chapter 23 : Anika – POV
One year ago
I woke up and headed straight to the kitchen—our vast, luxurious mansion kitchen with marble countertops, matte-black cabinets, golden handles, and tall windows pouring morning sunlight across the polished floor. It was the kind of kitchen that looked like it belonged in a magazine… not in the life of a woman planning a murder.
And there they were.
My husband, Anthony Jonas, and her… Coccette Jonas. The irritating, spoiled daughter who stood between me and total control over Foody Company.
I forced a bright, fake smile. "Good morning."
Anthony smiled back warmly. "Morning, beauty."
Coccette barely lifted her head. "Morning."
I walked over, kissed Anthony on the cheek. "Oh, babe… are you making pancakes for me?"
Anthony chuckled. "Actually, they're for Coccette today. She's coming with me to the company, and I want her to have energy."
Coccette tried to hide her little laugh.
"But of course," Anthony added quickly, "there's some for my beautiful wife too."
I smiled politely. "Thanks."
Then my eyes traveled to the mugs. "Are those our coffees? The blue one is yours, right?"
Anthony nodded. "Yes. The blue mug with the bear—Coccette bought it for me."
I smiled again—hollow, empty, annoyed.
For weeks, I'd been preparing something… dark. But a girl who grew up with nothing—not even warm clothes in winter—learns quickly that climbing to the top requires more than hard work. It requires strategy. Cruelty. Precision.
And Anthony Jonas wasn't sick. He wasn't weak. He wasn't declining.
He was perfectly healthy.
Too healthy.
Healthy enough to live decades more if I didn't intervene.
I couldn't wait decades.
In my pocket was a vial of Cardioxentros , a slow, silent substance that mimics a natural heart attack. Undetectable. Clean. A perfect eraser.
A win is a win.
I smirked internally and slipped a few drops into his coffee the moment no one was looking. I picked up the cup and turned to give it to him—
But Coccette snatched it from my hand.
"What are you doing?" she asked sharply.
My heart paused for a second.
Did she see?
If she did… I was finished.
I raised my hands innocently. "Nothing. I was just giving him his coffee."
Coccette frowned. "Dad is cooking the pancakes. He can't drink coffee yet. He needs to drink it when the pancakes are ready."
I let out a small laugh.
A real, uncontrolled laugh at this clueless, orange-haired little obstacle.
"You're right, darling."
I waited patiently—calm on the outside, electric on the inside—as Anthony finished cooking. We sat together and started eating. My eyes stayed locked on him.
Finally, he lifted the blue mug.
He drank.
And drank.
And drank.
Until it was empty.
I stared so hard I didn't blink until he noticed.
He laughed. "Why are you looking at me so much, darling? You liking the view?"
Oh, yes. In a few hours, I would like it even more.
I smiled sweetly. "Of course, darling. You're my love. I love you."
I took his hand gently, playing the role perfectly—kind, devoted, loving—on his last morning breathing.
Coccette rolled her eyes like an ungrateful teenager.
Anthony stood, kissed me, and said, "Me and Coccette need to go, baby. See you later."
"Sure," I said softly. "I'll be waiting for you in our room." I winked.
Coccette sighed dramatically.
They left for work.
The hours passed slowly. I stayed in the living room—our elegant, modern living room with velvet sofas, crystal chandeliers, tall decorative mirrors, and a huge screen above a marble fireplace. I watched a horror movie, though horror never scared me. It felt more like a comedy.
"These actors are so stupid," I said, laughing. "If it were me, I'd escape the moment the danger appears."
Then my phone rang.
Coccette.
Her voice was shaking, broken. "A-Anika… Anika… dad is—" She burst into tears.
I immediately slipped into character. "What's wrong, Coccette? Where is Anthony?"
"H-he… he…" Her sobs got louder. "Dad died…"
I let my voice tremble. "What did you say? Are you joking, Coccette? Don't do this to me."
"It's true!" she cried harder. "The doctor said it was a heart attack… he said it can happen to anyone…"
A heart attack.
Of course.
I bit my lip hard to keep the smile from breaking through.
My plan had worked flawlessly.
"Darling," I whispered, pretending to choke on tears, "which hospital are you in?"
"Beau Jour Hospital. Please come… please…"
"I'm coming now."
I hung up.
Placed the phone on the table.
And then I laughed.
Madly.
Freely.
Finally.
Anthony Jonas was gone.
And the future was mine.
"If you enjoyed this story, please don't forget to vote or add it to your favorites—your support means a lot! Note: the substance mentioned is entirely fictional and created just for this scene."