worst part?

Emerald answered from inside the room like she had been waiting for her.

“Mommy, you came. I thought you would be with my siblings.”

“I left them,” her mother replied. “This is more important.”

I pressed my palm to the carpet.

My heart began to pound so loud I was sure they would hear it.

I wanted to slide out and say, “Good evening, Ma. You scared me.”

But something about her mother’s tone froze me.

Then Mrs. Hawthorne said the words that broke me into pieces.

“Remember,” she whispered, “This man is not your husband. He is your ladder and we must not waste time. If we do this well, you will not just become rich. You will own everything he has.”

My mouth fell open.

Emerald gave a small laugh, the kind that sounded like she was joking, but she was not.

“Mommy, I know.”

“No,” her mother snapped, still keeping her voice low. “You think you know, but you are too soft. You smiled too much today. You looked at him like you were in love.”

There was a pause.

Then Emerald spoke again, slower this time.

“I was acting.”

“Good,” her mother said. “Because acting is how we survive. Your father’s death finished us. Your siblings are hungry. The world is hard. And this billionaire Nathaniel Sterling, he is the answer God has sent.”

Nathaniel Sterling.

That was me.

I felt my ears ring.

I had been a single father for 15 long years.

I had buried my first wife and carried my grief like a heavy bag on my back.

I had raised my two children with all my strength.

And now on the night I finally agreed to love again.

I was hearing my new wife’s mother call me a ladder under the bed.

My fingers started to shake.

Mrs. Hawthorne continued, “You will be smart. You will be patient. You will make him trust you. and you will do what we discussed quietly.”

Emerald’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Yes, quietly.”

My chest tightened.

I did not hear them mention any weapon.

I did not hear them mention any details, but I understood the meaning in that whisper.

My throat went dry.

Mrs. Hawthorne sighed.

“Nathaniel is not a fool. He has security. He has staff. He has children. His family will watch you. So we move gently. We move slowly. We make him feel safe.”

Emerald said he already feels safe.

“That is why he married me.”

Then her mother said the next sentence.

And I almost hit my head on the bed frame in shock.

“And one more thing,” Mrs. Hawthorne added. “You must never let him find out what really happened to his first wife.”

Time stopped.

My heartbeat stopped.

Even my breath stopped.

Emerald did not reply immediately.

And that silence was the loudest sound in the room.

I lay there under the bed staring into darkness as one thought slammed into my mind like a door.

What does she mean?

What really happened to my first wife?

Hours earlier, I would have told anyone that Emerald was my fresh start and many years of grief when I lost my wife.

I met her on an ordinary day in a supermarket at a mall in Leki.

I had gone in to buy cereal, fruit juice, and my daughter’s favorite chocolate.

I didn’t want any help from my driver that day.

I just wanted to walk like a normal person.

My children, Amelia and George, were grown now.

Amelia had finished university.

George was doing his business training abroad and visiting Lagos often.

They were adults.

That was the promise I made to myself 15 years ago.

The day I watched my wife fade away in a hospital bed, I remembered her voice that day, weak but clear.

“Nathaniel,” she told me, “don’t lock your heart forever.”

But I did.

I locked it.

People tried to open it.

My mother, my friends, even my business partners, Nathaniel, they would say, “You are still young. You are lonely. You need a companion.”

I would smile and change the topic.

The truth was simple.

My wife’s absence followed me everywhere in my mansion, in my car, in my office, even in my prayers.

So when I reached the cereal aisle that day in Leki and someone bumped into my trolley, I was ready to frown, but the voice I heard was calm and sweet.

“I’m so sorry, sir. Are you okay?”

I turned.

Emerald, neat hair, clear eyes, soft perfume, a simple dress that did not scream for attention.

She looked genuinely worried, not fake.

“It’s fine,” I said.

She bent quickly to pick up what fell.

Then she smiled.

“People rush too much,” she said gently. “Life is not a race.”

That sentence stayed with me for days.

We spoke again at the checkout line.

She cracked a small joke.

I laughed for the first time in what felt like years.

We exchanged contact.

After that, she did not beg, she did not chase, she did not shout.

She just talked.

Little messages, simple calls, questions about my day, kind words.

My heart, which had been sleeping for 15 years, started to wake up.

When I finally introduced her to my children, Amelia studied her for a long time.

Later that night, Amelia told me, “Dad, she is nice. Just don’t rush.”

I promised I would not, but life has a way of pushing you.

My family kept pressuring me.

“If you wait too long, you will never do it.”

My friend said, “A good woman is hard to find.”

Emerald looked at me one evening at a restaurant in Ecoy and said, “Nathaniel, you deserve peace.”

And my chest felt warm.

So, I asked her to marry me.

I went to see her family with gifts and respect.

I spoke well.

I knelt.

I did everything properly.

Her mother, Mrs. Genevie Hawthorne, hugged me like I was her own son.

That hug now felt like a lie.

Our wedding was loud, beautiful, and expensive.

One of those Lagos weddings that people would talk about for months.

After the celebration, we lodged in one of the best hotels in Victoria Garden City.

And on our wedding night, while Emerald thought I was still outside with my friends, I hid under the bed to prank her.

Now I was under that same bed listening to her mother say, “You must never let him find out what really happened to his first wife.”

My fingers curled into the carpet.

My eyes burned.

And in that moment, I realized something terrifying.

This was not just about money.

This was about my past.

And whatever secret Mrs. Hawthorne was guarding, it was about to destroy everything.

Then Emerald finally spoke, her voice almost shaking.

“Mommy, please don’t talk about that here.”

Mrs. Hawthorne answered coldly.

“Why not? Your husband is a widower because of it, and that is why this plan will work.”

I clamped my hand over my mouth to stop myself from making a sound.

Because if I made one sound, just one, they would know I was under the bed.

And I was not sure I would survive what I was about to hear next.

Under the bed.

My body felt stiff, like it no longer belonged to me.

Mrs. Hawthorne’s words kept turning in my head.

“Your husband is a widower because of it.”

Because of what?

I had watched my first wife fade slowly in a hospital room.

I had signed papers.

I had cried until my chest hurt.

Doctors had spoken to me in calm voices.

Cancer, late detection, no miracle.

So, what was this woman talking about?

Emerald shifted on the bed.

I could see her feet from where I lay.

Her toes curled slightly, the way people do when they are nervous.

“Mommy,” she said again. “This is not the time.”

Mrs. Hawthorne scoffed softly.

“If not now, when? Tonight is the most important night of your life. You are now Mrs. Sterling. Everything changes from here.”

There was the sound of a handbag opening.

Something metallic clicked inside.

My breath caught.

Emerald lowered her voice.

“You didn’t bring it, did you?”

“Of course I did,” her mother replied calmly. “But relax. Not today. I am not foolish. We start gently. Small steps.”

Small steps.

The room felt suddenly too small.

The air felt heavy.

Mrs. Hawthorne continued, “You will be loving, caring. You will cook for him. You will watch what he eats. You will learn his habits.”

Emerald nodded, even though her mother could not see it clearly.

“I already know some of them.”

“Good, very good,” her mother said. “Men like him relax when they feel understood, when they feel safe. And when they relax, they don’t notice changes.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

This was not a misunderstanding.

This was not gossip.

This was a plan, a slow one, a careful one.

Mrs. Hawthorne added, “Remember what we discussed. No rush, no mistakes. We cannot afford attention. Not from doctors, not from staff, not from his children.”

My children.

Amelia’s warning echoed in my mind.

“Dad, don’t rush.”

My heart twisted with guilt.

Emerald swallowed.

“And if he suspects,” her mother’s answer was sharp. “He won’t because he is lonely. And lonely people believe kindness easily.”

I felt that sentence cut into me.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Emerald asked a question that made my blood run cold.

“Mommy, what if he talks about his first wife again? What if he asks questions?”

Mrs. Hawthorne laughed quietly.

“Then you listen. You cry if you must. You tell him how sad it is. And you remember his first wife’s story is the reason nobody will suspect anything if his health changes later.”

My hands trembled.

Later health changes.

I could no longer lie flat.

I slowly turned my face to the side, pressing my cheek into the carpet to stop myself from making noise.

Mrs. Hawthorne stood up.

Her heels clicked again.

“I should go now,” she said. “People will notice if I stay too long,” she paused. “And Emerald,”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Do not fall in love. Love makes people careless.”

There was a long silence.

Then Emerald answered very softly.

“I won’t.”

The room door opened.

Closed, locked again.

Silence fell like a heavy blanket.

I stayed under the bed, not moving, not breathing properly.

Minutes passed.

Then Emerald sighed deeply and sat on the edge of the bed.

Her hands rested on her lap.

She looked tired, conflicted.

For one foolish second, my heart wanted to believe she was pretending for her mother.

That maybe she was trapped, that maybe she would choose me.

Then she spoke quietly to herself.

“I have to do this.”

My hope shattered.

She stood and walked toward the mirror.

I watched her feet move back and forth.

She practiced a smile, a gentle one, the same smile she used at the mall.

The same smile she used at the altar.

Then she checked her phone and muttered.

“He should be back soon.”

That was my cue.

I slowly pushed myself backward under the bed, careful not to touch anything.

My chest burned.

My mind raced.

I needed time.

I needed proof.

I needed to protect my children.

I waited until she stepped into the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the room.

I slid out quietly, grabbed my shoes, and slipped into the wardrobe area, pressing myself behind the hanging clothes.

Moments later, Emerald came out wrapped in a silk robe.

She looked around, “Nathaniel,” she called sweetly. “Are you back?”

I did not answer.

She smiled, thinking I was teasing.

“I know you’re hiding somewhere,” she said playfully. “Come out.”

My jaw clenched.

She walked toward the bed, bent slightly, and looked underneath.

My heart stopped, but I was no longer there.

She frowned.

Then her phone buzzed in her hand.

She glanced at the screen and her face changed.

Not fear, not joy, relief.

She typed quickly and whispered, “He’s not here yet.”

Under the clothes in the wardrobe, I felt something hard press into my back.

My phone.

It vibrated once.

A message popped up on the screen.

“You know, number first dose must look natural.”

My vision blurred because I suddenly realized two things at the same time.

One, this plan had already started.

And two, I had just stepped into a danger I might not escape.

I stayed silent, hidden, as Emerald turned off the lights and climbed into bed, still smiling.

And in the darkness, I knew the night was far from over.

My phone screen went dark.

The bathroom door was still closed.

The sound of water filled the room again.

This was my chance.

If I stayed hidden any longer, I would lose my mind.

So, I did the one thing I had planned to do from the beginning before fear took over everything.

I took a deep breath.

Then, I jumped out.

“Surprise!”

My voice exploded through the room.

Emerald screamed.

She spun around so fast she almost slipped, clutching her robe to her chest.

“Nathaniel,” she cried. “Jesus, where did you come from?”

I laughed loudly, forcing the sound to come out natural, light, careless.

“I’ve been here,” I said, spreading my arms. “I came in while you were bathing. I wanted to scare you.”

Her face froze for half a second.

Just half.

But I saw it.

Her eyes searched the room quickly.

The bed, the floor, the door.

Then she forced a laugh, placing a hand on her chest.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” she said. “This is not funny.”

I walked closer, smiling, playing my role perfectly.

“You should have seen your face,” I teased. “I was hiding, waiting. My legs are even hurting.”

Her smile widened, but it did not reach her eyes.

“Where were you hiding?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“Behind the curtain. I entered quietly when you were bathing. I wanted to jump out.”

That was a lie, but it was the safest one.

She studied me carefully, like she was measuring something.

Then she laughed again, louder this time.

“You are very silly, Mr. Sterling.”

She stepped forward and touched my arm.

Her hand felt warm.

Too warm.

“Why are you fully dressed?” She asked. “Didn’t you say you were still with your friends?”

“I came back early,” I replied smoothly. “I wanted to surprise my wife.”

I leaned in and kissed her forehead.

Her body stiffened for a brief moment before she relaxed.

“Next time,” she said softly. “Don’t scare me like that.”

I smiled, but inside my heart was beating like a drum because as I held her, I could still hear her mother’s voice in my head.

“This man is your ladder.”

We moved toward the bed together.

She sat.

I sat beside her.

Silence stretched between us.

She broke it.

“My mother came by earlier,” she said casually like she was talking about the weather.

I kept my face calm.

“Oh, I didn’t see her.”

“Yes,” Emerald replied. “She just wanted to check on me. You know how mothers are.”

I nodded slowly.

“Yes, I know.”

She watched my face closely.

I smiled back.

Neither of us blinked.

Then she stood up suddenly.

“Let me get you water.”

“No,” I said gently.

Too quickly, she paused.

“I mean,” I added softer. “Later. Let’s just talk first,” her lips pressed together for a moment, then she nodded.

“All right,” she sat again. “Are you happy?” She asked me.

I looked at her.

The woman I married hours ago.

The woman who smiled at me in a supermarket.

The woman whose phone had just received a message about a first dose.

“I am,” I answered slowly. “Are you?”

She smiled.

“Of course.”

Another lie.

Then her phone buzzed again on the bedside table.

She reached for it quickly, but I was faster.

I picked it up.

Her eyes widened.

“Nathaniel, it’s okay,” I said calmly, glancing at the screen.

A new message.

Unknown number.

“Be patient. Do not rush him.”

I looked up at her.

She was staring at me now, frozen.

The room felt tight.

Very tight.

I handed the phone back to her gently and smiled.

“Someone seems eager to talk to you on your wedding night,” I said lightly.

She swallowed and forced a laugh.

“Just family.”

I nodded.

“Of course,” I said.

We lay back on the bed side by side staring at the ceiling.

Her hand slowly reached for mine.

I held it.

But this time, my grip was firm, controlled, because as I lay there beside my new wife, one truth became clear in my mind.

The prank was over.

The game had changed, and I needed to pretend just like her.

Until I found out what really happened to my first wife, and who exactly Emerald Hawthorne truly was.

I closed my eyes, but sleep did not come because I knew this marriage had just turned into a quiet war.

I did not sleep that night.

Even when Emerald’s breathing became slow and steady beside me, my eyes stayed open, fixed on the ceiling of the hotel room.

Every small movement made my heart jump.

Every sound felt louder than it should be.

At exactly 6:15 a.m., I gently removed my hand from hers and sat up.

Emerald stirred.

“Nathaniel,” she murmured half asleep.

“I’m here,” I said softly. “Go back to sleep.”

She opened one eye and smiled.

“Good morning, my husband.”

That word husband felt heavy in my chest.

“Good morning, my wife,” I replied.

A few hours later, we checked out of the hotel.

The staff smiled at us.

They congratulated us again.

They wished us a happy married life.

I smiled back.

I thanked them, but inside I felt like a stranger walking through my own life.

The drive from Victoria Garden City to Ecoy was quiet.

Emerald sat beside me in the backseat of the car, her head resting lightly on my shoulder.

My driver focused on the road ahead.

Lagos moved around us.

Cars, people, shops opening, life going on as usual, but for me, everything had changed.

“You’re very quiet today,” Emerald said gently.

“I’m just tired,” I answered.

“The wedding was a lot,” she nodded.

“Yes, it was beautiful though.”

I said nothing.

When we finally arrived at my house in Ecoy, the large gates opened slowly.

The mansion stood tall and calm, just like it always had.

But that morning, it did not feel like home.

Emerald’s eyes widened slightly as she looked around.

“I still can’t believe this is where I’ll be living now,” she said with a soft laugh.

I stepped out of the car and offered her my hand.

“Welcome home,” I said.

The house staff lined up neatly.

“Welcome, madam.” They said together.

Emerald smiled brightly, waving, “Thank you. Please don’t be formal with me.”

They looked at me, waiting.

“Do as she says,” I told them.

Inside, the house was quiet, too quiet.

My children were not around.

Amelia had traveled back to Abuja the day after the wedding.

George was still abroad.

That emptiness made everything worse.

Emerald walked around slowly, touching things, observing.

“This house feels full of memories,” she said. “It feels heavy.”

I looked at her sharply.

“What do you mean?”

She smiled quickly.

“Not in a bad way, just meaningful.”

We went upstairs to the master bedroom.

She placed her bags on the bed and sighed happily.

“I can’t wait to start our life properly,” she said. “Cooking for you. Making this place warm.”

My chest tightened again.

Cooking food.

I forced a smile.

“You don’t have to rush.”

She laughed lightly.

“I want to. I like taking care of people.”

I watched her closely.

Her movements were calm, natural, almost too perfect.

Later that evening, Emerald insisted on making dinner herself.

The staff tried to help, but she waved them away.

“I want to do this alone,” she said cheerfully. “It’s my first meal as a married woman.”

I sat in the dining room pretending to check emails on my tablet, but my eyes kept drifting to the kitchen.

The sound of pots, the smell of food.

Every sense in my body was alert.

She walked in eventually, carrying two plates.

“Dinner is ready,” she said proudly.

She placed one plate in front of me.

“Rice, grilled chicken, light sauce, my favorite meal.”

My heart skipped.

“How did you know this is my favorite?” I asked.

She smiled sweetly.

“You mentioned it once.”

I picked up my fork, then paused.

Emerald noticed.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” I said quickly, just thinking.

I took a small bite.

She watched me closely.

Too closely.

After a moment, she relaxed and began to eat too.

Nothing happened.

No strange taste, no discomfort, but the fear did not leave me.

That night, as we prepared for bed, Emerald wrapped her arms around me.

“I’m happy, Nathaniel,” she whispered.

I held her.

“I hope we will always be honest with each other,” I said quietly.

She pulled back slightly and looked at me.

“Of course,” she said. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

I nodded.

But deep inside, one question burned in my mind.

If she could lie so easily.

How long had she been lying already?

As we turned off the lights, her phone buzzed softly on the bedside table.

She reached for it quickly, then stopped when she realized I was watching.

She smiled.

“Just family again.”

I said nothing.

She turned her back to me and pretended to sleep.

I lay there staring into the darkness of my Ecoy bedroom.

And for the first time in 15 years, I felt unsafe in my own house because I knew this truth now.

Whatever Emerald and her family were planning, it had followed me home and it was only just beginning.

Ecoy.

Too quietly, I woke up before Emerald.

I lay still, listening to her breathing.

Slow, even peaceful.

She looked innocent when she slept.

That was the hardest part.

I slipped out of bed gently and walked into the bathroom.

I splashed water on my face and stared at my reflection.

The man staring back at me looked older than his years.

“Think,” I whispered to myself. “Think,”

I dressed quickly and went downstairs.

The house staff greeted me.

I answered them politely like nothing was wrong, “Sir,” my housekeeper said. “Madam said she will prepare breakfast.”

My chest tightened again.

“That’s fine,” I replied calmly. “But make tea as well.”

I needed something safe.

I sat at the dining table pretending to read the newspaper.

My eyes moved, but my mind did not.

I kept hearing Mrs. Hawthorne’s voice.

“We start gently.”

A few minutes later, Emerald walked in, smiling brightly.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully. “I hope you slept well.”

“Yes,” I lied. “you like a baby.”

She went into the kitchen.

I watched her back as she walked away.

Every step felt measured.

Careful.

Soon she returned with breakfast.

Toast, eggs, juice.

Simple, safe, she placed the plate in front of me and sat opposite.

“Eat,” she said warmly. “You need strength.”

I picked up the cup of juice.

Then I remembered the message.

“First dose must look natural.”

My hand stopped midair.

Emerald noticed.

“You keep pausing when you eat,” she said lightly. “Are you not hungry?”

“I am,” I replied. “Just distracted.”

I set the juice down and picked up the toast instead.

She smiled again.

After breakfast, I stood up.

“I need to go to the office just for a short time.”

Her smile dropped for a second.

“So soon?” She asked. “I thought we would spend a day together.”

“About we will?” I assured her. “Later,”

she nodded.

“All right, I’ll stay home and rest.”

I leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

Her skin felt warm.

Too warm again.

On my way out, I stopped and turned back.

“Emerald,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Did you ever meet my first wife?”

She froze just for a moment.

Then she shook her head.

“No. Why?”

“No reason,” I said. “Just curious.”

She smiled, but her eyes looked sharp now.

“She must have been a wonderful woman.”

“She was,” I replied.

I walked out before she could say more.

At the office, I did not work.

I called my old family doctor.

Dr. Lewis.

“Doctor,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I need you to review my late wife’s medical records.”

There was a pause.

“That was a long time ago, Nathaniel,” he said gently.

“I know,” I replied. “But please,”

another pause.

“I’ll check what I can find,” he said. “Why now?”

“Because something doesn’t feel right,” I answered.

When I returned home that evening, Emerald met me at the door.

“You’re back,” she said happily. “I missed you.”

I smiled.

She held my hand and led me inside.

Dinner that night was prepared by the staff.

I felt slightly safer.

After we ate, Emerald suggested we sit in the living room.

She curled beside me on the couch.

“Nathaniel,” she said softly. “You seem far away today.”

“I’m just adjusting,” I replied.

She rested her head on my shoulder.

“You can trust me,” she whispered. “I’m your wife now.”

I said nothing.

Her phone buzzed.

She tried to ignore it.

It buzzed again.

She sighed.

“Excuse me.”

She stood up and walked toward the hallway, answering the call in a low voice.

I stayed still.

Then I heard her say something that made my heart race.

“No, not yet. He’s careful.”

I stood up quietly and moved closer.

Her voice dropped even lower.

“Yes, mommy, I understand.”

I felt my stomach twist.

She ended the call and turned around and froze because I was standing right there.

She forced a smile.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” I replied calmly.

Her eyes searched my face.

“Who are you talking to?” I asked.

“My mother,” she answered quickly. “She worries too much.”

I nodded slowly.

“About what?” I asked.

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

And in that silence, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I looked at the screen.

Dr. Lewis is Nathaniel, we need to talk.

There are things in your late wife’s records that do not add up.

My heart dropped.

I looked up at Emerald.

She was watching my face closely, too closely.

And in that moment, I realized something terrifying.

The past I buried 15 years ago was not dead.

It was awake.

And it was about to knock very hard on my door.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and forced a smile.

“Nothing,” I said.

But inside, I knew the truth was coming, and when it did, someone in this house would be exposed.

I did not confront Emerald.

Not yet.

That night, I lay beside her in bed, listening to her breathe, while my mind replayed Dr. Lewis’s message again and again.

Things do not add up.

I waited until Emerald fell asleep before I quietly picked up my phone and replied, “We will talk tomorrow morning in person.”

I placed the phone back down and stared at the ceiling.

By morning, my decision was clear.

I needed facts, not emotions.

At breakfast, Emerald acted normal.

Too normal.

She joked, she smiled.

She asked about my plans.

I need to step out.

I told her simply, “I have something important to handle.”

She nodded quickly.

“I’ll be here.”

I drove straight to Dr. Lewis’s clinic.

When I entered his office, he looked uneasy.

“Nathaniel,” he said, standing up. “I reviewed everything again. Your wife was diagnosed with breast cancer.”

“Yes,” but there were substances found in her blood that had nothing to do with cancer treatment.

My chest tightened.

“What kind of substances?”

“Mild toxins,” he replied carefully. “Very small doses. Not enough to kill quickly. Enough to weaken the body over time,”

my hands clenched.

“Could they have been accidental?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Unlikely.”

My voice came out low.

“Then why was it never questioned?”

“Because the symptoms matched cancer,” he said. “And because no one asked.”

I sat back slowly.

Mrs. Hawthorne’s words echoed again.

“What really happened to his first wife?”

I left the clinic feeling cold inside.

When I returned home in Ecoy, Emerald met me at the door.

“You’re back early,” she said, smiling.

“Yes,” I replied calmly. “We need to talk.”

Her smile faded slightly.

“About what?”

“Your mother,” I said.

Her eyes widened.

“What about her?”

I walked past her into the living room.

“She knows more about my past than she should,” I said quietly. “And she speaks too freely,”

Emerald swallowed.

“She talks too much sometimes.”

I turned to face her fully.

“Emerald,” I said firmly. “Did you know my first wife before I met you?”

“No,” she replied quickly.

“Did your mother?” I asked.

She hesitated.

Just for a second.

“No,” she said again.

That second was enough.

I nodded slowly.

“All right,” I said. “Then tell her to stop calling you about private matters.”

She forced a smile.

“Of course.”

That evening, I called my security chief.

From today, I instructed him. “Monitor all food, drinks, and medication in this house quietly.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied.

I also asked him one more thing.

“Find out everything you can about the Hawthorne family.”

That night, Emerald served dinner again.

I did not touch the food.

“I’m not hungry,” I said.

She watched me carefully.

“You hardly eat anymore,” she said softly. “Is something wrong?”

I looked straight at her.

“No,” I replied. “I’m just being careful.”

Her face stiffened for a moment before she smiled.

Later, when she thought I was asleep, I felt her move.

I opened my eyes slightly.

She reached for her phone and typed quietly.

I could not see the screen, but I heard her whisper, “He’s changing.”

I closed my eyes again because I knew one thing now without doubt.

This marriage was built on lies.

My first wife did not die the way I believed.

And Emerald and her family were not just chasing money.

They were repeating a pattern.

The only question left was simple and terrifying.

How far had they already gone?

And how much time did I have left?

Little did they know that I am fully prepared.