I woke up the next morning with a decision already carved into my bones.
If they wanted me dead quietly…
Then I needed to stay alive loudly, at least in front of them.
I stretched slowly on the bed, letting out a soft, tired sigh the way someone on medication might. Edward was buttoning his shirt at the foot of the bed, watching me through the mirror. His eyes lingered too long, too carefully, as though studying symptoms he expected to see.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked.
I rubbed my forehead. "A little. The medicine Dr. Daniel gave me… I think it's finally kicking in."
His expression softened, only slightly. It wasn't concern. It was relief mixed with calculated satisfaction.
"That's good," he said. "You should keep taking it."
I forced a small, grateful smile. "I will."
Inside, hatred simmered.
They wanted me compliant.
They wanted me weak.
They wanted my heart to slow down without anyone noticing.
So I gave them exactly what they expected.
I stood up and pretended to wobble a bit. Edward caught my elbow instantly.
"You see?" he murmured, almost pleased. "Your body needs rest. Don't move around too much."
I nodded, lowering my eyes. "I'll stay in today."
"That's for the best."
He kissed my forehead, a gesture that used to make me feel loved. Now it felt like a signature on my death certificate.
When he left for work, I waited until the front door shut.
Then I locked myself inside the guest bathroom.
I dialed my father immediately.
"Dad," I whispered. "We have to move fast."
His exhale crackled through the line. "I know. I contacted someone I trust. We'll talk in detail tonight. Miranda… you need to act normal. They can't know we found out."
"I already started pretending," I said softly. "Edward thinks the drug is working."
"Good. Make them comfortable. Make them confident. Because when the time comes, your death has to look real."
My throat tightened.
I wasn't scared of dying.
But pretending to die, disappearing, leaving behind everything, my life, my name, my identity…
It felt like the world was closing in on me.
"Dad," I whispered, "what if something goes wrong?"
"It won't." His voice hardened. "I will not let anyone take my daughter from me."
For the first time in days, my heart steadied.
We talked for a few more minutes, planning carefully. He would send a trusted security specialist, someone who could stage the fake death, someone who knew how to disappear a living person.
After hanging up, I splashed cold water on my face and practiced my role.
Weak.
Slow.
Fading.
The perfect prey.
When I walked out of the bathroom, Edward's personal assistant, Yazja, was standing in the hallway.
She flinched when she saw me. A split second of fear flashed across her eyes before she forced a polite smile.
"Good morning, ma'am."
I studied her closely. She had been behaving strangely since the night the letter arrived, always nervous, always avoiding eye contact, always watching the shadows as though she expected something to jump out.
"Good morning, Yazja," I said quietly. "Did Edward ask you to check on me?"
She stiffened. "Yes, ma'am. He wanted me to make sure you ate breakfast."
My gaze drifted to the tray in her hands.
Oatmeal.
Fruit.
Juice.
Something so normal, it should've been comforting…
But nothing in this house felt normal anymore.
I walked past her and sat at the dining table. She set the tray down in front of me, but her hands trembled slightly.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
Her eyes widened. "Yes, yes, ma'am."
"You look nervous."
"I, " She swallowed hard. "I'm just tired."
Lies.
She wasn't tired.
She was hiding something.
Her eyes darted toward the hallway, the same hallway where the mail slot was… where the threatening letter had fallen days ago.
The letter that warned me.
The letter she claimed she never saw.
But I wasn't pushing, not yet.
I needed her fear.
I needed her guilt.
Fearful people made mistakes.
"I'll eat," I said softly. "Thank you, Yazja."
She bowed and left quickly.
I stared at the food.
The juice in particular.
No.
They wouldn't try poisoning me there too…
Would they?
I took a small spoon of oatmeal and forced myself to swallow. My phone, hidden beneath the table, recorded everything, my father insisted on evidence of every interaction, every suspicious moment, every bite of food.
When I finished eating, I made sure to leave a portion untouched. If they were testing whether I'd resist, they would see I'd complied, mostly.
Around noon, Edward returned unexpectedly.
His eyes scanned me slowly.
"You look pale," he said.
"I just took the pills," I replied softly, pressing a hand to my chest. "I think I'm a little dizzy."
His jaw relaxed. "Good. It means they're stabilizing your heart."
My heart.
If only he knew how fiercely it was beating in my chest.
He sat beside me, brushing my hair back.
"You'll be fine soon. Daniel said recovery might take weeks, but you're already responding well."
Responding well.
To poison.
I hid my disgust behind trembling fingers. "Thank you for caring."
He stroked my cheek with dangerous tenderness. "You're my wife. Your health matters."
My smile was weak. Fragile. Perfect.
His phone buzzed, and he stepped out to answer it. But not before whispering:
"Rest. I'll be back soon."
The moment he left the room, I exhaled shakily.
I wasn't alone long before Yazja returned, carrying towels this time. But she paused when she saw me sitting upright, alert, not as weak as she expected.
"Ma'am… are you feeling better?" she asked cautiously.
"I think so," I replied.
Her throat bobbed with a nervous swallow. "Dr. Daniel will be coming again tomorrow. Edward wants him to check your blood pressure."
Blood pressure.
Of course.
A convenient excuse to monitor whether the poison was "working."
"Okay," I said softly.
She opened her mouth as if to speak, then shut it again, shaking her head.
"What is it?" I whispered.
She froze.
"You can tell me."
Her eyes filled with panic. "Ma'am… please don't ask me. Please."
She hurried out before I could stop her.
That confirmed something:
She knew.
Not everything, but enough to fear for her life if she spoke.
I pressed my palm against my chest, breathing through the sharp ache that wasn't real but had to look real.
When Edward returned, he found me lying on the sofa.
He rushed over, worry etched across his face.
"What's wrong?"
"I, I think the medicine is making me sleepy," I whispered.
He carried me gently to the bedroom, laying me down like I was made of glass. Then he kissed my forehead again, another rehearsed gesture.
"Rest. Don't fight it."
The moment he left the room, I reached under the pillow and turned on my second phone, my secret one.
A message from Dad popped up instantly.
Everything is ready. We'll talk tonight. Do not confront anyone. Stay quiet. Stay alive.
My fingers trembled.
I wasn't just pretending anymore.
The plan had already begun.
By late evening, the house grew colder.
Quieter.
Stranger.
Edward came to check on me again, brushing my hair back like the devoted husband.
"You're improving," he whispered. "Just keep taking the pills."
My heart dropped.
"But I thought it was just vitamins."
He smiled faintly. "Everything Daniel gives you is good for you."
Good for me.
Good for my death.
When he finally left to take a shower, I sat up straight, my mind racing.
I had to keep pretending.
I had to stay helpless.
I had to let them believe they were winning.
Because soon…
My escape would begin.
And when I left this house, I wouldn't be returning as Edward's wife.
I would be rising from my own ashes.
Alive.
Dangerous.
And ready for war.