Chapter 9 - The Facade Cracks
The next two days were a masterclass in psychological endurance.
I continued to swallow the fake pills every morning under Nicholas's watchful eye,
feigning the sluggishness and confusion he expected.
I allowed Elise to visit,
enduring her fake sympathy and invasive questions while secretly analyzing her every move,
looking for the cracks in her own facade.
She was nervous,
I could see it now.
Her smiles were too bright,
her laughter too loud,
and she constantly checked her phone,
her eyes darting toward the screen with an anxious energy.
She knew what they were doing was wrong,
but she was committed,
bound to Nicholas by a secret I had yet to uncover.
On the evening of the second day,
Nicholas hosted a small dinner party for a few of his firm's senior partners.
It was a calculated move,
a public display of his perfect life and his tragic, struggling wife.
I was dressed in a simple, understated gown,
instructed to sit quietly,
smile weakly,
and allow Nicholas to play the role of the devoted, long-suffering husband.
The dining room was filled with the clinking of expensive crystal and the low murmur of arrogant men discussing corporate takeovers.
I sat at the end of the table,
staring at my untouched plate of sea bass,
zoning out the conversation.
"Sophie, darling, are you feeling alright?"
Nicholas asked loudly,
drawing the attention of the entire table to my silent form.
"You seem a million miles away."
The partners looked at me with varying degrees of pity and discomfort.
"I am fine, Nicholas,"
I murmured,
keeping my voice low,
submissive.
"Just a little tired."
"She is still adjusting,"
Nicholas explained to the table,
his voice dripping with manufactured sorrow.
"The postpartum period has been exceptionally difficult for her. We are exploring... intensive treatment options."
A cold fury spiked in my chest.
He was laying the groundwork,
planting the seed of my impending institutionalization in the minds of his peers.
"It takes time,"
one of the older partners, a man named Harrison, offered awkwardly.
"My daughter struggled after her first. She just needed rest."
"Unfortunately, Sophie's case is a bit more complex,"
Nicholas countered smoothly,
cutting Harrison off.
"Dr. Evans is quite concerned about her disconnect from reality."
I gripped my napkin under the table,
my knuckles turning white.
I wanted to stand up,
scream the truth,
and throw my wine glass in his smug face.
But I forced my muscles to relax,
forcing a look of vague confusion onto my features.
"Nicholas, please,"
I whispered,
sounding genuinely distressed.
"Let's not discuss this now."
He reached over,
patting my hand patronizingly.
"Of course, my love. I just want everyone to understand what we are going through."
The dinner concluded agonizingly slowly,
and as the guests finally began to depart,
I retreated upstairs,
claiming a headache.
I stood in the dark nursery,
watching Julian sleep,
the anger simmering in my veins threatening to boil over.
I needed Marcus to call.
I needed a weapon.
An hour later,
after Nicholas had retired to his office to make late-night calls,
I slipped down to the basement.
I pulled out the burner phone,
the screen lighting up immediately with an incoming text from the secure number.
"Got him. Meet me at the locker tomorrow. Same time."
A fierce, triumphant smile spread across my face in the darkness.
May you like
Dr. Evans was broken.
The first pillar of Nicholas's grand design was about to collapse.
