Chapter 3 - The Trap is Set
Saurin Ashford walked through the heavy oak double doors of our Back Bay penthouse at 8:00 PM on Friday evening, loosening his silk tie with an exhausted sigh. He tossed his briefcase onto the entryway console and shrugged off his tailored wool coat.
“Marin? Are you home?” he called out, his deep voice echoing slightly in the cavernous, minimalist foyer.
I sat at the marble kitchen island, sipping a cup of chamomile tea, my fingers tracing the rim of the ceramic mug. I wore a simple black cashmere sweater, my hair falling in loose waves over my shoulders.
“I’m in the kitchen, Saurin,” I replied calmly.
He walked in, smelling faintly of expensive cedarwood, amber, and a trace of a perfume that definitely didn't belong to me—a sophisticated blend of jasmine and crushed fig. He poured himself a glass of iced sparkling water from the fridge and leaned against the counter, looking down at me with his usual detached assessment.
“You look pale,” he remarked casually, taking a sip of his water. “Did something happen with your father today?”
I looked up slowly, meeting his piercing gray eyes without a single tremor in my gaze.
“My father’s treatment is fully funded, Saurin,” I said evenly. “The first chemotherapy session is scheduled for Monday morning at Boston General.”
Saurin’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise. A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face—the look of a man who believed his money had successfully solved another inconvenient domestic problem.
“Good. I told you not to worry about the money,” he said, his tone dripping with condescending reassurance. “My financial team handles what needs to be handled. You just need to focus on looking presentable for the Ashford Foundation gala next Thursday.”
I took a slow sip of my tea, letting the silence stretch between us for three agonizingly long seconds.
“I found something in our bed last night,” I said softly.
Saurin froze. The glass of sparkling water paused halfway to his mouth. For a split second—barely a microsecond—his jaw tightened, and his eyes darted toward the hallway leading to our master bedroom.
Then, the master investor mask slid back into place with terrifying speed. He lowered the glass, turned to face me fully, and adopted an expression of cool, amused bewilderment.
“What are you talking about, Marin?”
“I didn't know you had found it, my love,” I murmured, echoing his tone with a chillingly sweet smile.
I reached beside my teacup, picked up the small gold ivy-leaf earring, and placed it gently in the exact center of the marble island between us. It caught the recessed LED lighting overhead, gleaming like a tiny, accusing dagger against the white stone.
Saurin stared at the earring.
The air in the kitchen dropped twenty degrees.
The man who had never blinked during hostile corporate takeovers, who had fired senior executives without batting an eye, suddenly forgot how to draw a normal breath. His chest rose sharply and stopped.
“Where… where did you find this?” he asked, his voice dropping into a harsh, controlled whisper.
“Right where your mistress left it, Saurin,” I replied, my voice as smooth as glass. “Right on the edge of the pillows. Next to your side of the bed. She must have dropped it in a hurry when you two were rushing to get dressed before your morning flight to New York.”
Saurin jaw worked as if he were trying to swallow glass. He opened his mouth to deny it—to spin a lie about a client meeting, a misplaced gift, a corporate event—but stopped. He looked at my face. There were no tears. There was no shaking voice. There was only an absolute, terrifying calmness that made it clear I wasn't falling apart.
I was hunting.
“Marin,” he began, his voice dangerously low, stepping toward the island. “Let’s not make a dramatic scene out of nothing. It was a mistake. A momentary lapse in judgment with someone from the New York office. It means nothing. You are my wife, you have your allowance, your father’s medical bills are paid—nothing has to change.”
I stood up slowly from the stool, smoothing down my sweater, and looked him straight in the eye with a smile that didn't reach my eyes.
“You’re right, Saurin,” I whispered, stepping close enough that I could smell the jasmine and fig perfume clinging to his collar. “Nothing has to change. You keep playing your little games.”
May you like
I leaned in closer, my lips brushing his ear.
“And I’ll start playing mine.”
